Our First Visitors!

On September 7, my sister Elaine and her husband Kent arrived for a two-day visit. They had gone to Germany to visit friends, and they decided to drive to France to see us. It was so wonderful to see them! It was a long, lonely summer here without knowing anyone, so it was great to be able to see family for a couple of days.

The day Elaine and Kent arrived, two things happened: there were torrential rains, and there was a general strike in France. (I'll write about the strike in a separate entry.) The rain caused our garage to be badly flooded. There's a story behind that, and here it is. At the end of July there was a night of heavy rain, and our garage ended up with a little bit of water in it. There's a drainage gutter at the end of our driveway near the garage entrance, and I figured it was clogged up, and that's why rainwater had gotten into the garage. When I tried to lift up the heavy metal plates of the gutter, however, I wasn't able to do it. I called our landlord and told him we had water in our garage. He told me to tell the gardener (whom I had recently hired) to take a look at the rain gutter.

The gardener came to work on our yard a few weeks later, and I told him about the rain gutter being clogged. He said he'd take a look, but I believe he left without doing so. So when we had torrential rains all day September 7, our garage was badly flooded. I called our landlord on the afternoon of the 7th and said there was a pool of water collected in front of our garage, and that the garage was surely flooded. He said he'd come take a look that evening. He never showed up.

Meanwhile, Kent and Elaine arrived from Germany on the evening of the 7th. After dinner we all went to look at the garage situation. When we stepped through the pool of water leading to the garage and opened the door, we saw that the garage was badly flooded. At that point Kent started helping us move furniture around so that we could do some damage control. (We have some furniture in the garage because we're not using it as a garage per se. It's a nice, clean room, so we've been planning on using it as a recreation room. It has a small couch, TV, and old computer in it.) Kent spent a good part of that evening, as well as the next day, figuring out how to clean out the drainage gutter so that we wouldn't have this problem with flooding in the future.

In the end, the damage to the garage wasn't too bad. We had to throw out a big rug and a small rug, but luckily they weren't expensive. There was a lot of mud to muck out, but most of our belongings weren't particularly harmed. And now, since Kent cleaned out the gutter and got it flowing again, we hopefully won't have this problem in the future.

So our first visitors ended up helping us with house projects. (Kent also figured out how to fix our motion detector light.) At least we managed to spend a fun day looking at the sights of Lyon in between the house projects. Not only was it great to see Elaine and Kent, but they also brought us a bunch of brownie and pancake mixes, as well as syrup and other things I had requested that we missed and couldn't find in France. It was so nice that they came!

Two days after the rains ended, the landlord called me and said he hadn't been able to make it that one evening, but he could come this evening. I told him not to bother. My brother-in-law had come from the USA to fix our rain gutter.

We're Connected to the World!

After over six weeks of living in France, we finally got our landline phone, TV, and internet service. We ended up canceling our contract with SFR, since we had a contract with them for about 8 weeks and they didn't deliver the service. (The relocation company had put in our order with them two weeks before we even moved to France.) We switched to the French national telecom company, Orange, and in a little over a week we had all of our services ready to go.

The whole saga of trying to get the telecom services set up helped me see some differences between the way things are done in France versus the US. I guess the main lesson I learned is that there doesn't seem to be the same emphasis on customer service here in France. I say that because SFR canceled two different appointments with us on the day of the appointment without giving any reason why.

Also, things here don't necessarily seem to happen in the most logical manner. SFR was supposed to send a technician to our house to set up our equipment, yet we had to pick up the equipment ourselves. For the first appointment (which got cancelled at the last moment), we had to pick up an internet router/modem at a location in the city. When that appointment was cancelled, I had to return that modem and pick up a second one for the second scheduled appointment. (Why, you may ask, couldn't I use the same SFR modem for the second appointment? I wondered the same thing. It turns out that each appointment has a specific modem that goes along with it.) These pickups/returns are in the city, and since we live in the suburbs, it's an inconvenience to do all of this. Now that SFR cancelled our second appointment at the last minute and we've cancelled with them, I have to return the second modem. The most logical solution for all of this would be to have the technician who is installing the equipment bring it along with him or her on the installation visit.

One of my general impressions of being here so far is that many things seem to be unnecessarily complicated and burdened with paperwork. Efficiency does not seem to be a strong suit of the French. (I remember getting our cell phones at SFR when we first moved here. It took about three hours and I had to fill out and sign six sets of paperwork for three phones.)

Since I just mentioned getting our cell phones with SFR...here's one more little tidbit about dealing with them. When I got my cell phone, it was a 99 euro phone, but it came with a 50 euro rebate offer. The woman at the SFR store gave me all the paperwork for the rebate and even filled it out for me. All I had to do was mail it, which I did. Last week I got a letter from SFR saying I would not be getting the rebate because I had bought my phone at a store that was not participating in the rebate offer. How could that possibly be true when the employee at that SFR store was the one who gave me all the paperwork for the rebate offer?

A Bald Mouse in the House

The other evening we were in our living room when the girls noticed some movement in our fireplace. (The fireplace is covered with a glass door.) The girls looked and thought at first that it was a frog that was stuck in there. Then they looked more closely and discovered that it was a small black bat. By the way, the word for "bat" in French is "chauve-souris"--literally, a bald mouse.

Needless to say, we were all shocked and worried. (Actually, we were all freaked out, but that doesn't sound dignified.) We watched the bat flutter around the fireplace for several minutes. We decided that we should just leave it alone and hope that it could get out the same way it got in. It turns out that Anna, who has an almost pathological fear of insects, has an equally strong fear of bats. She wasn't able to sleep in her own bed that night for fear that the bat would get out of the fireplace and attack her. So she slept with Jennifer.

The next morning the bat was still there. It was totally motionless, so I thought perhaps it had died. However, it was just in a deep daytime sleep. When it got dark, it started to flap around the fireplace again. Our cat Cookie Dough, who fancies himself a hunter, couldn't tear himself away from the little creature in the fireplace. Cookie Dough spent most of the evening (and probably all night) meowing and trying to bat at the bat. Once again, Anna slept with Jennifer.

The next morning I decided that something had to be done. I couldn't bear the thought of the bat starving to death in our fireplace. Our main worry was that the bat might have rabies. So Jennifer and I locked all three cats and the two girls behind closed doors, gathered up all of our nerve, and commenced a bat rescue mission.

First we taped a large plastic garbage bag around the fireplace door in the hopes that when we opened the door, the bat would just fall in. Then we put on winter coats and gloves, just in case the potentially rabid bat bit us. I grabbed a toilet scrub brush to use to prod the bat. We were ready to go in.

The bat was in a deep sleep, upside down, in the very corner of the fireplace. It didn't move when we opened the door, which meant I had to prod it with the toilet brush. I poked at it, and managed to make it fall toward the bag, at which point Jennifer maneuvered the bag over and managed to catch it. I pinched the bag shut and dashed through the patio door and outside.

Once outside, I ran under a tree near the outer edge of our yard. I wasn't looking forward to shaking the bat out of the bag, but I made myself do it. I shook and shook the bag, and finally the bat fell to the ground. It started to flop around, at which point I ran like a crazy person back into the house, undoubtedly shrieking the whole time. At least we knew the bat was alive. (Zoey would have never forgiven us if somehow the bat had died. She's a die-hard animal lover.)

So it wasn't pretty, but we managed to rescue the bat and get it out of our house. I could have called a pest control company to deal with it, but the prospect of dealing with another French workman was daunting. Besides, knowing how things work here, it probably would have taken several days to get a pest control person to our house, by which time the bat would have died. All I can say is that I hope we don't have any other creatures fall into our fireplace in the future.

The Art of being Patient

I've realized that we Americans are accustomed to instant gratification. When we want something, we want it now. I've only spent 4 and 1/2 weeks in France, but I've already learned that living here is going to teach me patience.

My number one example is our landline phone/internet/cable TV service. We still haven't gotten it. As I mentioned in a previous post, when we moved to Pennsylvania, we had all of those services set up and ready to go in less than 48 hours after moving into our house. Our order here in France was put in almost 6 weeks ago, and we still have no service.

Example number two: our garbage service. We moved into our house here on a Friday, and on the following Monday morning I put in an order for a garbage bin. (You have to have an approved bin to get your garbage picked up by the city of Lyon.) I had to pay for the bin, including insurance in case it gets broken or stolen, but that was okay. What was worrisome was when the woman told me it would probably take about 15 days to get the bin.

Needless to say, by the time 15+ days have gone by, a family can accumulate a lot of garbage. I started putting it outside the kitchen door, but every night some animal would get into it, and every morning I had to clean up the mess. I emailed the garbage bin woman twice during the two weeks to ask if there was any progress with the bin. She said no, I just needed to wait longer.

Finally, right at the end of the 15-day period, the bin was delivered to the house. I was so excited! It's amazing that an event like that could make me so happy, but after all those days of picking up garbage outside, the bin looked really good to me. I emailed the woman who had helped me place the order to tell her I'd gotten the bin. Her reply was classic. Translated, it was something like this: "See, with a little patience, everything does happen."

There are other things, too. For example, if you go out to eat at a restaurant or cafe, there is no rush. You can sit and talk in a leisurely fashion with absolutely no one pressuring you to leave. This is a pleasant contrast from some places in the States, where you feel like the server wants to rush you out the door, especially during busy times. When I go out to eat here, I appreciate that I'm not rushed. However, when you want to get the check, you need to prepare yourself to be there for the long haul. The servers are in no hurry to bring you your check.

Another example is in check-out lines at stores. Jennifer, in particular, likes to do everything quickly and efficiently, and she expects others to do things quickly, too. Every time we wait in a line at a store, it drives her crazy that the people ahead in the line empty their cart slowly and deliberately, and then take several minutes to dig out their card or cash to pay the bill. (This has happened to us at toll plazas as well. We always get our money ready ahead of time. The people we are inevitably stuck behind, however, apparently have to dig through every possession in their car to find some money to pay the toll.) The etiquette here is that you wait patiently for the person ahead of you to finish their transaction. Muttering in a stage whisper about how long things are taking or honking your horn at someone at a toll plaza are not done, at least as far as I can tell.

More about patience. Most stores and businesses are closed all day Sunday and for two hours around lunchtime on Monday through Friday. Most businesses, including gas stations, aren't open much past 7:30 pm, either. This means that now that we're living here, we have to plan our shopping and our business dealings accordingly. In the States, if you want to go to a store, chances are you can get in your car, drive off, and find the store open. Perhaps that's because it's all about making the sale in the States. In France they don't seem to mind that there are several hours a week and all day Sunday when they could be selling things to customers but aren't.

Things that are different

Everyone knows that if you go to a different country, things are going to be done differently from the way they're done in your home country. I've decided to try to keep track of some of the things that are different about being here in France.

Doors. The style of the doors, door handles, and locks is different here. Not to mention the number of keys! When we moved into the house, we were handed a big bunch of 12 keys. Granted, a couple of them are duplicates, and two of them don't work in any door at all. Here are what the keys go to: the outside gate, the mailbox (one for getting the mail from inside the gate, and a separate one for getting the mail from outside the gate), the front door, the shutters that cover the front door, the kitchen door, and the garage. One might expect the front door and kitchen door to use the same key, but they don't. Now, I want to contrast this group of keys to our Bethlehem house, where we had ONE key that opened all of the various doors, including the garage. Jennifer and I are constantly trying to remember what key goes where here.

Laundry. Most people in Europe don't have dryers, and right now we don't have one, either. We bought a second-hand washing machine, and the wash cycle takes one and a half hours. (When I spent my two summers in Spain, I used a washing machine there where the cycle took two hours.) When the laundry is finally done, we have to hang it to dry. Our garage has a number of clothes lines built in, but things take a really long time to dry there, since it's dark and cool. So the first time Jennifer did laundry here, she spread all of our clothing out in the front yard to dry in the sun. Needless to say, this included quite a few pairs of underwear. We've been told that Charbonnieres les Bains is considered quite a chic town to live in. We think that the town's reputation probably went down a notch the day the Americans had their underwear strewn all over their front yard.

Food handling. In the States, people who work in food service wear plastic gloves when they handle your food. Here, they use their bare hands. People here don't seem to be getting sick in droves as a result of the lack of plastic gloves.

Insurance. The French seem to have insurance for everything. We had to get home insurance and car insurance, which we expected. But we also had to get school insurance for the girls (each school child must have it), and insurance on our garbage bin (in case it gets broken or stolen). And we received notice from our insurance agency that we can get insurance to cover us in case we get sued for any reason. We opted not to get that.

Sundays. Nothing is open here on Sunday, except for the occasional restaurant. I mean nothing.

Lunch break. Most businesses and offices, unless they're really large (like a chain department store), are closed from about 12:00 to 2:30. This happens in Spain, too, where it's called the Siesta time. I didn't know it happens in France.

Neighbors

I realize that it's been a few days since I've written, so I decided I should write an update. First of all, we still don't have a telephone landline, TV service, or internet service (except for a 3G key) at the house. It's been more than a month since it was all ordered. (Thank goodness for cell phones, or we'd be up a creek in terms of communication.) Apparently what we're waiting for is a phone line from French Telecom. I'm thinking they need to revamp something in the way they provide phone service, since you can get a new phone line in the US literally on the same day you order it. It's hard not having a landline, since I'd like to call people in the States, but that would cost an outrageous amount of money using my cell phone.

But on a more positive note, we've met some of our neighbors, and they're very nice. Jennifer met the woman next door, who speaks a little English. Then a little over a week ago, a man rang our bell, introduced himself as our neighbor, and brought us some lettuce from his garden. His name is Julien, and he's a retired English teacher. He came every day for four days and brought us lettuce each day, but I haven't seen him for a few days now. I think he likes being able to practice his English with us.

The first day I met Julien, I told him that some of the outlets in our house weren't working, and that I'd checked the fuse box, where everything seemed to be in the right position. I asked him if he knew anything about electricity. He said no, but the neighbor across the street, Monsieur Robert, knows a lot about electricity. Julien suggested that I knock on M. Robert's door.

I debated that for a couple of hours. I felt timid about knocking on this man's door out of the blue, but on the other hand, it was a pain having about ten outlets, as well as our microwave oven, not working. So I got up my courage and knocked on M. Robert's door. He was very nice, and came over and looked at our fuse box and tested the outlets. He couldn't figure out what was wrong, and said that I should call an electrician.

So we've met three of our neighbors, and all of them are retired. Julien said that everyone in our neighborhood is retired, except for one younger couple whom I haven't met yet. There are about seven houses in our little neighborhood, and apparently they were all built in the late 70's, which is when our neighbors bought the houses. Luckily, our house has been completely renovated on the inside, so it's brand new.

To finish up with the electricity story, I got in contact with the landlord's office, and the landlord himself, as well as a team of three men, came over this week to make all the repairs that needed to be made. (There were problems with the plumbing and with some of the doors not locking, as well as with the electricity.) So right now everything is working properly in the house, and that's a relief.

I generally understand what people are saying to me in French, but I've struggled with all of these workmen. They seem to speak quickly and they use very specialized vocabulary (electrical and plumbing terms, for example). So I consider myself lucky that I get the gist of it. At least I think I'm getting the gist of it!

Driving

We have two cars that we're driving here: a rented Peugeot that's the size of a small station wagon, and a smaller Peugeot that we bought used from a British man. Jennifer's company has ordered a Citroen for us to use the years that we're here, so as soon as that comes, we'll turn in the rental car.

Jennifer has driven in France a number of times now, since she drove every time she came here for a business trip. As a result, she tends not to get flustered by the roads and the unique driving situations that you find here. Here's an example of a unique driving situation. When we were staying in the hotel our first week in France, workers started to repave the road that went past the hotel. The road is divided by a median strip down the middle. The first day the workers tore up one half of the road, so it was possible for both sides of traffic to take turns driving on the other side. On the second day the workers tore up the other side of the road, but drivers could then use the first side. On the third day, however, the workers had torn up both sides of the road, rendering it completely unusable. That was the only road that led in and out of the hotel. When Jennifer left the hotel to go to work that day, she was confused about what she was supposed to do. Apparently the workers motioned to her to get on the sidewalk, so she drove down the sidewalk for about a third of a mile until she reached another road. This is one reason why the French have small cars. There's no way an Explorer or an Expedition would have fit on that sidewalk.

Two characteristics of the roads here are different from all the places I've driven in the States. First of all, some roads are amazingly narrow. They barely seem wide enough for one car, and yet they're meant for traffic that goes in both directions. Secondly, there are about a million roundabouts. If you drive for a mile, you'll probably cross three roundabouts.

I, unlike Jennifer, sometimes feel flustered when I drive here. Part of it is that I have no idea where things are yet, so I have to rely completely on the GPS. The other day the girls and I set out to buy groceries at a big grocery store in another town about 20 minutes from our house. I followed the directions of the GPS, like usual. At one point she (we've been calling her "Tammy") told me to take a sharp right turn in a little village. I stopped the car and looked at the road she wanted me to go down. It was the narrowest road I had seen yet. Still, I knew that French roads are often narrow, and I trusted Tammy. I started down the road, which went down a very steep hill and was surrounded on both sides by thick trees. If another car comes toward me, I thought, we're going to crash, because there's no room to pull aside. After driving down the hill quite a distance, I came to a dead stop. There were two metal posts in the road blocking any further descent. The girls and I realized that this was, in fact, a bike path.

I had a moment of extreme panic. I now had to either back the car up a very steep hill in order to get back on the main road, or I had to leave the car in the bike path and go get help in the little village. I was too embarrassed to have any French person see that I was dumb enough to drive down a bike path, so I started backing up. At one point the car hit a low stone wall that jutted into the road. Oh great, I thought, now I've blown a tire. It was okay, though--the bump didn't seem to hurt the car. The girls helped direct me as I drove backward and upward. (The road wound around a lot of blind corners, which didn't make things easier.) Finally we made it to the top. My heart didn't stop racing for about half an hour after the incident occurred.