January 2019

The beginning of a new year and we are still enthralled with this move, this place and the people we are meeting.  It is a month of settling in to a routine, which hasn’t changed too much from our US routine. We still get up to yoga mats,  read while enjoying our coffee, work on projects and go for walks in the neighborhood, albeit it’s now in Lille. There probably won’t be the amount of pictures to show this month, especially in light of the fact that we’ve just finished the holidays.

On New Year’s Day, we decided to try a neighborhood restaurant called Monsieur Jean. Since our language skills are still nonexistent, we have not mastered the skill of calling a restaurant to make reservations.  When we arrive without one, we are either turned away or we are given what G and I refer to as ‘the kids’ table’. It’s the table no one wants and no restaurant gives to reserved guests. The table has no outside view, is in a tight space, next to the bathroom or the wait station or the kitchen or in a draft or in the main artery for the staff and if you’re unlucky enough, it has all of those lovely points. But if the food is great, you can usually overlook the table you got stuck with. In this case the food was, indeed, terrific considering we pretty much did get ‘the kids’ table.’

The food was superb, with a fabulous presentation. I had the Sea Bass and G the Angus beef rump steak. Every dish from appetizer to dessert, was just delectable.  When we left, we decided to add ‘How to Make a Reservation’ to our skill set so we could get a table that was a little more romantic.

Packing away the few ornaments we have, the miniature lights and folding flat the wood tree, our holiday was officially over. It was time to look at where we were in terms of getting ourselves settled in and started. My French bank card was still not functioning and after several issues, our banker had to order another. G’s card works just fine. In organizing, I had an a-ha moment. Being totally prepared to buy some fancy boxes to house guest towels and bed linens, my eye fell across all of the luggage stacked in a corner. Why bother with boxes when I have these and they fit on the work table underneath shelves in the office/second bedroom? And it was perfect!

We are finally organizing the office a bit more and amassing enough outlet extensions to move electronics to more suitable locations. Then I started to mount the Paris posters into frames and still have a few frames to get but am pleased with the progress to add some more color to the apartment.

Starting on the 10th, all of France has their once-a-year deep retail discounts. We still haven’t found any second hand stores or understood the lack of yard sales and as one retailer explained to us, the national rules on this annual sale are also quite specific.  In the following three weeks, we concentrated on picking up household items that we were still lacking. We picked up towels, a desk lamp, and we each got new walking shoes. The shoes we have are excellent but nothing we had really tackled the tough job of walking on cobblestones. The big, discounted item we picked up was a television. It has been touted on the internet that if you have one and consistently watch the news or even latch onto a weekly series in the language you are trying to learn, your learning curve will be lower. So we carted a television set up to the apartment and began to watch the news regularly. In French. Without subtitles. Well, the pictures are helpful.

Speaking of news, the ‘gilets jaunes’ or yellow vests protesters have also been active almost every Saturday, this month here in Lille. We’ve mentioned before that our Rue is a main route from the train station to the Grand Plaza, so the marches come down this way. There’s been some vandalism and broken shop windows. However, the police and state guard are out in force and have kept the protesters fairly contained.

Trying to solve our internet connection problems, in desperation, we finally went downstairs to ask Sonya and Juliette which internet carrier they used. As a business, clearly they needed a reliable connection. We returned our second router, that still had not stopped our WiFi blackouts, to our first company and signed up with another company.  The new company has not disappointed and we are now happily, consistently connected.

Of the projects we took care of, the largest was the shower stall. In traveling, the one common issue we’ve seen in showers is the persistent presence of mold. Be it the inconsistency in cleaning or the choice of caulking, it can be unsettling. Since we are here for the long term, it became a primary target. G nixed getting ourselves rabies shots or Hazmat suits (he’s such a daredevil), so we dived right in.

Setting aside two days for the process, we completely disassembled the shower stall, stripping off all of the mold-infused caulking. Scrubbing every crevice, then scraping years of scale and soap build up on the frame before reassembling. G finished by laying down new caulking, creating a fresh start. It was well worth the work and now we won’t cringe when guests come to visit.

We searched for another haircutter/barber as we each had issues the first time around getting the cuts we wanted. Language was the reason, of course, even with our translation apps. Our second choices somehow earned better results, although we still needed our apps to overcome our lack of French. Then we turned our attention to securing doctors.  Using lists provided by our insurance and the US embassy, we matched the English speaking doctors’ list with personal care doctors and dentists located within walking distance from the apartment, and made appointments. With our language classes not available until March, we thought it best to tip the understanding odds in our favor.

GOING TO THE DOCTOR

It is unclear to me if it is truly a rule that US doctors can not spend more than 15 minutes with each patient but that was certainly the case for ours. Our doctors had receptionists to handle the check in and the payments, personal physician assistants to show you to a private examination room, who would also check your height, weight and blood pressure. Then the doctor would swoop in, ask the current problem or if no problem, look over the chart to see what annual tests you were due to take. Then the personal physician’s assistant would hand you the list of things you were to take care of such as taking blood work, scans or schedule specialist check-ups.  Pay the receptionist and be on your way.

From appointment entrance to exit, you’ve spent a half hour, outside of waiting time. More, if the physicians office is unorganized but that doesn’t translate into more time with a doctor. Both of our US doctors talk to us, peering over a computer screen on a rolling cart, where they read and enter information the entire time. We had good doctors and their job was to spot any problem in its infancy, snuffing it out quickly.  Whether because of liabilities or insurance requirements, they would not continue to see you or refill your prescriptions if you refused the various annual examinations.

Here in Lille, when we walked into the building for my doctor appointment, there were three doors in a long hall, unclear (to us) signage indicating which was the doctor’s office.  The first room had only chairs; the third door was locked and upon opening the second door, a woman behind a large desk came from behind to show us that we needed to return to the first room. Being the only ones sitting in this room made us a bit unsure as to whether we were in the right spot, so we left the door ajar, in case a receptionist came looking for their 10:00 appointment. At 10:00 we were still alone, when the earlier woman from the second door came in to usher me into her room. This was my doctor. No receptionist and no personal physician’s assistant. She is also the one who answered my phone call and scheduled my appointment.

This large rectangular room held an examination table on one end. Sitting back behind the big desk, she listened patiently while I explained that we had moved to Lille and I needed a personal care doctor. Her command of English was not quite as solid as I would have liked but she had great reviews. When I mentioned that my insurance and the embassy stated she spoke English, she smiled and said, “A little.” I gave her a thumb drive with all of my records on it, which she plugged into her computer. But then as I helped her locate where the thumb drive showed up on her screen, I realized the piles of papers on her desk indicated that her records were not kept electronically, as our Paris doctor’s were.  After printing and thoroughly reviewing the records, she verified the medications which I would need filled and wrote the prescriptions. Lastly she led me to the table and took my blood pressure before concluding the office visit. I was a bit disconcerted. I had no list of things to attend to, no marching orders and above all, no office appointment scheduled in 6 or 12 months. Wasn’t there anything she wanted to keep an eye on to avoid disasters? When was she to see me again? Where was the sense I was going to be spanked if I didn’t check off my ‘to do’ list?

At G’s doctor’s visit, it was almost a carbon copy of mine. A difference was that the waiting room was filled when we arrived but we sat down, again uncertain. There was no one to check us in for the appointment and we wondered how the doctor took in his patients. That was answered when another person arrived into the waiting room and asked (we think) in French, “Who was the last one in?” The entire room pointed to us.  At least that’s what we hoped they asked, we thought when everyone is looking at us. The next person who arrived asked the identical question and this time the entire room pointed to the fellow who had arrived after us, so we felt it was a safe assumption. And so it went, for each new arrival and the doctor would pop out to signal for the next patient. When the last person who was present in the room when we first arrived went in, we knew we were next. I was amazed at the civility. This would not work in the US I mused, thinking of a guy who cut in front of us waiting for service at Safeway or the woman who had cut in before us at the US airport line. People always trying to find ways to get ahead in line, especially in traffic, would not simply wait like an adult should, in this system. Incredible and we laughed all the way back home about what the possible reactions would be, if they cut in here.

A couple of natural events this month were wonderful to catch – if even missed by a few minutes, the January full wolf moon and lunar eclipse. In France, the eclipse was seen in the early morning and we caught the tail end of it.

And, not having lived in snow country for over 20 years, it was a thrill to see the first snow(s) here, coming down in big fat flakes. Of course with half of the US currently in a deep freeze, no one there would appreciate our excitement. But we did, standing on our balcony, sticking our tongues out like little kids, to catch the flakes.

ON THE SUBJECT OF MOVING OVERSEAS…and…

Taking a pause in talking about our month, it is probably a good point to insert some of the material which we’ve read regarding what to expect in a move overseas and particularly to our choice, France.

We now smirk at all of the headlines, which we still see, touting how EASY it is to ‘retire overseas.’ As well as the variety of headlines that promise you the ability to speak a foreign language in a month. Well,  we’ve already told you the first promise is empty. The second promise is good maybe – if all you want to do is ask for simple directions, order beef instead of chicken, where the toilet is and request the taxi to deliver you to the correct stop. But seriously, you are not going to be able to hold a solid discourse regarding politics, cultural differences or even begin to understand the depth of the experience of the person you are talking to. Sorry. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t fun.

It does mean that you will, on occasion, unintentionally put your foot in your mouth. Sometimes up to your thigh, if you’re not careful. Being taught to ‘air kiss’ on either side of the cheek by our new friend, Flo, who I absolutely adore for being forthright on how to do certain things, I felt confident to do the same action to his friend, only to discover that I’d crossed a major boundary.  The fact that Flo and I had that level of hello turns out not automatically translating to having that level to other people who I talk to as much as I with him. And I am treasuring that he is willing to tell me so. And I feel bad I did that to his friend.

We’ve seen indications that we’ve tipped too much and that in some cases for say, a particular home service, it’s better just to give someone a bottle of wine for work done, to show your appreciation because a tip is almost insulting. Tipping is hard because places are just beginning to offer that possibility on their receipts which, as one person told us with a wrinkle to their nose, was an American influence.  The system doesn’t encourage it and being in flux means it’s left a bunch of people utterly confused.

…and HOSTING

But the reason I bring this all up is in regarding to our first foray into inviting someone over to share a glass of wine. We had invited our painter, Bruno and his wife, to stay longer (after dropping something off at the end of the job) for a glass of wine. That was a natural segue into visiting with us and relaxing after a good job. They showed pictures of their lovely garden and I showed pictures of my art and children’s book illustrations. It turned out to be a nice evening.

Inviting our wonderful landlord over for wine, was a completely different matter. We had hoped to make it feel as natural, in the spirit of the holidays. Come, we said, come share a glass of wine with us after you get off work (since he works across the street) before you head home. Seemed easy. Unfortunately for us, Fabrice was headed out of town with his family during the holiday and would not return until January. When he came back, we entreated him again to stop by for a glass of wine before heading home, thinking it would still be an easy entertaining visit. Then two things popped up that kind of tanked this easy hosting idea.

First and foremost, just like all of the material on the internet touting how easy it is to retire overseas, there is a ton of material that tell American’s the do’s and don’t when interfacing with French people. Of course we read that. How ELSE do you think we got here to start with? And these little tips and warnings float in the back of your head like worries because you really don’t want to make a bad impression. But this was Fabrice who we’d already met and had easy conversations with.

He responded by saying that a good time for him would be at noon on a Thursday. OK, well that doesn’t quite have the feel of – ‘Hey, let’s share a glass of wine after work.’ This is more along the lines of – ‘the Landlord is humoring his tenants.’ It didn’t help that I told him I needed to ask him a question about an appliance in the shower room. That was really true – I’ll explain that later – but we were trying to make it less of a ‘tenant request’ and more of ‘visitors interested in just conversing’ kind of meeting. But it got moved off the arena of an after work soiree and squarely onto the arena of meeting with the tenants about an appliance. Poop.

So couple that change with the material we read on the internet, I now believe I need to feed this poor guy because I read that the French don’t drink wine unless they’re eating. That from a book where this hapless chap has a party with Americans and French friends but the American’s wander the grounds with wine glasses in hands chatting while the French sit at the table waiting for the meal, as is proper. What the heck are we to cook? We don’t know what he eats and our dining room table is the size of a postage stamp. G to the rescue, grabs pre-made tapas from the grocery store. They’re easy to pick up and go easily with wine. The packages have a wide variety of items so we don’t have to necessarily worry about allergies. Done and good. But regardless, I am now nervous. According to the internet, the British hate feeling embarrassed. I hate being nervous and by the way, I don’t think that’s true for all Americans.

To cut to the end, Fabrice arrives with Belgian chocolates! Yay for us! And that moved it away from the ‘I’m humoring the tenants’ arena. We all sit around the coffee table to enjoy wine and tapas. He shyly admits he is a picky eater but does find one kind of tapas that he enjoys. Poor guy – he should meet some of our family members who totally out do him on the term ‘picky eater’ and where the term ‘shy about it’ is NOT applicable. He was so easy in comparison.  I had to remind myself, as I have with Flo, that his English is deceptive. He can speak it well but internally he has to digest what we say, slowly. If I take off like a rocket when talking, which I’m prone to, it leaves them in the dust, asking for a slower repeat. In our visit, he showed us pictures of his holiday, which was fabulous and shared a video he had created of it. Air kisses and au revoir, we have had our first invited guest over.  The appliance? I totally forgot to ask him but a search engine showed us that it is a towel warmer radiator. It’s common in Europe but we’d not seen it in the US, really didn’t understand it’s function and have never used it. All ended well.

The information on the internet has netted (when we’ve been brave enough to ask) several responses.  A woman we know, with an infectious laugh and lovely sense of humor – when asked if it was alright to smile a lot since we read that American’s were thought to be insincere when they did – looked at us like we were idiots. Then of course, she laughed. Ok, that was kind of the foot in mouth experience. But the one that sticks out in my mind is a reaction I got when I asked if it was still illegal to kiss on a train platform, which I’d read. Since we travel exclusively by train, while we were waiting for one on a platform, G leaned over and kissed me. I saw a man staring at us and felt so self conscious, I asked if it was still illegal. He looked at me as if I had announced we eat our young and walked to the opposite end to avoid us.  That was definitely the foot in mouth, up to the thigh experience. So now along with not believing the do’s and don’t lists on the internet, I’m very careful who I try to verify the information with and I am a great believer in ‘if in doubt, ask’ philosophy.

Fabrice, when asked if it was true that the French only drink wine when they eat, pursed his lips and said with a shrug, “It depends.” Makes sense to me. If a French person asked me if it was true that American’s must have mustard with their hamburgers, I’d have to say the same thing and I’d be confused about where the person was getting their information. But then, according to the internet, we American’s eat only fast food and microwave everything. Well ….. it depends.