La prefecture ou l'ambassade

The one thing that lasted past the end of the semester was the process of my spring 2015 student visa.

I'd been accepted to the GW Paris Sciences Po program, and since I jump at an opportunity to return to France every time it's offered to me, I accepted my offer of admission and then awkwardly explained to George Washington University's study abroad office that I couldn't go to the pre-departure orientation meetings because I was not in the country.  I also asked immediately for any and all paperwork that I needed, because I hadn't planned earlier for my spring semester and my fall visa expired on the first of January, 2015.

GW sent me my acceptance letter and told me to start the process for the visa extension as soon as possible.  So obviously, I put it off for about a month and a half.

I finally asked IES and was told to head over to the prefecture, and after a little searching, I found the prefecture and walked right in and said I was there to extend a student visa.  I was told that the visa office was closed and I would need to come back the next day, at either 8 in the morning or about 1pm, to wait for it to open again.

My next attempt at extending the visa came several days later when I walked back to the prefecture with the intention of getting a list of required materials.  Just a list, I told myself.  I just need that list of papers that I need.  I'd looked online for lists, and all of them involved OFII applications and copies of my birth certificate and official translations of said birth certificate.  I emailed my parents with the lists and asked them to send scans while I tried to organize the real list.

I arrived in the prefecture and was told to come back the next day because the office was closed.  I insisted that I just wanted a list of materials.  Just a list, nothing more.  The woman at the desk repeated that I would need to come back the next day.

When I arrived the next day, I had a plan in mind.  I walked into the prefecture, took a number, and waited.  After just a few minutes, my number was called and I explained that I wanted.

The woman very gently informed me that I was in the office for car registration.

As I left, I asked again what time the office opened.  The woman at the desk told me with a smirk that it was already open, but then when I clarified that I wanted to know what time it opened the next day, I was told 8am or 1:30pm.

"What time does the line start for the one thirty opening?"  I asked.

"About noon."

The next day, I got to the prefecture at 11:20am and navigated a police barricade before settling myself at the head of the line for the visa offices.  I sat there, with a freshly downloaded album from Noisetrade on repeat, and waited until the office door was opened at 1pm.  With the rest of the line, I rushed into the second waiting room before being allowed to draw a number at 1:30pm.

At 2pm, I finally reached the desk, operated by the nicest embassy/prefecture/DMV worker I've ever encountered.  He'd been around for the past hour, organizing the line and yelling at people who weren't letting a woman with her tiny baby through the line.

I explained to him that I needed to extend a student visa, and after examining my passport, he told me that it was impossible to extend the sort of visa that I'd been given.  He took a fresh piece of paper and started writing down lists and addresses--he told me that I had to apply in writing to an address in Rennes--probably the consulate--because my visa required that I return home before it expired.  I assured him that I was indeed going home, and with a relieved sigh, he tore his list in two and told me to just apply for a new visa in the embassy in the states.

"It's so much simpler," he told me three times, and I ran out of the prefecture and made it to my 2:30pm theatre class in time.

I had already done this deal before--going from being abroad with a ticket home to being abroad with a rearranged ticket to DC so I could get that visa appointment.  I booked my appointment and my parents and I started sending things and submitting money orders.  CampusFrance took time and I started to get nervous when they didn't send me confirmation emails, but otherwise it was straightforward--I'd already done it all before.

My flight was changed from Nantes-->Paris-->London-->Seattle to Nantes-->Paris-->Detroit-->DC and my mom sent all the necessary papers to the hotel.

On the 22nd, I found myself standing outside the French embassy at 8:30am, waiting for the embassy to open so I could get to my 8:45am appointment.  I was let in just a little late and then grabbed the first number, popped up to the window when I was called, and then handed my papers to the man at the window just as fast as he asked for them.  I remembered my first visa appointment, where processing took time and I had to wait for maybe two hours in between being called to the window, being given another number, and waiting again.

I was given a form to sign, one that said that I acknowledged my passport could take up to three months to be processed, especially for the long stay visa.

The man took all of my papers, handed back a few of them, and stapled my picture to the application form.

"All right, you're good to go," he said.

"That's all?"

"That's all."

He pressed a button and someone else was called to the window.  It was 9:15am.

I broke the embassy's door handle on the way out.

The day after Christmas, my passport arrived in the express envelope I'd provided at the embassy.  It had taken a mere two days.  (I assume no one was working on Christmas).

So I guess the whole message of this very long process (and very rambling blog post) is that you 1. shouldn't delay getting your visa, ever, and 2. shouldn't worry too much if you have all of your paperwork.

Le Meilleur du Meilleur

Best lemon-meringue tart:  Perfectly baked, sweet and sour, with glossy puffs of meringue perched on smooth lemon curd.  Found at Au Croissant d'Or bakery near the Copernic bus station.

Best "I hate myself" deal:  Four chocolate croissants for 2.40 euro.  La Grande Cafe, conveniently placed right as you leave the tram at the Commerce stop.

Best cafe: Tabl'o Gourmand forever and ever amen.  Go for the granola and the scrambled eggs for brunch, then the roasted duck with applesauce and goat cheese bagel for lunch, and then all of the baguette and crunchy nutella and spiced hot chocolate for a snack.

Best creperie: My host mom made the best savory crepes, hands down.  They were stuffed with sausage and goat cheese and egg and I loved them.  Second best, Grand-Mère Augustine in Bouffay with the creme-fraiche and smoked salmon special.

Rudest person I encountered: a man who told me how upset he was that I was a foreigner taking advantage of the French university system.  I would have been more insulted, but he was speaking French through the thickest British accent I've ever heard while he was telling me this.

Best class at university: I would say the Law of the European Union, but its only fault was being at 8:30am and lasting for three hours, so I choose the Latin American history course, which was the first time I took a class on that region, and I had the good fortune to have an incredibly articulate, funny professor who demanded order and respect in his classroom.

Best bookstore: Librairie Franklin, two stores over from the bakery with the perfect lemon tart, was the cutest--a tiny, crowded vintage bookstore with books stacked in piles in the middle of the room because the shelves were stuffed.  For actual navigation and selection of newer titles, Librairie Coiffard and its two stores across the street from each other takes the prize.

Best castle:  The castle at Blois, because its tiled floors were so insane and made me extremely dizzy.

Best dinner out: Curry chicken pizza at a pizzeria across from the castle.

Best dinner in: Dany made quiche and galettes and scrambled eggs and sauteed mushrooms and everything was always fantastic, but the galettes were the best. 

Best baguette: There was this one time that Jean-Luc brought a baguette from Trégastel, which is 3 hours to the north.  It was very good.  Also another time I followed a Carrefour employee who was carrying a crate of fresh baguettes into the store and I snagged one while it was still warm.

Best people-watching spot: The tram stop at the University/the steps outside the lecture hall at university.  Everyone's just standing around smoking so it's easy to make up fake backstories or take style tips.

Best wine:  Chinon Red 2013.  Bake it into fudge cakes.  Drink it.  Make your friends drink it.  Choose it over every other wine in a wine bar in Paris even though you know it already.  Save the labels from every bottle you buy.

Best baked creation: Those fantastic golden-brown puffed up choux pastries that I was making like crazy before I discovered the magic of pre-made puff pastry sheets.

Best tourist attraction: Natural History Museum.  Go in the middle of the day on a Friday for maximum "I'm alone in a museum full of dead things" factor.

Best Breakfast: Tabl'o Gourmand if we're talking in Nantes, but if we can extend to everywhere I went this semester, then the Swan at Shakespeare's Globe, because that's where I had my first full English, and I want another one.

Best Train: Most definitely the Orient Express, because it's the Orient Express with champagne and glossy compartments and welcoming, uniformed staff.  Second place is the TER commuter train, because I had a ton more legroom than on the TGV.

Bonus Round--Firsts:

• First train that I can actually remember (vague memories of trains in Virginia and stories of learning to walk on a train in New Zealand do not count)
• First hostel experience--but to be fair, we got a room for two people so we didn't really have the authentic experience.
• First time in the United Kingdom

Visite chez le médecin à la français

Everyone is sick.

Everyone in the IES program is ill in some fashion or another.  This past Monday, our theatre production included a Tinkerbell who was spending time between scenes sleeping off her fever, a clown who'd just recovered from walking pneumonia, an antiques dealer with a cough, and an assortment of other coughs and headaches and ailments.

I was the mechanical doll with the ear infection.

I woke up on Sunday unable to hear out of my left ear, much like I was on an airplane.  I tried yawning and standing on my head, to no effect, and went through Sunday and Monday feeling off-balanced.  On Tuesday, I sent a Facebook message to Jennifer, my favorite daughter-of-an-ear-and-throat-doctor.  However, my host mom insisted I go the doctor, and after stopping by IES on Wednesday, I booked an appointment for that afternoon.

The doctor I went to see met me in an office--an office like a business office.  The walls were decorated with architectural drawings of opera houses and paintings of the Egyptian goddess Isis.  The doctor himself wore a suit; no white coat here.  He spoke English to me, which absolutely helped, because a healthcare situation is one of the situations in which you want to hear your native tongue.

After the quickest examination ever, he informed me that I did indeed have a small ear infection and he then wrote me up a prescription and, after noticing my solemn expression, assured me that I was not going to die.

I walked a block to the pharmacy and presented the prescription to the woman behind the counter, and in five minutes I walked out with cough syrup, ibuprofen, and an antibiotic.  Of course, when I got home, I decided to do some internet sleuthing to see how the prices compared, because we make a big deal out of socialized medicine and healthcare and I just wanted to see how much I'd saved.  As it turns out, while a ten minute doctor's appointment for a small issue in the states costs $68, I got my twenty minute doctor's appointment for a small issue and all three of my medications for about $46.  I don't even live here permanently, but thanks France.  In the states I'm pretty sure I would have let it go unless I was legitimately going deaf.

Un week-end à Paris

I spent the weekend in Paris.

It was supposed to be a sort of quiet adventure and I was supposed to find the Sciences Po campus and talk a lot with Ashley, who would be meeting me there after a flight from Madrid.  It half-turned out that way.

The week before, I received the most casual Facebook message from Jennifer:

"Coming to visit you and Ash in Paris"

So we haphazardly planned to meet but didn't come to a real conclusion, but despite the vague nature of our plans, I made a dark chocolate fudge red wine cake and an apple tarte tatin and when Friday rolled around, I packed my backpack, wrapped the baked goods in foil, and got on a TGV to Paris.  I navigated the Paris metro in the very basic way--by riding lines to the end and transferring at large hubs.  The hostel that I'd booked for myself and Ashley was close to the Bastille stop, and I passed the opera house and an enormous pillar of a monument before I reached the side street of the hostel.  I'd booked a room for two so that we could sleep when wanted and also make as much noise laughing and watching TV or what have you as well as eliminate most of the creepy factor that scares me away from hostels.  I checked in and sat on the top bunk for about an hour before Ashley appeared.  I stuffed apple pie down her throat, hugged her, and then we headed back out to explore.

Our Friday evening consisted of a sort of lazy wandering up and down the street, scouting out stores and cafes to check out the next day and catching up on everything that had happened in our lives since she headed off to New Zealand and I went to Morocco.  It was a lot to talk about and we bought sandwiches and a bottle of cider and talked some more back at the hostel.

The next day, we rolled out of bed and went shopping.  After heading immediately to a sort of vintage pin-up shop at which we tried on all the dresses and chatted with the amiable storekeeper, we just sort of headed down the street and popped into every store that we took a liking to, all the while continuing to talk.  We bought more sandwiches for lunch and after dropping our purchases off at the hostel, we decided to get on the metro and see more of central Paris, or what we always thought Paris was--the Eiffel Tower, the Champs Elysees, the Louvre.

We rode the metro to the Champs Elysees stop, fully expecting to wander down the street to the Louvre perhaps, or l'Arc de Triomphe, but instead when we emerged from the station, we looked past the statue of Charles de Gaulle and were greeted by an expansive, sparking, and crowded Christmas market.

We immediately got ourselves cups of hot wine, and then set out to take in as much of the market as we possibly could.  There were jewelry stands, leather bound journals, all sorts of foods and candies and silly looking hoods from Canada and it was incredible.  We reached the Louvre, turned around, and then went though the other side of the market, munching on crepes and merveilleux and marveling at everything we laid our eyes on.

The next morning, we found breakfast in a cafe close to the hostel: pain au chocolat, orange juice, a hot drink--and then proceeded to browse the bookstores that happened to be open on a Sunday before returning to the hostel to meet Jennifer.

We ate and then went straight back to the Champs Elysees metro stop, where we returned to the Christmas market and then to the Louvre.

I have only been to Paris once before, and it was for one day, and it was a Tuesday, and so the Louvre was closed.  This time, however, it was definitely not closed, and the line was nearly non-existent, and so we went.

The Louvre is breathtaking, from the vaulted ceilings to the famous art pieces that you've studied in classes from middle school to university, to the sculptures that figure into the glossy coffee table books that you find at bookstores.  Michelangelo's slaves, Winged Victory, Venus de Milo...we must have seen 10% of the museum before becoming achy and hungry.  It will be a goal for me during the semester there to see the rest of the place.  We returned to the Christmas market for dinner (baked potatoes and crepes and mushroom-chicken pastry), wine (I convinced them to try Chinon red, from the Loire valley), and more talking.

The weekend was a much needed pick-me-up--I got to see some of my favorite people, I got to explore the city that will be my hope for five months, and I experienced the beautiful Paris Christmas market.  Also, I didn't touch a fork the whole weekend, sustaining myself on pastries and crepes and apple pie and chocolate cake and waffles and one cheeseburger.

Un week-end à Blois

This past weekend I went to Blois and I experienced another type of train in the process.

Blois is a small, old town to the east of Nantes, and you can take the TER train there, which is a ride of roughly two hours.  Like on the TGV, I sprung for first class because I like having a whole row to myself, and on the TER like on the TGV, you can get solo seats.  Quite frankly, the TER first class is nicer than the TGV first class--the solo seats are divided by little plastic walls, there are places to hang coats in  between each seat, and room for your bag right behind the seat so you don't have to leave it in the communal baggage area where it might get squished.  Also, I was carrying eight pears in my bag and so I was more concerned about bags getting squished than the average passenger.  I wrote plenty on the train there, and had a great time looking out the windows, since I'd taken a train at 11:18am and not after sunset like my TGV experience.

When I arrived in Blois, it was 1pm and I'd already been warned by TripAdvisor that not only could I not check in to the hotel I'd booked before 5pm, but the hotel itself was pretty much locked until that time.  I decided to take as long as I could to actually find the hotel, maybe eat something, and also scout out my touristy options in the area for the next four days.  I walked around Blois, finding a large shopping center, two nice parks, dozens of signs pointing to the castle, and finally the hotel.  I found it at 2:30pm, pushed on the front door, and, finding it to be indeed locked, I headed up the road and found that I'd made a circle to the train station, so I sat myself in a cafe and stayed there for two and a half hours, making a lemon tart and a double espresso last as long as I could.  I finished reading a book there, too, Reves de Femmes: Une Enfance au Harem, that I'd picked up in Morocco.

At five, I got myself back to the hotel, checked in, and spent the rest of the night watching French TV and writing.

Saturday morning I woke up early and rushed off to the castle, to find that I was pretty much the first person there and that the art museum wing of the structure was closed for the week.  The Chateau at Blois puts a lot of emphasis on architecture of the era on the first floor and holds an immense amount of artifacts in the royal apartments.  The most interesting part of the chateau, and the part that is the most different from the rest of the castles that I've seen in France, is the dizzying tile patterns on the floors.  They are truly incredible and make you feel a little like you're in Wonderland.

After the castle, I walked down a long staircase to find that there was a street market going on!  I love markets maybe almost more than any other type of tourist activity.  I walked as slowly as possible, circling the market three times and finding the Blois natural history museum.

Thinking this was a good idea, I entered and tried to buy a ticket, only to be told that I would have to make the rounds in half an hour and that I should come back after I was full of food and happy.  So I went back to the market and acquired chicken couscous, chebekia, and little sugared brioche bites, which I ate at the hotel.

The natural history museum was very different from the Nantes one.  Firstly, it was tiny, its temporary exhibit featured enormous replicas of all the bugs found in the WWI trenches, and also it was poorly lit and had forest noises playing, which made it insanely creepy.

The Maison de Magie was closed, and so I found myself shopping instead, and I ended up with more books (someone help me).

That whole day I'd been checking my phone to see if I was spending a good amount of time at every destination, and when I was sitting in the room that evening, I realized that I just really, really wanted to be back at Nantes.  I wanted to be in my own room, with easy access to tea.

The next morning, I changed my ticket from Tuesday to Sunday night.  Unfortunately, I couldn't get a refund on the hotel room, but it was a dirt cheap hotel and I took really long showers to make up for it.  I walked around in the morning to find everything closed, then got to the station, got on the train, and went back to home base.

Dany was panicked when I came through the door, but after assuring her I wasn't sick, just lonely, she calmed down.  She'd in fact warned me about that, about being too lonely and bored in Blois, and she was happy to see me.

In a bonus for coming back early, it turned out that university classes were held today.  It's very odd because the university had vacation when IES didn't and IES has vacation when the university still has classes, which is confusing and a little frustrating, but at least I came back in time.

Un long week-end à Londres

So I spent the weekend in London with Jess after arriving in Victoria station on the British Pullman.  On the first night, we went with two of her friends to a real pub, so I checked that off the list.  I wanted some Irish coffee, but they were out of coffee, so I just stole sips of Jess's beer and shared pulled pork quesadillas with her.  After, we did some awkward grocery shopping: lemon cakes and yogurt and wine.

The next morning we caught the tube to Camden Market, where we ate pierogis, browsed a bookstore, and then got lattes and shopped more.  I acquired two items of clothing, both of which feature an owl pattern.  I also talked Jess into getting an enormous leather journal with a scary engraved pentagram on the cover.

We dropped our things off at her flat, put on tights, did our hair, and rushed off to tea at the Swan at Shakespeare's Globe.  On the way there, we found a man clicking away at a typewriter alongside the river, next to street performers.  The sign in front of his mint green typewriter read:

Literature While You Wait: short stories, poems, suicide notes.  Pay what you goddamn like.

I would not shut up about it as we reached the restaurant.

Tea was the usual tiny sandwiches, scones, and little sweets including a citrusy custard we couldn't identify (pineapple) and the darkest chocolate cake bite.  It was so rich it almost made me sick.  It took a while to get the check, but then once we did, we walked back along the river and I pestered Jess enough that we finally went back to the literature-while-you-wait guy.  After he explained it, I asked for a poem and we were told to wait for ten to fifteen minutes.  We walked around, passed several of London's floating chair people, and one accordion player playing right under a No Busking sign.  The typist eventually found us and told us that my poem was done, so I bought a poem for three pounds about missed connections in an art gallery.

We ordered Chinese food that night, popped the Orient Express champagne, and started our new novels.

The next morning, we woke up with every intention of doing tourist things in London!  Yes, we declared.  Today we will see Saint Paul's Cathedral and also maybe the British Museum.  Yes, good.  We debated for all of five minutes before we agreed that we did not in fact want to take a tour and instead we wanted food, so we made a quick reservation at the Swan, pulled our clothes on, and ran over for breakfast.  I had my first full English breakfast, Jess had eggs Benedict, and we both had mimosas, which masquerade under the name "Bucks Fizz" in the UK, apparently.  We returned to her flat after food, changed back into pajamas, and wrote.

That night, Leah showed up and we ordered Chinese food and wrote and discussed politics and it all felt very West Hall from last year.

I ended my weekend with another writing sprint the next morning and then I got on the last train of the weekend, which took me to Heathrow Airport.  The last exciting aspect of the trip was that I had the whole row to myself on the plane to Madrid and that I set foot in Spain, but it was only for two hours.

And next weekend is vacation too.

Un Voyage de luxe

This past weekend was my grand vacation.  It was incredible and exhausting and this post is going to have to detail the fact that I was on five different kinds of trains--four of them within 24 hours.

Now, I have little to no experience on trains.  Supposedly I learned to walk on a train in New Zealand, but I don't remember that.  I have very vague memories of being on a train to Virginia that was very late and had a few drunk businessmen on it.  In any case, this was the first time that I truly remember being on a train.

I left Nantes at 6pm from the Gare SNCF on a TGV (Train à grande vitesse/super fast train).  I'd sprung for first class on the train and booked a solo seat because if there are things I enjoy, it's wide, cushy chairs and being alone in a row on transportation so I don't have to bother other people to get up.

There were very few people on the train and it was very quiet, so I wrote a lot, read a little, and tried to look out the window, but it was dark already, so I ended up just looking awkwardly at my own reflection.  The train arrived at the Paris Montparnasse station and I had to take the metro to Gare de l'Est, which was actually very easy, except I think I broke the ticket selling kiosk.

The next morning, I had a ticket for the Orient Express.

It's not the same Orient Express that ran in the 20s since that train was sold at auction, but someone bought those cars and now the train runs anew.  There is a car on the train that was used as a brothel in WWII and everything is very old and very fancy.  I found that it existed after a short trip through Google and then realized that one of their Paris-London trips coincided with a long weekend when I had been planning on visiting Jess and Leah up in the UK.

I spent the night at a Holiday Inn right across the street from the station before getting up early and heading to the platform for check in at 8:30am, an hour before departure as was recommended.  The train was already waiting when I arrived--it was deep, glossy blue, with lettering in brass.  I was given my tickets and travel documents before a woman named Nastasia led me to the cafe to wait for my compartment to be ready.  She escorted me back to the train where I met the manager of the car, Pierre, who was dressed in a white double-breasted coat.  I'd written that the purpose of my journey was to celebrate my letter of admission to Sciences Po.  If you tell the Orient Express that you are celebrating something, I suppose they tell the entire staff, because everyone from a very distinguished tour guide to the stewards in their bright blue suits with their round blue hats congratulated me.

I had the 10:30am breakfast sitting, so I headed out of my private cabin early and ran across a tour and just sort of pretended that I belonged there, which allowed me to learn more about the history of the train.  Breakfast was actually brunch which was actually more like lunch.  I struggled with the scrambled eggs because I didn't know which fork to use, but it was delicious and topped with smoked salmon.

I love smoked salmon.

The second course was lobster with mashed potatoes and then the meal finished with caramelized apple cake and vanilla ice cream.  One super benefit of travelling by yourself is that every table got five chocolates, no matter how many people were sitting there, and so I got to eat all five of them.

We arrived in Calais at around 2:30pm, ready for our transfer to the coach buses that would take us through the tunnel.  I count the tunnel train, which could hold all of our coach buses, as the third train.  It was uneventful, but I was tucked away in a bus.

The fourth train was the British Pullman, a sister train of the Orient Express.  On this train, we had an afternoon tea: sandwiches, scones, and little cakes.

Some of the sandwiches were smoked salmon.

I arrived in Victoria Station in London, about an hour later than expected, and before my phone died I was furiously Facebook-messaging Jess, and fortunately she found me, put me on the tube, and we got to her place and even had the energy to leave again to go to a pub that night.

That was a lot of trains.  You can even count the Paris metro and the London tube as trains too, and then there were even more.