Getting Settled In

Sound track of the day:
Tell me no secrets, tell me some lies
Give me no reasons, give me alibis
Tell me you love me and don't make me cry
Say anything but don't say goodbye

Current Temperature: another chance for a brighter day

Culture clash: Jen’s tub must have been made for titans. I practically have to hurdle over the edge to get in. Or am I really just that short?




My first full day on Tuesday started with a breakfast of coffee and morning news. Jen was already at the desk plugging away with school work when I woke up and probably engaging in a game of Lexulous.

Just after noon, we walked to a local café whose name I don’t remember. Jen doesn’t even remember, but she frequents this place for their large salads. I ordered a salad with duck. The French love their duck. And they love to share it. I’ve never had a salad so generously piled with meat: thinly sliced duck breast, smoked duck breast, and roasted dark meat on the bone, accompanied by some bib lettuce. Accompanied with sancerre it was a great culinary start to the day: simple and savory.

Our next stop was the Orange store, where I purchased my first European cell phone with 10 minutes for starters. I felt human again.

Next we shopped for groceries at Monoprix, the French version of a Super Kmart, except I didn’t see any auto or garden supplies. But the cheese, oh the cheese section was so enormous, so vast and divine I had to turn away my eyes. However, through the pasteurized glow I did not find one ounce of the best and most versatile cheese, cheddar. Not one wedge. Even in Italy, the land of parma, ricotta and asiago, there where small selections of cheddar. I decided I should probably search a specialty shop for that variety.

I tried not to go overboard in my grocery shopping as my eyes glazed over the new options and foreign packaging. After all, it wasn’t a quick walk back to the apartment, however gorgeous the trek. There were various selections of sardines from which I chose the store brand packaged in olive oil. As is customary for a LynnWinShopping experience I had a comprehensive list of items that should have gotten me through the next couple of days: yogurt, milk, eggs, arugula, pasta, sardines, Brussels sprouts, compte cheese, bread (oh the bread!), and wine. Check, check and check. They had all of these things. I suppose I would have to shop elsewhere if want to make Jen some Mexican tacos. All the tortillas were made from flour. Blasphemy!

When we finished our list, it was time to check out. This is the part I dread each day. Conversation. I have so little skill in French that every ounce of confidence and self possession I express in my everyday life has been stripped from me and I’m left a puddle of question marks and shoulder shrugs. For the time being I had Jen, but I knew that wasn’t going to last long. And so I paid attention, asked Jen lots of questions and hoped to retain as much as possible.

Another cultural observation: In France they charge you for grocery bags. Their very progressive approach is an attempt to reduce paper waste and I’m all for it. And I’m glad my home state of California has started to do the same in some places.

I tried to buy contact solution at the Pharmacie but they don’t seem to service people with gas permeable lenses. Luckily Jen’s friend is in the US and she has asked him to bring some back for me when he returns in three weeks. My current supply should last that long. Fingers crossed.


When we returned home I used the rest of the day to settle in. I unpacked my clothes into the cubbies and closet space Jen generously provided for me and placed my toiletries in her bathroom trying to take up as little space as possible and keep my belongings in a neat corner. Even still, you can definitely tell that two females live here with all the products lining the shelves and counters.

I tried cleaning my soiled but beautiful MZ Wallace bag according to the instructions the woman at the store in the West Village gave me but managed simply to spread the dirt thus rendering my bag a brownish orange rather than the original vibrant hue in which it came. I became crestfallen, because I love that bag. It really did give me such joy. But I chose to shake off the sad feeling and decided it was simply an excuse to buy a new one. I have tasked Jen with finding me the next perfect bag. I have the fullest faith that she will succeed.

When it was well past time to eat I met my part of the living arrangement by cooking dinner. The first home-made dinner in France was a first dish for me altogether. With Jen’s careful but not-overcrowded instruction, I made my first spaghetti carbonara. It was beautiful, if not slightly bland. Next time I’ll know to cook the bacon and onions a little bit longer, dash a lot more black pepper, and place the pasta in the sauce hot. Otherwise it wasn’t half bad for a first try. But live and learn.