Dude, Pass Me that Roach.

Or rather DON'T pass it, I mean to say.... We have cockroaches. I wasn't going to say anything before, because I didn't want to jinx our house or upset anyone, but they are here. Every couple of weeks, we come home from somewhere fun (thank goodness we are always in a good mood when it happens), and out of the corner of my eye, I see a jerky scurry across the corner of the room, and when I go to look, it has grown from a small blur into a two inch long armored ball of legs and antennae. Gross. AND, I have realized that even if insects don't mate for life, these little guys certainly travel in packs, or at least in pairs. Now, it is a joke around the house that we brought them with us from the States, even though I keep protesting that I have never even seen one in the US; only in our hotel in Peru. Last night there were three. One had been sent to scope out our bedroom, and the other two were making themselves quite at home in the kitchen. Sebastien and Ryan were "in charge" of the kitchen roaches, and I was calming my stomach as I picked up the Seb-squashed bedroom roach. One of the kitchen roaches disappeared, and the other went down the drain, where we thought he was going to join Davie Jones, in his locker. Pretty much as soon as he crawled down there, Ryan took off for bed (avoidance, I think), and Seb came into the living room to do some work. So, I went into the kitchen to wash a few dishes, and as I started scrubbing a pot, two very sudsy, wet antennae started twirling around to the right of my hand. The poor guy was nearly dead (I am assuming now, since I flushed him, he really IS with Davie Jones). When I jumped and screamed what was, I am sure, a very girly screech, his buddy who was formerly in hiding came running out from underneath the dish drain (I know - it IS gross - I agree) to take a quick look, and then run under the top of the counter on top of the washer, to wait for his revenge on his friends' lives. I really believe this. We haven't seen the last of them.

Things I Have, Still, To Write About

I am a bit behind I think. I still haven't written all I want about Paris, and how wonderful it was to spend an evening with my pen pal, Julien, seated on the edge of the Trocadero, while the Eiffel Tower strutted its stuff, glittering its jewel lights for 15 minutes, on the top of every hour. Julien, Sebastien and I sat on the very edge of the battalion, daring the wind to knock one of us off (ok, so we weren't THAT close to the edge) as we drank wine from plastic cups and compared American and French politics. I haven't written about that. I will.
I also still haven't written about how wonderful it was to be in Berlin, with Sebastien's best friend in the world, Nick. To see them together is wonderful. They really love one another. I love watching them together, riffing off one another, singing "Remain in Light" by the Talking Heads and getting totally, completely, and almost annoyingly silly in the kitchen as they make dinner. Being with Nick made me feel on one hand warm, and like home, because he is such a great friend to Sebastien, but on the other hand it made me miss my own friends that much more. We walked around his neighborhood, and - you know how every once in a great while you walk into a store, or past a house, or go to a city, and everything there just seems as though it has always belonged to you and that simultaneously you also subconsciously designed it? well - and I risk sounding quite materialistic now - I found that *something* in Berlin. The city felt wonderful. The people were friendly, but not TOO friendly either. And, well, here it REALLY is: as we walked around Nick's neighborhood, we went into a courtyard to explore, and firstly, there was a lovely cafe that smelled delicious, and I think a record store, and then I saw there was a woolen hat shop. Now, you could blame it on the rain and the cold of Berlin in October, but something happened when I entered that shop. I am honestly glad that Sebastien and Nick stayed outside, or else the same thing might have happened to them. As I stepped across the threshold of the store, my hand uncontrollably shot out from my side, grabbed a hat, and placed it perfectly upon my head. I really had no choice in the matter. This hat was the most amazing and beautiful thing I have seen in a very very long time. It was at the same time very elegant, and quite full of personality. It had the lines and style of a 1920's ladies hat, perfectly covering most of my (then) recently chopped hair, leaving only the sides by the ears to peek out from underneath. As soon as I put it on, I felt quite like someone who could stop buggy traffic in town with a nod, and Seb and Nick both got very quiet, and confirmed this thought. When I took the hat off, and looked at its price tag, I realized that a hand-felted beaver-fleece hat was, of course, much much more expensive than I could ever afford, and that this spell had to be broken quickly, or I risked myself (and my bank account) being broken. I almost threw the hat back onto the rack (it was all I could have done to not just walk out of the store with it on), and when the saleswoman told me that I should own that hat, and that it should belong to me, because it was so perfect, she didn't think I would notice the evil glint in her eye, but believe me; I did see it. If the hat was a spell, then that woman was a sorcerous.

WANTED:

Three days after we got here, we were exploring the neighborhood closest to our house. We had just been talking about ideal work situations, so when we saw a sign for an architect, we rang the bell, and went in to ask for jobs (why not?). Both Sebastien and I had an interview the following Thursday, and Sebastien got a job four days per week, which I would say is a great omen in many ways. I am working in the same office, until I find something that is more full-time. The architect and her father where he got work are quite kindly recommending me to their friends, who seem to be hiring. I am crossing my fingers, but it would be wonderful to get my hands into local building design. I will be working in her office helping with an office remodel for the time-being.

Getting There

To get around there are few options. Probably the most interesting of these are the "Black Cabs," white vans that serve as unofficial taxis. This is the option we pretty much always take now. If you are walking along the main road, within 2 minutes - as long as you are out between 7:am and 6:pm - a van will drive by, whistling and yelling something like "Newlandsclaremontwynlands!!!!!" (three neighborhoods along our normal route) or "Kyleishaphillape!" (two of the townships on the outskirts of the city). They are wonderful. I love them. We saw our very first empty cab today, and it was a strange sight. Normally the vans have between 11-17 people in them, but the other day we were in one that had 20 people, including ourselves. Keep in mind that these are standard-sized vans -- no super-sizing here. If they are full of people, they speed around and get you where you want to go FAST. When they are empty though, you'd better watch your watch; the entire trip you are driving right next to the sidewalk, whistling and yelling to get more customers, and stopping about once a block to harass potential riders. Like I said though, it is definitely interesting.

To Troyes and Beyond

Two days after we returned from Poitiers we headed off from Gare de l'Est on a train to visit Sebastien's grandmother in Troyes. The trip was breathtaking, going through wonderful countryside, over rivers, by the nuclear power plant.... It really was quite beautiful. Seb's grandmother is, of course, SO sweet and lovely. She is very warm and pleasant, and she told me all about her grandchildren, whose pictures are on the wall by the door. Like I said, I wish so much that I spoke French, but some things you can just understand, without knowing what is being said. We walked into town and explored, as per usual during our travels, ancient cathedrals, street cafes, and H&M. Troyes is an amazingly well preserved town. Medieval buildings stock the streets, in government-subsided renovations of historical houses. Although I heard rumors that Troyes is a dying town, I had to question them, because the streets were so alive with young and old. There are about 700 cathedrals (and I am hardly exaggerating), and construction going on everywhere you look. We walked up and down the streets, used the bathroom in the museum basement (don't tell the museum guard - I think he is still looking for us), and finally met Sebastien's "evil twin" cousin, Olivier in the afternoon (he's not really evil - or his twin for that matter, but he IS his cousin). It turns out that three of Olivier's best friends just, this past year, opened up their own bars. We picked one, Dixi, where they would surely all be hanging out, and went for drinks. It was a great night of hanging out, trying on the few French phrases I know, and being the only gal in an (almost) all guy crowd. I made the mistake of asking the bartender where the name "Dixi" was from, and apparently it is from a gambling dice game (no allusion to the deep South), where shots of alcohol are associated with each different roll outcome. Hmmm...... So what if you roll a 7? You can drink an "Eight Bastards," with tobasco, pastice, and rum (on fire, of course). I know; I drank one. Everyone thought that was SO amusing that the bartender started pouring away - that's a good one: get the Americans drunk. I am sure it was fairly amusing, because we had been drinking beers previously. Now I will admit to these being moments of bad decision-making. I considered this a little late though, when we were on our way back to meet Sebastien's dear, sweet grandma for dinner.