Meeting the French ER Response Unit

Ok, bet I’m one of the few to whom this has happened ….

Let me start off with a lead-in story….

I completely respect if one is focused on work in the office as that is why we’re all here. And I understand that people don’t listen to what others are saying if their minds are racing and they’re thinking of the next work project ; but generally some switch in the brain will flip a bit later and then the people think, “did she really say that?”

A colleague walked into my office area Thursday morning and I opened the conversation with “I’ve discovered that all the good looking men in Paris are young firefighters and police officers ; I should know as there were about 6-10 in my apartment last night.” To which my colleague says : “What I need you to do is create a report showing…” Didn’t blink an eye, didn’t comment, nothing. Not even 5, 10, 30 minutes later. Seriously?

So you’re probably wondering – Why in the world were 6-10 French fire and policemen in my apartment. Good question. Here’s the story…

By the time I got home and got to bed Wednesday night it was about 22:00. I read for a bit and turned off my light about 22:30. About 23:00 I wake up to hear a banging sound, then it got louder. Pause. Louder again. I realized it was from my door. So I get up and stumble to the front door. Of course, I’m half asleep and foggy due to this cold I have so I neglect all the safety rules of looking through the peep hole, asking who it is, etc. and I just open the door.

Lo and behold there are about 6 young men (20s?) in the hallway. They all seem to be in dark clothes, one guy was in jeans and a leather jacket. I thought they were just being rude and knocking on all doors, being “hooligans.” They start asking me questions (in French of course) whether or not my balcony was attached to the flat next door, and if I knew who lived there, and other such things. I said, no it wasn’t connected. They asked if they could see. I again said no, it wasn’t connected. Then I noticed “Sapeurs Pompiers” on one man’s sleeve – firefighters. (Cultural note : in Paris I’ve been told that you call the firefighters first, and then they decide who to send / what type of emergency it is.) Then I see a woman, probably in her 60s, in the hallway. My brain wakes up and I realize it must be an emergency so I let 3 of the guys in and they go to the dining room (right adjacent to my front door) to check the balcony.

Then it gets interesting. The 3 of them come back to the hallway and get harnesses and helmets. They get geared up and somehow rappel over to the other balcony. I’m still having minor conversations with the other men (in French). And thankfully the woman spoke intermediate / good English.

She asked if I heard the alarm in the apartment (smoke detectors?) and I said no. She said she lives above this flat (semi-elderly couple lives there) and she and her husband heard the noises, then somehow the young man (the one in jeans and leather jacket) was in hallway or something and the two of them called the firefighters. She said the woman in the flat is sick and is/was in a wheelchair. I said I had never met her, but had met the man, and actually saw him Saturday morning.

It might’ve been around this time that the police came – enter 4 more people into the hallway / my apartment. Did I mention it’s about midnight and I’m still in my PJs, trying to follow everything in French?

Also arriving at this point is the Guardian of the building next door. (Cultural note : Guardians would be what an American calls a Concierge, but that word isn’t really appropriate here. The person lives in the building and does basic repair, maintenance, etc. and usually people give the Guardian a set of keys if they are expecting deliveries, need things done, etc.)

Two of the policemen then ask me questions – do I live there? Alone? For how long? When did I last see the people in the flat? Was it the sick woman? My identification? These two guys were hilarious, like a comedy routine, and good looking. It was becoming like Who’s On First regarding whether or not I had seen the woman. I said I had seen A woman in the doorway, but I didn’t know if it was the wife of the woman / the tenant because I hadn’t formally met her. I just don’t know how to say in French “I didn’t want to stare”. And, it seems that when the police are writing down all your contact information for whatever report, they also want to know what city you were born in. Try spelling Cincinnati in French and getting the guy to understand it and make it fit in his little notebook. I would spell it (in French), the other guy would repeat, and still the one writing it down was making mistakes! Really, it was comical.

Remember, I’m still in my PJs, conversing in French.

Eventually they get into the flat, using the keys the Guardian brought. Turns out, no one is home. So all that excitement and adrenaline rush for nothing, which I suppose is a good thing! All I kept thinking was that if someone had been hurt inside, the hour spent banging on the door, waiting for the Guardian, and all that would not have been beneficial.

Things I learned :
--Always keep a sweatshirt or robe or something by your bed in case you have to get up and answer the door in the middle of the night.
--Get smoke detectors, you’ll feel safer (note : I think my company is getting safety kits for those of us who moved over here – smoke detectors, fire extinguisher, fire ladder, etc.)
--This was actually a pleasant experience in that none of these people made snide remarks or glances about me being American, or living there alone. My French language skills seemed to suffice. None of them made comments about the size of my flat being so large for one person. (Cultural note : seems to be the norm here to ask a person how many square meters one’s flat is. And in my case, 99% of the time it is followed by some snide remark of it being so large, or wondering where my family is, etc.)

Still disconnected

Well, I still have no phone/internet/tv at home, so hence my lack of updating, emailing, etc. It's not that I really miss internet or tv at home considering I was without TV for 6 years, and without home internet for about 3.

Quick updates :
--I now have a cold. But, pretty good considering I made it 2 months here before getting one.
--I am now a master at hanging drapes/curtains and other such things. I could be the next Bob Villa. That is only if you want one curtain to be 2 cm higher than the other (not sure if it is the curtain itself or my measuring/drilling) ; and if you want me to break a drill bit because I'm stupid enough to try to drill into a stone wall.
--Still no tourism things doing here as I spend all my time at hardware stores, furniture stores (although I've yet to buy a couch - what's wrong with a living room only having an Ikea chair and a folding camping chair? They're both crazy comfortable), grocery shopping, etc.
--I've discovered French cuisine is really just chicken and french fries, but it's all about the sauces they use. That and the desserts.
--Work is good, but very busy due to all the projects, budget forecasts, and the usual.
--Yes, I saw the Northern Lights in Norway. I swear I will post pictures of Norway sometime soon ; first though, I'd actually like to look at them. Can you believe I haven't?
--Am nearly finished reading Confessions of an Economic Hitman (recommended by my friend Robin) and LOVE it. You MUST read it. Amazing story. And I'm nearly finished with Duma Key by Stephen King and love that too.
--Once you get behind in listening to podcasts you'll never catch up again. I have about 225 "new" ones in iTunes. They all seem interesting based upon their titles so I cannot bring myself to delete them. Oh well.

Ok, time to go home, but now I am too late to pick up my drycleaning (closes at 19:00 and it is now 18:15 and takes me 45 min max to get home). Oh well, Friday night at the drycleaners and grocery is the excititing life a single expat woman leads in Paris.

"Home" again

I'm in London now for work meetings today and tomorrow, and staying at my London flat (I have the lease until end of May). I was glad to be coming back for a few days, but also wished I were staying in Paris as I just want to finish settling-in at my place (i.e. buy and hang curtains so I don't have to change clothes in the one part of the hallway that is private).

Anyway, when I got to St. Pancras station last night and took the Tube to my place, and even this morning, I realised that this chapter of my life is past. There are actually things about Paris I like more, give me a few days to think on this before I post. However, it is quite nice to be in London and to not nearly gag on the Tube (Paris Metro smells horrible) and I do not have to worry about stepping in dog poop everywhere.

Smells

Paris might be called the "City of Lights" (which, in this economic time and environmentally-conscience time, wouldn't it be better to turn off the lights?), but it is also the city of smells.

Sure, there is the smell of fresh bread baking at every boulangerie each morning, the sweet smells from the patisseries, smelling wine at tastings, and soon the trees and flowers in bloom.

However, just to warn you, it is also smells of exhaust, urine, feces, cigarette smoke, and other such unpleasantness. Yes, I have seen several men urinating in the street (in the bushes, against the sides of buildings, on a car's tire...), and some of my colleagues have seen the same. There is dog sh!t everywhere. I couldn't tell you what a lot of the buildings look like because I'm always looking DOWN to watch where I walk. And I swear, some of these piles on the sidewalks cannot possibly come from the accessory-sized dogs that seem to plague this city.

I figure a few years are being taken off the end of my life just by living here and breathing all of this. And, I'll probably develop some ghastly combination of allergies and asthma. Vive la France.

Commuting

So now that I'm moved into my new apartment, I'm trying to figure out the fastest and most pleasant way to get to/from work. This week, I have been trying the RER instead of the Metro (the RER is more like the Commuter Rail in Boston, but it also goes through the city). It takes me 45 minutes from turning off the lights in my flat to turning on my computer ; the train is QUIET and not crowded and there are seats for everyone ; but, they don't announce the stops, so if you're engrossed in your book, music or podcasts, you best pay attention!

On the RER, I take the C line, which goes one direction northbound but about 6 southbound (see map here.) What I find fascinating is how the directions are marked. Logic would assume that they would be marked "Pontoise" or "Dourdan" or "Versailles", or at least PONT, DOUR, and VERS for abbreviations. Logic however has yet to come to Paris ; either that or they've thrown caution to the wind and are ignoring every French philosopher.

Pontoise (which I take to get to work) is marked by NORA. I think I can also take GATA, GOTA or GUTA (if I read the website / signboards correclty), but those three trains never seem to run.

To get home, I can take : ELBA, MONA, ROMI, CIME, DEBA, JILL, BALI, DUFY, ELAO, FOOT or JOEL. These names mean nothing - for instance, ROMI goes to Porte de Rungis, CIME goes to Versailles Ch., ELBA to St. Martin and DEBA to Dourdan.

I have a feeling one day I'll be like "Charlie on the MTA" and will end up somewhere I shouldn't, outside the Zone for which my ticket is purchased, and will just keep riding around until I get on the correct train.

Seriously though. How difficult would it be to come up with more appropriate code names?

Quick recap

Ok, Norway was good - saw the Northern Lights (luckily!) in Tromso, went dog sledding, ate reindeer meat, enjoyed the snow and walked around the town. In Oslo, I saw The Scream at the National Gallery, went to the Nobel Peace Museum, the Munch Museum, and absolutely loved Vigeland Sculpture Park.

Am moving out of temporary housing into my new flat this week so it's all a bit hectic. Apartment inspection yesterday, buying appliances today, movers Thursday, plumbing inspection Saturday as well as telephone installation. Then, it's all unpacking, putting together Ikea furniture and going shopping for things like curtains and curtain rods, trash cans, and lamps. Who knew Paris could be so exciting?