A Long Story Where Nothing Happens

This morning I checked out of my hostel in the 1st arrondissement (between the Louvre and the Pompidou), and, at around 9am headed up to the 9th arrondissement to compare a cheap apartment I found on auboncoin.fr (which is like French craigslist) with another hostel from the same company (Bureau des Voyages de la Jeunesse or BVJ - kinda like French YMCA).  I also went straight away to check out the Bikram yoga studio in Montmartre.  The studio is amazing and I can't wait to get in and get started.  Today will be my fifth day in a row and I'm feeling more determined than ever.

After popping my head into the studio (which is also beautiful and fully-equipped with mats and showers), I set out to hunt down the hostel.  It was a short five minute walk away, but when I arrived, the thick blue doors were closed and locked and there was no answer when I buzzed the front desk.  Hmmmm...  I dialed the number for this hostel and who picks up but the guy who just checked me out at the Louvre location!  Yep.  They told me this location doesn't open until tomorrow, and that I needed to go back and stay one more night at the Louvre location. So, this got me thinking that maybe the apartment was going to be the best course of action since these hostel people were not doing the most stand-out job.  Maybe if this apartment really sucks AND if the price is right...

By this time, I had been schlepping my bags all over the metro and Montmartre for a few hours and my shoulders were begging me for a break.  I found a cute little corner cafe that looked like an appropriate spot to people-watch and bang out some postcards, so I sat down at a tiny outdoor table.  After about ten minutes I realized no one had seen me sit down, so I popped my head in and asked if it was okay that I sit "there" indicating the location of my tucked away table.  They said no problem and sit down and we'll be right out to take your order.  So, five minutes later, server #1 popped out to take my order.  Cappuccino??  No problem.  I was forewarned that the milk takes at least five good minutes for her to properly froth.  I said that was absolutely fine as I was especially fond of a frothy foam.  Flash forward five minutes and out comes said server with a cigarette and a friend.  I just patiently wrote second-hand-smoked cappuccino-less postcards.  I thought for sure she's going to come right out after her cigarette break with this coffee...  Nop!  Four postcards later and almost an hour after I had originally sat down I thought, "Okay, there is no foam on earth luxurious enough to merit this wait", so I popped in to cancel my order.  My servers eyes doubled in size when I told her I was still waiting for my coffee.  She shot daggers at server #2 (who said, "Here it is!" and pulled my cappuccino out of the refrigerator???).  I told them not to worry about it and took off laughing a little to myself and in hopes of finding some speedier service...

So, there I was, installing me and my bag-lady-like assortment of gear at cafe #2.  I ordered and enjoyed a cappuccino.  Brilliant.  The bill came and forty-five minutes later I finally came to terms with the fact that no one was coming back to pick up my money and bring change (since I didn't have the exact amount).  Oh man.  Here we go again.  Ha (by now I was laughing a little less enthusiastically)!  I jumped up and loaded my shoulders with luggage and brought my tab with the money inside.  Server #2 accepted the bill with incorrect change and quickly brought it to server #1, who was casually flipping through the morning paper, and didn't even turn around, but instead burped out a "Merci!" as if to accept my incorrect change as a tip for ignoring me for an hour.  I literally stood and stared in disbelief, mouth agape, in the direction of the back of my server's head.  I honestly did not know what to do next.  Finally, the barmaid broke the silence - "Are you all settled?" she asked.  I replied, "I'm settled, but I haven't received my change yet."  Server #2 brought over my change and I rallied my caffeine-calibrated body parts to find this apartment...

Once I had properly explored this neighborhood and deemed it as safe and cheap and a great way to get out of the most touristy parts of Paris, I arrived at the apartment building as-advertised.  The ground floor was spiffy with an enclosed courtyard and glass doors and beautiful spiral staircases, but - not unlike many apartment buildings in Paris - as I climbed up six stories the stairs, the walls, the ceilings, the welcome mats appeared less and less storybook...  By the time I got to the sixth floor; there was a solid stench, the wall paper was discolored and peeling, and the ceiling was dripping with a questionably dank substance.  First, the landlady showed me the working toilet on the floor, equipped with one tiny wrought-iron-barred window.  From there she steered me down a narrow hallway, a walk that had me wondering which dingy apartment door was hoarding the toilet seat...  Haha!  Finally upon unlocking the door to possibly my own place in Paris for the next five nights, I discovered that the "apartment" was the size of my mom's walk-in closet.  Oh my gosh - so small!  Free wifi, yes, working kitchen, yes, heater, yes, clean sheets and towels, yes...  I wondered what was exactly the price of privacy (as that was exactly the opportunity cost here).  I left, thanking the landlady for her time and apologetically admitting that I was not prepared to pay 235 euro for four nights in hell (she pounced a last-minute 100 euro deposit on me - huh?).  I jumped on the bus back to the Louvre hostel location and happily unloaded my things in my original room (assuring myself that - no matter what the price - clean and safe was an unbeatable combination)...

With little time to spare, I was off to yoga!  On my walk to the studio I spotted a - hold up, what?!?! - MEXICAN restaurant.  With burrito on the brain, my concentration in class suffered, so much so, in fact, that while the rest of the class conquered the spinal and seated series' I was already settling into cheese enchiladas.  I ate and tried to grasp how much like a sitcom my day had been.  Not much of anything happened and, at the end of it all, I ended up exactly where I started.

Still, in Paris - here, where the streets are paved with poodle poop - the fun never ends!

Me, Myself, and Bike!

Without my strict regimen of yoga, karate, agility, running, stairs, weights, rock climbing, and swimming, I must admit that I haven't really felt like myself lately (though this feeling might also stem from the fact that my digestive tract has been fermenting a fetus' weight in baguette and croissant dough for the last 3 days).  Oy!  This blog has really helped me to cope with my feelings of being culturally displaced and lonely, and when THAT doesn't work, the pastries always do (Haha!).  :)

In all seriousness though, my foot is feeling way better, so it's time to quit the sweets and ratchet up my training again!

On Saturday morning, I went to the Jour des Associations in Saint-Cyr-sur-Loire where, once a year, all the local clubs get together in one big room and do show and tell.  It was really cool to see all the different displays of what's going on here.  There was a table for rock climbing, karate, the pool and the library!

In the afternoon, a friend of the club took me out to coffee (At Lavazza, they offer cappuccinos with and without whipped cream - GENIUS!) and then he gave me his own personal bike!  I rode home and immediately signed up for the first group ride I could find - haha - YES!

On Sunday, I rode into town early to discover that downtown Tours had been taken over by the annual flea market.  Cool antiques and stolen stuff from all over Europe was displayed up and down the streets.  It was a real feast for the eyes!  Furniture, china, porcelain, chests, lamps, dolls, birdcages, records, photos, books, woodwork, paintings, cigar boxes, just everything...

At 3pm I met up with some local cyclists for a guided tour of all the streets in Tours named after famous doctors.  Cool, right?  Most of the riders were in their 60s (fit as fiddles and sharp as tacks) - a very tightly knit bunch.  They shit talked motorists almost as much as Billy and me!  I felt immediately in my element.  It was nice to get accustomed to how people ride here (very cautiously, but without helmets mind you).  I feel so happy to be back on a bike and riding everywhere all the time again!  I started feeling more like myself right away.

Today, I went to the Jardin Botanique.  It was really misty and empty.  Beautiful opportunity to reassess my goals for the season.  Tomorrow, I have a weight lifting date with another player on the team.  I'm very excited about this - in a super nerdy way!

That's all for now.  More later!

French Kissing

I don't know how deeply I've delved into the subject of kissing in France, but this is the stuff that this Culture (yes, culture with a capital C!) is made of...   So, here we go!

This morning I was sitting in a coffee shop/bar/newsstand/convenience store around the corner from my new digs looking like a total tourist in my shorts and tennies with socks, writing postcards, and drinking a cappuccino (which looked like a McDonald's ice cream cone and an espresso got in a brawl and the ice cream won) and - I'm not even joking - every single customer said hello upon entry to pretty much everyone but me.  The men shook hands with each other and everyone kissed the women (2x minimum - first the right cheek then the left cheek - though I witnessed a four kiss situation which, at this point, is my worst nightmare...).  Ha!  No matter what is going on, you drop everything and walk straight up to people with a gender specific greeting and this is a HUGE part of the culture here that I have yet to fully embrace (ahem ahem).

So, if you can imagine my practice last night - there I was being introduced to the core of the Saint-Cyr-sur-Loire Men's Regional team (seriously 7 French guys just totally blankly staring at me) and no one knew how to say hi.  Do we perform the usual ceremony (two kisses - no eye contact - no hesitation, just literally stick your neck out and go right on in for it)?  Do I just take the lead and spit on hundreds of years of their cultural tradition by swapping their kisses for a sweaty yankee handshake?  Running away screaming was taken into consideration...  Eyeyey!  I ended up asking if it was possible to institute a strict high five policy...  People agreed this was fine.  So, our salutation involves a high five plus an exploding fist bump (it's sporty and kinda like knuckles kissing with fireworks at the end).

Greeting aside, it was pretty obvious from the start that at least half of these guys were not excited about having a young, female, American coach...  Oh man, that's so many counts against me here it's a little ridiculous, but once we got started they were all cool and there's no doubt about it - this team is athletic with strong fundamentals.  My role is clearly just to work them out hard and give them game-like drills that challenge specific areas where they need improvement.  I thought practice went pretty well, but we'll see who shows up on Friday!  :)

Today I went to see a cool and competent podiatrist who made me custom insoles!  Now every time I take a step it feels like a baby is punching me in the arch.  Haha!  He said wearing the insoles should clear up my foot pain completely in ten days and to come see him again any time.  We talked for a long time about feet (doy!) and athleticism (one of my favorite topics!)...  His office was super high-tech.  He really helped me.

I feel great - which is good because I have practice tonight!  Yay!  Okay - that's all for now.  More later!

... But Who's Keeping Score?

I'll admit I've got a reputation for keeping the wrong score in my own favor at home.  Some people [ahem/ahem/Billy/achoo/Gesundheit] call it "cheating".  I simply call it keeping score.

Anyway, I've been keeping this score sheet in my head since I got here.  I hope this doesn't make me seem ungrateful, because I really have been enjoying every single minute here... Just - part of that is keeping score, that's all...

	Bay Area	Tours
bikram yoga	1	0
cappuccino*	1	0
coffee	1	1
wifi on train	1	0
diversity	1	0
farmer's markets	1	0
professional volleyball team	0	1
affordable organic food	0	1
dog shit everywhere**	0	1
easy public transportation***	0	1
bike routes	0	1
nail salons****	1	0
yoga studios	1	0
food	1	1
volleyball fans	0	1
affordable housing	0	1
total	9	9

*  France does NOT GET the cappuccino.  When I get a camera, I plan on devoting an entire series of blog posts to the hilarity that they call cappuccino here.  When asked about it, they will say - that is the french cappuccino.  It is sad.  Italy needs to start a "Save Good Coffee From Becoming A Bad French Cappuccino" campaign ASAP.

**  Dog shit.  Ahhhh, France!  La merde everywhere.  Nothing against dogs (obviously, le petit chien can't do anything about his/her bodily needs), but dog owners leave their dogs' shit just lying around everywhere: sidewalks, streets, pathways in parks, you name it!  It is part of DAILY life here stepping in dog doo doo.

*** Sorry, BART, it's not that you're not easy, it's just that you don't connect to any major transportation routes easily from MY house.  The train/bus stations here are in the center of town.  Everything revolves around them...  BART, I love you, but you've still got a long way to go (literally).

****  I wouldn't have even noticed this three years ago and I'm not saying this is a good thing, but there are 20 nail salons on Park Street alone.  There are ZERO here.  Like, none.  I haven't seen one.

So, it's a dead tie right now 9 to 9 (including the nails salons and poodle poop), but who's keeping score?  :)