Monday 10/2-Wednesday 10/4: On Friday afternoon I had gone to the Commissariat de Police for my carte de séjour, but they were closed. So I went back on Monday and waited in line to get into the Police station. Then I waited in line to see the person to whom I had to show my documents. When I got up to her, I announced that I was an American student, and she said, in a nutshell, “You don’t belong here. Go to the Cité Internationale Universitaire.” Well, even though I was interested in seeing Emily’s old stomping grounds, I was a little bit annoyed that I had to wait in line so long to be told I was in the wrong place.

So I walked through the Parc Montsouris and out the other end and down to the Cité Internationale Universitaire. It was much nicer than the campus of the university where I studied in Angers. I found my way to the building that housed the “Accueil” for the carte de séjour, and I went downstairs and stood in line some more. When I got to the front of the line, the woman behind the desk was fine with five of my six documents: passport, birth certificate, visa, the lease for my apartment, and a letter from the School of Communication that said I have a fellowship for the year. She was not willing to accept my letter from the School of Communication as both “inscription” and “resources,” and told me I needed a letter in French to prove “inscription.” So I left, figuring I would email Sam to ask for such a thing. (Which I did, and he gave it to me on Wednesday…on letterhead and with a big gold seal.)

The big accomplishment of Tuesday was getting the internet to work. Our landlord had gotten us a “Livebox” that gives us a wireless network in the apartment. But it was supposed to be up and running seven days after the order was placed, and it had been ten days, so Laura and I were stymied. Laura was nervous about negotiating a phone call to tech support in French. So I called. And I got this nice guy and I explained, “Notre Livebox ne marche pas. Les lumières clignotent.” (Our Livebox isn’t working. The lights are blinking.) So he asked me if it was plugged in, and I said yes. Then he asked me if we had put DSL filters on all the phone lines, and I said yes, except the one downstairs, but we had unplugged the phone. And he said that was fine. So then he asks about the wire connecting the Livebox to the phone jack, and if it is plugged in correctly in the white slot. And I said that, no, it was in the yellow slot, next to the pink slot, and I didn’t see the white slot. And as he said, “the white slot is on the bottom,” I found the white slot and vocalized my epiphany. He laughed at me, and I got off the phone. So we were #3 on his list of basic errors stupid people make when they don’t follow directions.

On Wednesday we had our second seminar meeting. Laura and I got on the Metro and when we were switching from the 4 to the 6, I noticed a sign that said there were delays on the 6. So Laura suggested walking from Denfert-Rochereau to Place d’Italie. Which sounded like a good idea, until we started walking and three trains went by. We walked for a very long time, and figured out we were going to be late. Laura said it felt like we were on The Amazing Race. Apparently she knows someone who was actually on The Amazing Race, but I didn’t recognize the name. It must have been a season I didn’t watch. If the challenges involved running to find an apartment near a large university and trying to catch your breath in order to say intelligent things about Derrida...well, that would probably make me less likely to watch it. Anyway, we finally got to Place d’Italie, and we got on the other Metro line and made it to Sam’s apartment at 10:05. Our guest speaker for the day was late, so it turned out we were sort of on time. Gail, who also lives in our neighborhood, told us that taking the Metro was dumb and we should walk with her. It’s a half-hour walk, but it takes 45 minutes on the Metro. So we walked home with Gail and planned to meet the next Wednesday morning to walk over together (which we did today, 10/11).

Wednesday evening I wandered around the city. I had been feeling very frustrated about getting lost every two seconds. And I had made a philosophical decision to stop being frustrated about being lost, and to enjoy being lost in a new city. Kind of like the Bonnie Tyler song, “Lost in France,” except she is in the country and there are birds singing in a field. So not really like that song at all, but of course I can sing that song to myself when I'm lost in France and maybe that will make me feel better. Naturally, I got lost again. And frustrated. And I totally forgot to sing "Lost in France." But then I started to discover things. I found a sign directing me toward the Opéra and I started walking in that direction. On the way I found the Opéra-Comique, on rue Marivaux, with a “Theatrical Bookstore” across the street. I walked into the Musée-Théâtre Grévin, which seemed interesting. And then I walked past one building and on my right was the Opéra Garnier, practically out of nowhere. It was very cool. And I had concrete proof that my philosophy of being lost worked, because who knows what exciting building I might find around the next corner?

So then I headed for home. I was walking along the street (I think it was rue Montmartre) and this guy walked out of a pizza place and started staring at me. He was wearing an apron, and had stepped outside for a cigarette. And he just kept staring at me, like I should say hello. So I said, “Bon soir.” And he said, “Ciao bello!....Americano?” And I was like, “Si. Oui. Yes.” Then he started getting all handsy and asking me where I was from and what I was doing in Paris. He spoke English with an American accent, but I think he was Italian. Anyway, I’m not sure when I became culturally intelligible to him as an American. Was it the second he saw me? Was it the way I was walking? Was it the fact that I greeted him once he had stared at me for a while? Was it my accent when I said “Bon soir”? Was it all of these things? Maybe I will have to go back and ask.

I was a little tired by then, and the next Metro I found was Etienne-Marcel. To my delight, I discovered that it was on line 4. My Metro line. Perfect.