Day One

To understand the evolution of stress levels in a French university, imagine a ski slope. Envision yourself starting at the bottom and working your way up. At the beginning of the semester, the route is long, flat, and easy. Halfway along, things start to get a little more difficult. The workload starts to accumulate. The end of the semester-- which we're precipitating toward now-- is straight up-hill. 

Admittedly, I enjoy working. (Really.) Still, it's impossible not to look back on those initial, empty days with a pang of nostalgia. 

I found this post, which I wrote upon arrival in France, while searching for a homework file on my computer. It was fun to go back to those days in early August before I got here, the excitement of an unknown city and the fantasy that I would have nothing but time. Nothing. Like, not even hot water.

Well, I made it. No bad luck on my thirteenth transatlantic flight. Dragged my bodyweight in luggage through the train station with great comedy and pain, but no accidents. The rental agent showed up on time at the train station and took me to my new apartment.

Which I am loving.

The photos I had received by email called to mind some modern rendition of La Bohème: attic room, skylight flanked by unfinished wood, pockmarked stone walls, big wooden beams lending some old-timey architectural interest. The theme was solidified by the agent’s caveat that-- by the way-- I may or may not have electricity when I get there. And since it’s August, it could take up to a week to see an electrician. So bring some candles.

(Note to self: start writing tragic opera!)

Not willing to sacrifice the fabulous location of this apartment, I packed a small flashlight and some warm clothes. In a way, it was comforting to know what the problem would be before I got there. Because there would most certainly be some problem. This is France, after all. Last year, it was a broken heater immediately followed by broken light fixtures. This year, no electricity.  Totally manageable.

But (almost to my dismay) I did in fact have fully functional electrical outlets when I arrived. And hot water. And the rental agent just gave me a well-labeled map of Clermont. And he’s going to help me set up Wifi.

What? Where is all the red tape? How can this possibly take less than six weeks?

Where am I?!

I realize it’s only my first day, but this all seems to be going a little too smoothly . . . Have I found a way around the bureaucratic nightmare that clings to France like a stubborn tick? Only time will tell, my friends. Only time will tell.