Many of our most exciting opportunities in life operate less on the idea that more is better and rather on a scale similar to that of diminishing marginal returns. The first experience is amazing as everything is new (the curve is sloped steeply upwards). If we are so fortunate as to have the same experience a few more times, the curve is probably still positively sloped but slightly less steep. Eventually, the curve may simply flatten out, and even begin to slope negatively as the repetition of the experience may begin to be tiresome or even boring.
However, as is the case with most "laws" of economics, the law of diminishing marginal returns comes with the condition of ceterus paribus (all else being equal). It also assumes that each input (i.e. each experience) is homogeneous. Fortunately, this has not been the case with my experiences in France.
As I boarded the plane in Philadelphia and the map of our flight path filled each of the personal entertainment devices on the seat backs, I was reminded of my first European adventure fourteen years ago when I joined a group of 11 other 15/16 year olds for a tennis tour across England. I have learned a great deal from my many voyages since then. If nothing else, I have learned to equip myself in order to make 6 hour+ plane rides as comfortable as possible. Thus, I began my 9 month stay in France in style, armed with a pair of slippers, 2 books, layered clothing suitable for a variety of in-cabin temperatures, instant coffee packets and plenty of healthy snack options to supplement any failure on the part of the airline to provide palatable sustenance.
Consequently and in conjunction with a capable flight crew and the cooperation of all other forces outside of our immediate control, the trip went off without a hitch. Even the subsequent bus and taxi rides from Roissy-Charles de Gaulle to the Gare de Lyon and from the gare to my abode in Saint Mandé went splendidly (a bit of a shock since many of the other forms of transportation were experiencing significant delays as a result of striking (les grèves) throughout the country).
I'll be rather brief in my description of the "banlieue" (suburb) where I live. The town is called Saint-Mandé, and while it is technically outside of the "boulevard périphérique" (the ring road) i.e. outside of where the walls once stood that formerly encircled and protected the city of Paris , I am still very connected to the city. One of the major advantages of living out here is that my little studio (a truism, perhaps, if not simply redundant) is just across the street from one of the largest green spaces in Paris, le Bois de Vincennes ("bois"= woods) . I'll post pics later, but if you type "Saint Mande France" into Google maps, you'll be able to gain a little perspective on the size, an idea of which my photographs could never do justice. There is a parc zoologique (unfortunately closed for renovations until 2013), a couple of lakes/ponds, and lots of gravel paths, bike paths, benches, trees and grass. There is even a tennis court or two on the north side of the park.
The first days of setting up camp (l'installation, comme on dit en français), is always filled with excitement, some inconveniences, and lots of exploration. One of my favorite outings when I am abroad is the first trip to the supermarket, or grocery store, rather. Walking into a food shop in a foreign country (at least in those that I have explored in Europe) is like walking into Ali Baba's cavern. In your home country, although each store has its particularities, some stores are more, or less, posh than others, the products on the shelves are quite similar from shop to shop. If you've never been in a grocery store/supermarket in France, it is quite difficult to appreciate the size of the cheese and yogurt/creamy dessert section. Even in the smaller stores, it usually spans at least 2 full rows of refrigerated cases. (Maybe I'll get a chance to photograph it later.) Fortunately, there are many factors that limit the urge to try everything. Probably the most important is the size of one's pocketbook, but other factors include the size of the mini-fridge as well as the half-mile walk, with bags, back to the apartment. However, this is the luxury of having already made several long stays in France. And with 9 more months of taste-testing opportunities, I am sure not to leave disappointed (or perhaps a few kilos heavier!)
My first day also included a trip to the bank to begin the process of opening an account chez ("at the house of") BNP Paribas - you've probably seen their ads on TV as they are one of the major sponsors of Roland Garros, i.e. The French Open.
Since one of the major reasons that I am in Paris this year is to finish my dissertation, I decided that my first day should include obtaining my library card at the Bibliothèque Nationale de France (the BNF, pronounced Bay-En-Ef). This is not your average library card subscription. Verification of a pulse is far from the only requirement needed to gain access to this prestigious library's collection. Equipped with ALL of my important documents (you never really know what is going to be required to complete administrative tasks in France - think DMV) I headed over to the BNF. They checked everything, including, but not limited to, a letter of recommendation from my dissertation advisor, a copy of my passport, my possible criminal record and required the promise of my first born child in case I damage or "accidentally" set fire to a book (OK, I may be operating in slight hyperboles). With the preceding formalities out of the way, the employee took my photo, printed my card, and sent me to his colleague at the entrance to pay my 35 euros fee. Yay! I'm officially a member of the BNF cult. I now have the right to reserve a seat (yes, you really do have to reserve, sometimes several days in advance) and submit requests to librarians for them to deliver articles and books to me after a delay of 15-30 minutes. Coming from America, it sounds totally paranoid and bureaucratic, and it probably is in part, but it is also an aspect of France that, while at times frustrating, is also sort of endearing. When you know the system and know what initiation requires, you feel like a true insider when you are able to accomplish a task without any more than the normal level of rigmarole.
As it turns out, there is actually a very dangerous store located kitty-corner to the BNF. The shop in question is called Decathlon, the most amazing vendor of sports clothing and equipment I have ever encountered. It puts Dick's, Sports Authority, Academy, and all others to shame, not simply by its selection, but also as a result of the relationship between the quality and price.
As a reward for having persevered at the library, I went there in search of a bike for my travels around town. Although Paris has a wonderful bike-sharing program called "Vélib" (vélo + liberté = bike + freedom), it works primarily for Paris to Paris destinations. Since I am in the banlieue, and travel to other banlieues, this poses a slight travel headache. There are Vélib stations in Saint-Mandé, but not in Créteil where I will be teaching. So, after a little online research and verification in person, I dispensed with the 80 euros for the black (orange was also an option) B'twin (pronounced "between") Vitamin (vee-ta-meen). For those concerned about my safety while riding among Parisian drivers, I also purchased a helmet. (Pics to come.) After the in-store assembly and the requisite debit from my bank account, I borrowed a pair of scissors from the giftwrap station, and rode my new bike back to the suburbs. I felt completely anti-athletic and totally Parisian as I rode home in my jean skirt, leggings, and boots. Although most people might not find this to be a positive, my bike has only one gear. Consquently, I am forced to pedal slowly, which helps to prevent the normal amount of sweating that usually comes with riding a bike. Since the plan is to use my new "vélo" (vay-low) for the trajectory to and from teaching, the effort constraint is actually a plus. I'll restrict my more vigorous athletic pursuits to running and tennis.
To finish off a long blog entry and an even longer day (which began at 6 am East Coast time -midnight Paris time - on the 12th and didn't end with bedtime until 1am - Paris time - on the 14th), I met up with an old friend of mine from Middlebury. We had studied in Paris and Vermont together in 2003-2004. Her name is Kelly, and she recently married a French guy and is now living in Paris permanently with a cool gig in PR at Amazon.fr. We met up for drinks and a light dinner of saumon fumé (smoked salmon) and salade de chevre chaud (hot goat cheese salad) at a little cafe in the 19th arrondissment called La Marmite before heading to the concert down the street at the intimate concert venue, La Cigale, for a performance by The Swell Season (Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova from the movie "Once" - their song "Falling Slowly" won Best Original Song at the Oscars a few years ago). Both the company and the concert were awesome! If you ever have a chance to see The Swell Season in concert, go! If you ever have the chance to see The Swell Season in concert in Paris, well, all the better.
