Car Troubles

I decided to sell my chaming and fickle car a few weeks ago and posted an ad on Paris' Craig's List. That's where we found it in the first place, so I felt comfortable seeking a buyer online. The car immediately brought several inquiries, all of which were from people with relatively poor grammar and typing skills. I'm not one to judge typing errors and poor translations, but the lack of professionalism made me a little wary. I eventually settled on a buyer, a foreign man (not French, British, or American) looking to buy his girlfriend a car for her birthday.

I tried to cover all my bases to avoid scams, and I was pretty sure that the buyer was serious. When his assistant wrote me a check almost ten times the correct amount, I knew that somethig was up. After apologizing for the "inconveince," the buyer then asked me to transfer the money to a third party. I have no idea how he was planning on working this sale (or swindle), but the involvement of his annonomous client and the pressure to hurry the process "for his girlfriend" was too suspicious. I tore the check up yesterday and backed out of the deal, explaining with proper grammer and spelling that I won't deal with such complications. There is no harm done, but I can't help feeling irritated that I was halfway to a sour deal. God knows paperwork is complicated enough here, and the last thing I need is to get screwed out of money and into a beuracratic nightmate.

I have another interesting car misadventure that I neglected to include in my last post, but it's worth recounting now. When I was in visiting my roommate last weekend we went out to a bar with several other language assistants. The group consisted of six Americans, including myself, and three Spanish assistants from Columbia and Mexico. We were waiting on a narrow street to enter a bar just across from a Kebab resturaunt. The restauraunt had just opened, and the owner was immpatiently trying to move his car so he could start serving people. In his rush through this very skinny street he tried to push through my group. Before anyone really realized the danger, he'd essentially run over an American girl who started crying and swearing in shock.

A crowd gathered to check on Jessica and scold the driver, who eventually took her to the hospital. Before she left she was laughing at the absurdity of the situation and still swearing at the inconvenience. The man whi hit her didn't make any sales at his restaurant that night, and I can't imagine that he'll be so careless next time he moves his car. Aside from a sprained foot, nothing came of the accident, but it was a disturbing event that put a damper on the evening.

I guess these problems happen all over the world, but I'm looking over my shoulder now for loose-cannon drivers and "buyers" looking for an extra buck.

Overdue

I've been meaning to post for at least a week now, though I struggled to find something interesting enough to merit a few paragraphs. I started exploring the coutryside, and saw a family of muscrats paddling around after a storm. The weather's been rainy, mild, and cold in the that order. We've finally had a few frosts that remind me that it's winter and not a bizarre combination of autumn and spring.

Honestly, for awhile I didn't have much more to write about other than the weather. My fortune has changed in the last few days, however and I have a few new sources of excitement. I now have a roommate for half of every week. She's from Columbia and does the exact same work I do, except with Spanish students. She spends the rest of her week in a nearby and livelier city. I think I can get along with almost any assigned roommate, but I already feel lucky to have Kelly as my chance companion. When I met her, it wasn't five minutes before she invited me to stay with her this weekend and attend an international comic/graphic novel festival.

So, I spent the weekend in Angouleme, looking at expositions and visiting with other language assistants. It was a welcome break from the tranquilty and solitude of my own apartment. Not only was I able to meet and converse with lots of different people from all over the world, but I was able to do it in French (since that is the only common language for all the assistants). By the end of the weekend I was thinking almost exclusively in French. I was happy to get back to my own bed, and off the floor last night, but it was great to spend a weekend socializing and digging into a new aspect of French culture.

In other news, I have found supplemental employment in a small restauraunt waitressing for a retired British couple. I'm happy to have the experience, a little pocket money, and the acquaintance of a halarious set of people. I was deemed the "colonial" when I introduced myself and listened as politetly as possible to complaints about pensions in England. My new employers were fun to sit and talk with, hopefully they'll be that nice when they boss me around.

All in all, my life seems to have taken a turn down a more interesting road, and I'm happy to have people to talk to and things to do beyond my apartment and this small village.

I am Legend, or Not

I made my first trip to a French movie theatre yesterday to see Je suis une légende, a French dubbed version of the new Will Smith movie. It was a good transition into French media, because there wasn't much dialogue. There were however, a lot of zombie-like creatures, and I was not expecting this to be a scary movie. I spent a portion of the movie crouched in my chair peeking through my sweater.

Despite my anxiety during the film, I did find myself identifying with the main character. He lives a solitary life with no one to talk to but his dog. I live a solitary life with no one to talk to in English. He likes Bob Marley. I like Bob Marley. He's trying to save the world from a deadly/zombifying virus from which he happens to have immuniy. And, I guess that's where our similarities end. None the less, I felt a connection.

I'm noticing a trend from my limited human to human intereaction. I've begun relating to the media in my life much more. The last few nights I've had dreams inspired by The Simpson's (it was a cartoon dream, I kid you not) and the so-bad-it's-good dance movie, Center Stage. I just started reading Jane Austin's Mansfield Park, and I can already relate to the heroine's shyness and feelings of displacement.

I also felt a bond with Greg Mortenson, a hero of a man who builds schools in Pakistan. I finally finished the book about his work, Three Cups of Tea, and felt both inspired and consoled. He spends months out of every year doing amazing work on the other side of the world, away from his American family and friends. I'm not building schools, or saving the human race. And let's be honest, I am not Legend, but I guess if all these real and fake heros and heroines can make it, I shouldn't have any problem comforting myself in French movie theatres.

Welcome (Back) to France

Traveling all day is inevitably taxing, but changing time zone takes the disorientation to a new level. I left the States yesterday, and while France is buzzing along at it's usual midday pace, my body's clock is aligned with the midwest. And it's very early there.

My intercontinental travels have lead me to sleeping pills which help aid the transitions and minimise my jet lag. For this trip, I don't think they helped do anything but further disorient me. I squirmed in my seat for what felt like hours until I finally pqssed out like a light. When I did wake up, I had only twenty minutes to prepare for landing (which meant rapidly getting ready to re-enter a foreign country and operate entirely in French.)

When I landed, I was not surprised and not happy to find my phone totally drained of battery. That being the case, I had no way getting in touch with my friend/hostess. At least though, I knew where I needed to go from the airport. So I wandered with 70 lbs of luggage to the metro and headed towards Celine's neighborhood. I must have been a sight with my huge backpack, a duffle, a shoulder bag, and a mandolin. I know I looked as dazed as I felt, but since I knew where I was going I could move quickly.

Moving quickly didn't last long, as it soon lead to a blister on my foot (it's quite a hike from the metro stop to the apartment). Navigating Parisian sidewalks also involves much sidesteping to avoid constant piles of dog shit. So after an hour train ride and a half hour walk with all my heavy belongings, I was overjoyed to see my car -- sans parking ticket.

It was a physical and mental relief to unload my bags and lock them in the car. It was another blessing that my car started on the first try. Hooray. After that bout of relief, my good luck ran out.

I had no way to reach Celine and no way for her to reach me. I think it was to much to hope that she'd be home when I knocked, especially since my flight arrived late. I went to move the car closer to her house to stake out the door in case anyone came home, only to realise my joy about the car was premature.

Sometime in the last few weeks, someone hit the front of my car knocking off the grill and busting the brights. She was already in bad shape and the lights were already weak. Now Anita's even losing the dignity of her good looks. Before vacation, I bent and chipped the side trying to get out of a narrow garage. After this recent hit-and-run she looks gap toothed, and the former highbeams flop around like googly eyes.

I think I'm going to adopt a new mantra for my daily life that sounds something like, "Things are bound to go awry, right?" I started thinking that while traveling around Haiti, since transit is so unreliable there. It has continued to help alleviate any surprise or frustration I have when my flights are all delayed, or my car is busted, or I look and act like a zombie for lack of sleep, or there seems to be even more piles of shit in my way than usual. I think things will look up after I get some rest, and if nothing else, my zombie atributes will be reduced.