Somehow, in the past few months, I convinced myself that Sévres and not France, was the con artist behind all of the inconveniences of my daily life. Indeed, Sévres was the cause of my 2-hour metro ride each day, the cause of the extra charge on my Metro pass because of a change of address, the cause of my (STILL) delayed “carte de sejour”, the cause of my temporary residence at Lyndsey’s during the November strikes…etc…

Funny enough, I feel a bit nostalgic recounting all of that! These events weren’t just part of my experience in France, the made my experience during the first semester.

I was silly to believe that moving to Paris would solve all of my problems—that life would finally be free of the weekly frustrations. However, before I start up about the events of the last few weeks, I must disclaim that the next few paragraphs are not complaints. Though they have caused irritability and came as a bit of a reality check, I now understand them to be part of my life in Paris, in France. They are the stories that I send home, they are the events that make everyday and week here so different, so interesting.

I am now ending week 6 since taking possession of my new apartment in the Latin Quarter. That makes it week 8 since I was supposed to take possession of it (before they called to tell me that the construction was still unfinished). In short, it is STILL unfinished.

As relived in my blog upon my return from England, the apartment lacked both internet and running water. After stealing showers from friends for the first week of classes, the plumbers finally put a “temporary” block in the pipe that would prevent my showers from down-pouring on the heads of the customers in the restaurant below. This “temporary” block has now held for 3 weeks and counting (knock on wood!)—meaning that I am well-cleansed and that my apartment functions normally. There are minor inconveniences that come with this temporary block: like the 7 feet by 4 feet displaced wall from under my sink that now finds its home blocking half of the entry to my bathroom and completely covering the towel-heaters I was so excited to test out, like the 7 or 8 AM wake up calls I get from the carpenter ready to tear another hole in the ceiling downstairs so that the plumbers can access the pipes, like the big black box I have become accustomed to carrying in and out of the bathroom each morning with all of my toiletries (if left on the counter, they would be covered by chemicals and dust from the workers—who managed to destroy the brand new aluminum trash can on day 3)…

The permanent fix on my water was to come 3 weeks ago—in that time, the carpenter came and opened up the ceiling, the plumber came and I wasn’t home (they had lost my phone number), a week went by, more phone calls, no plumbers, and then yesterday morning: 7 AM—the carpenter closed the ceiling. He greeted me with a smile, asking if I was happy that my water was restored, I greeted him with a frown, asking why he was nailing up the ceiling. “So the plumber hasn’t come yet?” NO!! He continued nailing, I called my landlord. As of noon the day after, ceiling is completely closed up, no plumbers in sight, crossing my fingers that this temporary block can last a few years…

The internet is a whole different story, and when combined with a concurrent water problem and poor French has led to more then one awkward situation: You’re here for the wi-fi? No, can I look at the pipes? The internet? No, the bathroom. Oh….

The internet codes were in my mailbox upon arrival at the beginning of February along with the notification that the box was at the post office. Easy as that. In France? Never! The box was under my landlord’s name, meaning she needed to pick it up with an ID. My landlord lives in California, her friend, Mme Brizzi (the nicest French woman I have met) is managing the apartment from Paris. Two weeks later, after a fax and a long explanation, the box was in my living room. Time to set it up! For the non-computer savvy girl that I am, I was pretty proud to make it all the way to step 17 in the installation manual without a problem. “Plug the ADSL plug in the outlet”. When your baseboard is 2 cm too thick, preventing any type of ‘plugging-in’, this simple instruction becomes a mountain, in France, it becomes Everest. Two weeks after I notified Mme Brizzi of the problem, she called to say that the contractor was coming the next morning. The next afternoon, she called to say that the contractor’s brother had died and that he wouldn’t be able to make it until the following week. (Understandable of course, and just my luck.) This brings us to the present week. On Monday, my agent (a New Yorker who has lived in Paris for 25 years, and is great) decided enough was enough, grabbed my bread knife and hacked away. Baseboard removed, plug in…no signal. Wait, what? No signal? No the line is dead…. Yup! Since Monday, the contractor came, called the Telephone company, the Telephone company came, the technician shook his head, said the line wasn’t even connected to the box near the door, and left.

Update, March 20, 2008 at noon: No internet, only temporary running water. Otherwise perfect apartment.

Between the internet and the water, I have been on the phone with my landlord (in French) and my agent (in English) at least every other day for the last month, and can attest to a growing relationship with both. In most cases, the conversation begins: ---Bonjour, Mme Brizzi? -Ah, Oui, Cassie, ca va? (notice, we are long past the French formalities)---And then ends with a half laughing, half “tired of this already!” –Oui, c’est incroyable, c’est une catastrophe!, form of saying goodbye with the dim ray of hope that this time really will be the last goodbye—at least for a week!

I leave tomorrow morning for Rome. In January, my Dad managed to reserve me two tickets to mass on Easter Sunday at the Vatican. Elise and I return on Monday—if I were in CO, I would hope that the internet at least would be restored by then—but I’m in France, and I know better. I’m just taking a mini-vacation away from it…

I’m going to Italy. The land of late mornings (no 7am carpenters!), pasta (no worrying if there is water to boil!), and relatively happy people. Happy Easter!