Three Days, Two Hospitals, One Nut

I have now had the distinct pleasure of visiting some of France's finest hospitals, an opportunity that not many Americans get (at least I hope!). My first visit was rather routine. In order to obtain my carte de sejour (the card that allows me to live in the country) I need to pass a medical exam. Unfortunately, I have to wait for them to set one up for me. Needless to say I wasn't scheduled for an appointment until December 22nd. I got up nice and early in the morning and took the bus out to the hospital. I was there for a grand total of 40 minutes during which time they took an x-ray of my lungs. The sole purpose of my trip was to check for tuberculosis. Keeping in mind that I have now been here for three months, working with nearly 500 students…If I had tuberculosis, I would've infected probably half of the town by now. Gotta love bureaucracy.
My second hospital adventure came two days later and was not a pre-planned activity. After touring the palace of Versailles, my family and I stopped for lunch at a sandwich shop. I was one, maybe two, bites into my sandwich (a basic cheese, lettuce and tomato) when things started to go wrong. My throat felt scratchy and my tongue seemed to be the size of a small country. It seemed I was having an allergic reaction to something…but what? The sandwich was pretty normal and I had no known allergies at this point. We narrowed the culprit down to this harmless-looking pinion nut that had fallen off of my dad's sandwich and that I had innocently eaten. As the symptoms progressed I asked directions for the nearest hospital. It was a direct shot by bus and we hurried to catch the next one. My dad said something to the driver and he did his best to get us there quickly, passing the horse-drawn carriages that gave city tours.
By the time we arrived at the hospital I was having difficulty breathing and was immediately ushered into the emergency room. I was given a shot of something and then hooked up to an IV and an oxygen mask. Eventually my breathing began to return to normal, the swelling decreased and the rash began to disappear. I wasn't ready to be released yet, but was no longer in need of the private room so I was moved into the hallway/ER where I joined in the game of bumper gurneys that was already in progress. Were at least ten of us out there and maneuvering around was quite the trick. After nearly three hours at the hospital, I was deemed ready to go home and, with my two-week prescription in hand, I stepped out the door. I can now say that I have taken a more complete tour of Versailles than most tourists; plus I've discovered a new and exciting allergy. Now I just have to watch out in case my sister gets any ideas…

Proper Dining Etiquette

I received a letter from the electric company today informing me that they would be sending someone soon to remove my left arm in payment for my bill. I was just glad that they are taking the left and not the right, as I am totally inept with my left hand and therefore totally dependent on my right. I have, however, been working on that. Each time I dine at someone's house provides me with a new challenge. As it is "improper" to switch hands from cutting the food to eating it, and placing a knife in my left hand has the potential to be lethal to anyone within a ten-mile radius, I have been forced to eat using my left hand. This is easier to do with some foods than others, though on a whole I think I would be better off using my toes. This complicated manner of eating has resulted in a few semi-embarrassing moments that would have been made even more so had they been noticed by others. Due to their proximity to the mouth, the nose and chin are popular destinations for forkfuls of food. :o)
Another challenge provided by dining chez someone else is the matter of what to do with your hands when they are not transporting food. The lap would be a convenient, comfortable resting-place but that, too, is "improper" in France. Hands are to stay above the table which, depending on your height in relation to the table, can be rather awkward. Elbows are not allowed to rest on the table. Having spent the summer working at a camp where you had to run around the table if you were caught with your elbows on it, this last point is not difficult for me to follow.
The final dining ritual it is important to follow is the practice of bringing something for the host. It is impolite to show up with empty hands. Wine and flowers are common gifts. Not knowing my way around the extensive wine aisle, I have gotten into the habit of bringing a bouquet of flowers. I have become such a familiar face at the local flower shop that they have given me a frequent shopper card. I get 10% off my next purchase. :o)

Why I was at the bakery when the doors opened on my day off

The story begins yesterday. I had spent the day with the other assistants. We got together for coffee and then went for dinner at the Pat à Pain (a fast-food pizza/bakery shop). I made it home just in time for the 8:55 movie on TF1. After watching Léon, starring Jean Reno and Natalie Portman, I decided to call home and see how things were going. My calling card was in my purse…which, I realized, I had left at the Pat à Pain. It was by this time 10:45 at night and I knew that the chances of the restaurant still being open were slim to none, considering that most places aren't even open on Sundays. Nonetheless, I had to try. I don't have a phone book, so I couldn't call. I threw on my shoes and took off. I was practically running down the deserted streets of Bourges when I noticed a woman coming towards me carrying a bag from Pat à Pain. This gave me hope; maybe they were still open. I debated stopping her and asking and at the last minute decided to. I'm lucky I did! She informed me that she works there and that it was closed for the night. Fingers crossed, I asked if someone had turned in a black purse. She said that she had come across it while cleaning up. They had tried to find a number to call me at, but couldn't locate one, so they locked the purse up for the night. I was relieved to hear that it had been found and appeared to have everything still in it. At 7:00 this morning I was standing outside of the Pat à Pain when the doors opened. After confirming the name, they handed my purse over and I double-checked it. Everything was still there. I've definitely learned my lesson! Looking back, I'm lucky I ran into the woman on the way to the restaurant so I didn't spend a sleepless night worrying. I definitely had a guardian angel looking over me!

Today I Learned about a Worker's Strike

I didn't have any classes today and thought I'd take advantage of the opportunity to head to Lyon to check out the Christmas market there. It was the largest market I found that I could reach for a one-day trip. The day started out uneventfully. I woke up nice and early so I could catch the first train out, in the hopes that I would have enough time to visit the market and explore the city a little bit. About ten minutes into the trip an announcement came over the PA. There was currently a worker's strike and our train would be stopping at St. Germain des Fossés, a tiny village about halfway between Bourges and Lyon. They would try to find a bus or another train to get us the rest of the way. Eventually a ticket taker came around an informed us that there would be a train leaving St. Germain for Lyon about two hours after we were scheduled to arrive there. Some of the passengers were, understandably, upset. Unfortunately they took it out on the poor woman who was just doing her job. So much for "don't shoot the messenger." We arrived in St. Germain and everyone holed up in the little coffee shop attached to the train station to keep warm and to share their tales of woe. Some people missed work, others missed train connections that would take them on to other cities. One girl was even missing an exam. I wasn't too bad off. I would be down to about four hours in Lyon, but that would still give me enough time to hit the Christmas market, which was the goal of my journey. I had planned on going back another time to see Sr. Donna, a relative on my mother's side. The train arrived on time and we continued on our journey, which would have been quite picturesque were it not for the fog hanging over the region. Every now and then you could catch a glimpse of the villages built into the hillside.
I made it to Lyon and, with the help of the tramway, to the Christmas market. It was larger than the one we had in Bourges last weekend and there were many stands selling interesting trinkets and food wares. I sampled a bretzel from the Alsace region (near the German border) that tasted amazingly like our own pretzel. :o) There were magic shows and puppet shows for the children, as well as Jolly Old Saint Nick. I would have gone to visit him to ask for a white Christmas, but the line was too long. It was cold, gray and sometimes drizzly out so I opted for the shopping center instead of the town visit (none of the pictures would have turned out very appealing). I hit the supermarket and located marshmallows (with peanut butter, another fine ware to which the French have yet to succumb) so I can now make Christmas wreath cookies for the Christmas party being held by one of the assistants this Saturday. The question now is: will I be able to find red hots?
I got to the train station a little early and waited around for a bit. With about 15 minutes until the train departure time I pulled out my ticket and turned to leave. A flashing on the sign caught my eye and I turned to look. Next to my train information were the words "retard indeterminé." My train was going to be late, how late was anyone's guess. After about 30 minutes or so, I got my answer. The sign now read: "retard 40 mns." But was this 40 minutes from the originally scheduled departure time or 40 minutes from this point? Luckily it was 40 minutes from the original time and I had only 10 more minutes to wait. I passed most of the 3 1/2 hour trip back in darkness since the lights kept going out. It did make the now-lit little villages on the hillside look even more impressive. And so my journey ended, 14 hours after it began.

My Apartment

My Apartment
Originally uploaded by at32819.

Did I mention that I had a place on the water...literally. The building was a mill in the olden days and the river runs directly under it.