A Good Lift

Today was a great but tiresome day.  Our household goods have arrived via the fine work of our Belgian moving company.  When possible here in Paris, they move everything with a giant lift that towers over the sidewalk but no longer even draws a glance from the Parisians. Ours stood in front of the Italian restaurant on our ground floor and reached all the way to our living room window (four stories high). The restaurant was less than pleased, but tant pis for them. Everything came through that window except our bed, which was carried up the stairs with some negotiation and then with smiles to our new room.  With the help of my mother in law and father in law, Troy and I managed to find a place for over three hundred boxes and furniture galore.  Luckily, the little monkey was able to go to a friend's house most of the day only to return with great pleasure to see she can actually move in her new room and play...much different than her 9 x 8 room in Virginia (also, happy her favorite tu tu made it).

We are very thankful that (most) everything made it OK but can't believe we will be doing this all again in under three years.  Alas, can't think of that.  Time to hunker down, unpack and enjoy Paris.

Sweet dreams tonight.

La musique de Paris

Living in the city brings a lot of new sounds to the ears.  We have the Catholic church right around the corner ringing its bells hourly and most importantly for some reason ringing for a full minute at 8 p.m. Which happens to be the bedtime for the tiniest monkey in our house. She hears the bells ring in sucession, she knows it is bed time.  Generally it works, usually it doesn't.  Anyway,  Allie has heard a lot of sounds living on a very busy street.  One sound is more prominent than the bells.  The fire station is right around the corner.  It drives me nuts to hear the sound of sirens and wakes me up at times.  I curse the city at those times. I long for the quiet suburbs.

Now, think of Allie and her mom on a bus which we use a lot.  Driving through one of the most feared and congested areas of Paris to yet another park.  We hear the sounds of a fire engine or two.  Allie states, "listen momma the music of Paris."  I stop in my tracks.  I think of this young child not thinking of doom and gloom but of pretty sounds and cool lights.  She is enjoying the "noise."

I take notice and learn from my three year old yet again.  

Crab Hunting

Well, I have really done it now.  Let me set it up for you.  Take a young girl maybe 3 or so.  Take a mom who is so stressed out about an overseas move and the guilt she is harboring from taking this young child from her loving preschool, her first-ever best friends and convenient and fun babysitters.  Put that all together and you get a promise.  

Before embarking on this journey we had a ton of items to get just to bring our two cats to Paris.  We spent a  lot of time shopping for items to send and a lot of time spent in the pet stores looking for the perfect litter box, the perfect litter liners, beds, kennels.....on and on.  The ever-patient three-year old could only take so much, so some bribery came in to play to get done what was necessary.  (I am sure you all understand this form of errand completion) So, after poor said three-year old finds out she can't take her Sea Monkeys with her she poses one simple question.  "What can I have in Paris as a pet that was like my Sea Monkeys?"  Guilty, stressed out mom with child who does not want to go to the pet store for the 100th time states, "if you are a good girl maybe we can find something, I PROMISE".

Child enters pet store sees what she wants and declares she now wants a....hermit crab!  Mom giggles to herself and thinks how cute is that.  Do people really keep those things in a cage in their homes?  What a sweet little girl to want a crab.  "Ok, sweet pea, WE WILL SEE".  I'm thinking in the back of my head, "Once we get to Paris there is no way this three-year old will remember."  Everyone, quit laughing now.  Remember, she is our only child we do not have much practice in this.

So here we are present day.  Allie asks, "Will my hermit crab be in the big moving truck bringing our furniture on Thursday?" 

The hermit crab hunt is on in the city that has only dog stores.  Ideas anyone?

Gas pains

Today we took our first trip in our car that we just received after it spent two months traveling from the States. Since we are still living with borrowed furniture and haven't picked up the odds and ends necessary to make a house a home (like bathmats, light shades, shower curtains, etc), we made a run to chez Ikea and Carrefour in Franconville.  It's always good to get out of the city, even if it's just to a suburb.

Now, I understand gas prices are high. I understand an SUV may not be the wisest choice for those not interested in buying lots of gas.  And I understand that the dollar is pretty weak against the euro these days.  Still, I didn't anticipate spending nearly as much to fill up the car as we would spend at the stores.   The cost of one tank of gas for a Toyota Highlander:  $155.  

Still want to complain about the cost of fuel in America?

Finally!

Et, voila!  We've been here exactly two months now, and we finally got motivated enough to set up some semblance of a blog.  Will we post every day? No!  Will we dazzle you with wit, brilliance and the kind of insight you've always longed for into a foreign country? Well, hopefully sometimes, but I guarantee not always.

First, who are we?  We are expatriates (despite the fact we hate that term) living in Paris for 3 years as part of a NATO assignment. Troy is in the military, Dana is a occupational therapist, and Allie...well, she's an almost-4-year old about to enter the French public school despite only  knowing about a dozen words or so of French.  Bonne chance, ma fille!  

Soooo, while we've been a tad lazy about getting this whole endeavor going, it has given us time to reflect and sort the wrong initial impressions from the possibly wrong "findings".  First, let's work on some common misunderstandings about the French.

The French are rude and hate Americans.   

Some French people are rude.  Some American people are rude. Some Brazilian people are rude, some Malaysian people are rude, etc etc.  You get the idea. On the whole, our experience with the French has been largely positive.  If you make an effort, they will usually be patient with you and try to help. Usually.  If you respond to their non-comprehension of English by tipping back your cowboy hat, tightening the laces on your white sneakers, pulling up your shorts and speaking English louder and slower, well....you deserve what comes to you, mon ami.  quick footnote:  Old women here can be mean. One of them kicked Allie out of a seat simply because it was forward facing, despite the fact there were plenty of designated crotchety-old-bitch seats.  Another reason Dana comes home wishing she knew more French, just to tell that old bitty off.

As far as hating Americans, Troy doesn't see much of that. He works in an international office with a significant American presence. Therefore, most negative stereotypes that other nations hold about U.S. citizens have already been dispelled.  That said, there is some evident antipathy in the French press not only about the U.S. government, which is widely abhorred, but also by proxy to American people, who by the principles of a democratic republic must have been stupid enough to elect it.  Oh well. C'est la vie.

French people wear silly berets and smoke constantly.

Troy has seen one beret since arriving, and it's not certain whether that was a tourist being ironic or an actual Frenchman. But yes, there is a lot of tobacco being burned here. There are special shops, called tabacs, that specialize in cigarettes, cigars, and pipe products. Oh, and also lottery tickets, mobile phone cards and sometimes coffee, draft beer and light snacks.  Go figure.  You can't walk 100m without encountering a tabac. 

French people say "Ooh la la!!"

Yeah, they totally do.  And then there is the superlative "Ooh la LA la LA LA LA!"

French women have hairy armpits.

No, not really. At least not in Paris.  In fact, for the most part Parisian women take a great deal of care in their appearance.  You won't see a Parisian woman cruising the supermarket in her sweatpants and her hair pulled up in a scrunchy, even when the store opens in the morning.  Looking good is a huge concern here. (Again, for the most part...)

French people eat lots of cheese and stroll around with baguettes under their arms.

Holy crap, I've never seen so many different kinds of cheese. Some is great, some is OK. Some smells like a bad diaper (a soiled nappy for our UK readers). There is a heap of cheese

here. And yes, it is very common to see folks coming back from the boulangerie with a baguette

under their arm. But guess what? Baguettes don't fit comfortably in bags, and after your first

couple efforts to carry one in your hand in a non-French manner, you realize it's just plain

easier to tuck it under your arm and go.

So this the start of the Monkeys in Paris blog. Next, we may (or may not) go through some 

quick retrospectives from our time here so far.  It's best to commit thoughts while they're fresh,

oui?

It is now 25 July 2008, and our belongings arrive on the 31st. Then, we may actually feel like 

we live here.