3 posts tagged “french culture”
Last year I met pastry chef David Lebovitz while on a macaron and chocolat tour of the Gérard Mulot headquarters. David was also on the tour, and had brought his camera while I foolishly didn't. Since he gave me photos for my Parisist review, I've checked out his blog from time to time, and wished we were friends so he could make me caramel au beurre salé. The guy used to to be the pastry chef at Chez Panisse, and that flavor is as close to heaven as I've ever experienced. I can only imagine the combination . . .
Anyway, he just posted something about a typical French situation, that is so ridiculous you'll never believe it's true if you've never lived here. I've told friends back home stories like this, invariably involving laughably bad customer service, but I suspect that you guys always think I'm exaggerating just a little.
I'm not.
Proof from an uninvolved third party is here.
I am hardly the first expat to write about the exact change phenomenon. I've mentioned it to a few French people, and they have no idea what I'm talking about. I think it's so ingrained in their culture that they just don't notice it. But today I experienced a prime example, and wanted to share.
I went to MonoPrix and picked up some necessities. The total came to 6 euros and 77 cents. I dug through my change purse and came up with 6 euros and 80 cents. I thought that was pretty good, and was half-expecting a nod of appreciation.
Instead, the cashier rolled her eyes and said, "you don't have 7 cents?"
Right now I'm leaning out my bathroom window to use internet, because the WiFi I pay over 40 euros a month for is down for unknown reasons. This means that my landline is down, too, and there's no end in sight. Charlotte called and bitched out the poor helpdesk guy, but meanwhile we're still paying for nothing.
I really want to write about Spain and Amsterdam, but it's hard to do on the windowsill.
In other news, Monsieur Mahmoud came to look at the chunks of ceiling in my bathtub and told me that the building is old (duh.) but he'll send someone around to fix it. Then he told me that he's having problems with his teeth so give him a bit of time. I'm leaving soon! I don't have time! And cleaning out my bathtub every day is not how I want to spend my remaining months.
Speaking of which, I really don't want to leave. It hit me that I have only 2.5 months left here, and I'm hoping more and more that I can come back next year. I'm so much more relaxed than I am in New York, and while I really miss my parents and dog and all that, I'm happy in Paris. Walking home from the laundromat just now, the woman who works at my favorite traiteur, Coesnon, waved AND smiled at me through the window. Anyone who is at all familiar with French culture will understand why that is a huge deal. I'm in. And once you're in, you're in for life.
I've been nesting this week, basically just taking care of house stuff and paperwork and watching lots of movies on my computer. The Island and V for Vendetta were both great. I've also written all the letters to cancel my French contracts (cell phone, internet, etc) that you need to write 3 months ahead of time and send through registered mail in order to "guarantee" that you're not paying for extra months. Of course every French person I've mentioned this to has told me "bonne chance" 'cause these companies are notorious for claiming that the envelope arrived empty, or other similar nonsense.
Okay, my fingers are freezing so it's time for me to head back into my apartment. Perhaps tonight will be Tristan and Isolde?
