Touchdown in Paris

I landed in Paris after a layover in London. Not unexpectedly, nothing is open in Heathrow at 4am. Thus, my first meal abroad consisted of stale M&M’s from a candy machine. The flight from Paris took 45 minutes, and the flight was packed. Anticipating some problems with my oversized carry-on bag, I cleverly stored above the head of the lady in front of me; thus ensuring that it was she and not I who got the dirty looks that an overhead compartment-hog deserves.

This was my second trip now taking Lorazepam to calm my nerves while in the air, but I’m still not convinced it works. I just kind of feel loopy after taking the pills; however, this could also be attributed to not being able to sleep the night before. I suppose all that matters are the results. The downside is, of course, that I can’t drink while on the medication. I suppose that one or two drinks wouldn’t hurt, but I’ve never been good at drinking in moderation. The last thing I want is to end up sloppy drunk and having to be restrained. It’s not worth the risk.

By the way, choosing British Airways really paid off. They have LCD screens in the seat backs and you have 7 or 8 movies to choose from.

Close to the edge

My first few days were rather hectic – getting to where I needed to be, finding a place to stay, communicating with the locals, etc. This was evidenced by my jetlag induced rant that I wrote to my parents and rather lazily copied to everyone. That being said, it does adequately capture the state I was in at the time. So here it is again, back by popular demand:

I made it, but not without a great deal of effort:

Although fearing it the most, the plane ride was the least stressful aspect of the trip thus far. Of course, those magic sedatives I took helped.

Getting from the Airport to the train station with 2 giant bags wasn't too bad. Air France has a relatively cheap shuttle bus. Getting on the train is another matter. Of course, I get a ticket for Car #16 on the TGV to Avignon. So I have to lug my bags past 15 rail cars and then find out my seat is upstairs. So while me and 50 of my closest friends are cramming the stairs and aisles trying to get to our seats, there's a handful of others going the opposite direction. And 2 old American ladies that can't find their seat because they're reading their ticket wrong.

So I get to Avignon and the rental car agency has no economy cars left (my fault for not reserving ahead of time). They tell me all they have for the next 3 days is a deluxe "grande voiture". Some large vehicle. I'm paying 100 euros a day to drive around these narrow streets in a Mercedes minivan (diesel no less) while hunched over the steering wheel because there's no headroom. It looks like a toy. I can't wait to see what the economy car looks like. I'll need a shoehorn to get in.

Spent most of yesterday searching for a place to stay. I found a nice B&B (Chambre d'Hôte) in Mollégès but they can't put me up for this weekend, so I'll be moving to a neighboring B&B for the weekend and then back to the original one again on Monday. Compounding matters is the fact that I intend on moving to another B&B on 1 Nov. It's cheaper (38 euros/night with breakfast) and is in the very lovely town of Eygalières. Hopefully that's where I'll stay through to end of my visit.

On top of all that, I can't understand a word anyone is saying because they speak too fast. I'm trying to get by on a hybrid language I call "Franglais" with a smattering of German here and there. Hardest of all is my landlady, who has a thick Provençal accent that sounds more like Italian than French.

As you can probably tell by my ranting, I'm still suffering from jet-lag. Up at 3am the last 2 nights. This morning I huddled over my little radio picking up the faint signal of AFN's World Series broadcast. That being said, this place is quite lovely. I guess it's sort of France's bread basket. I haven't really had the chance to partake of the local food and wine yet. Seems like every time I go to get a bite to eat, everything's closed. And I've been dead to the world at about 4pm both nights.

Soon as I get a phone card, I'll try to call. I'm still trying to find out what the number is for the phone in my new office.

Talk to you soon,

The Ugly American

Mme. Fabre's first rate chambre d'hôte in Mollégès. The sandy façade and blue shutters are symbols of the region and are also the inspiration for the color scheme of this blog.

The Lavendar Room - my home away from hom for a week and a half.

Me and the Twingo.
(Photo courtesy the Frank Flinn collection of subjects with heads.)

On Friday I traded in la grande voiture for a Renault Twingo. Although an economy car, it's got at least four more inches of head room. An interesting feature of the Twingo is that the dashboard is in the center. More interesting is the fact that all of the controls (headlights, odometer reset, clock, tuner, volume, horn, etc.) are incoporated into the two levers sticking out of the steering wheel. This is in addition to the more traditional controls such as highbeams, front wiper, back wiper, and turn signals, etc. Hence, every push, pull, and twist of these levers performs some function.

So here I am driving through these quiet little French villages at seven in the morning trying to figure out how to turn on my headlights but instead I've got both wipers going, the radio blaring, and honking my horn. It took a few days, but I finally figured it all out. All except why there are six different controls to change the radio station.