It's tough but it's life

Some friends have started to feel concern for my sanity here. Admitedly, my last few entries sounded rather pessimistic and bitter.

Let me clear things up: yes, things could have been much smoother, but they were not much tougher than I'd expected. It is part and parcel of the charms and challenges of living in a foreign country. And make no mistake, even having lived in 4 countries in 3 continents, France is the most foreign of them all.

They are in fact a very formal society, with specific etiquette for everything from greetings, to meals, to networking, to shopping, to...well, just take my word for it - everything. These things I can accept, because they add flavour and colour to the experience.

But some, no, most, ways of working here - whether at work, at home, or with the government - are simply too convoluted, too banally time-consuming and drowned in bureaucracy. I was not paid last month, and after 3 full days of calling 11 different people sitting in 4 different offices in France and abroad, we still don't know why. No one was willing to own the task, no one wants to admit that it was their job. When my manager wrote a scathing complaint email, one of the recepients retorted that "if you had written a more polite note, we would have rectified it immediately". So we gritted our teeth and begged them very nicely to do their job. There are more examples I can give, but let's keep it for another day.

And as any foreigner will tell you, you quickly learn to settle for things. A colleague here told me that she has tried, unsuccessfully, for 6 months to get someone to help her access the voicemail on her Blackberry. She gave up, and heck care if anyone bothers to leave her a voicemail. When my own Blackberry broke down after 3 days, I was elated that the IT guy was willing to talk to me; never mind that he knows nuts about the problem and tells me that the replacement will come in 2 weeks or maybe 6 months. I was simply praying that he would pick up the phone. The coveted reply "OK bring it here - I will have a look at it" brought me to tears. This would have NEVER happen if we were in Singapore. I would have hounded the guy to death and to get him to commit to a solution.

Hmm....the tone of this email is veering dangerously back to the pessimistic and bitter mode....

In a nutshell, what I lament is simply the inability to communicate with people around me. My independence is somewhat compromised. I lose some of my resourcefulness. Everyday reveals new and perhaps dangerous discoveries. There were 2 new posters put up at my apartment building a few days ago. It could have said "Get out now! The building will be demolished TODAY!" or it could have said "Spring jumble sale on Saturday!", I would never know better. Turns out it was to warn us about technicians coming to read our water meter and asking residents to be prepared to let them in. But you see, if I didn't know this and no one was home, I may end up with no water for the rest of the month. It is very possible in la belle France. So to parrot the Monty Pythons, I just have to always look on the bright side of things. And at least there's this bright thing to look at everyday to and from work.

International Day

Selamat datang (Welcome)

(It's my handiwork!)

The international school that Sophie will be joining later this month organised its annual International Day last weekend. The school is a veritable United Nations, with students from over 50 countries. Each country had a booth or room to introduce its culture, language, history, food, etc. to others. Every student will be issued a passport with one country listed on each page. After each visit, they had to answer a question or play a game to receive a stamp on the page. The idea is to get them to learn at least one thing about each country.

As I was desperate for a little change in my usual weekend routine, I very gladly volunteered to help out at the Malaysian booth. There are about 7-8 Malaysian families - mostly working for agencies affiliated with the government, such as UNESCO, Tourism Malaysia, the embassy, and Malaysian Airlines - with children attending the school.

I was eyeing those yummy kuih-kuih all afternoon

All ready for the tourists!

I must say I was impressed with the preparations that all the kakak (Malay for sister) and makcik (Malay for aunty) did for the event. We had a whole classroom to ourselves when others usually shared with 3-5 other countries. The classroom was transformed into a mini Tourism Malaysia office: its walls draped in sarong, traditional batik, baju kurung and baju melayu, its corners filled with glossy coffee table books on our natural wonders and eclectic mix of cultures, its tables groaning under the weight of currypuffs, muruku (Indian snack) and kuih-kuih (Malay for sweet & savoury snacks/treats). We put those Tourism Malaysia ads on a continuous loop on the AV projector so that by the end of the day, I could still hear Michelle Yeoh proclaiming "There's only one place I call home. Malaysia, Truly Asia" when I crawled into bed that night. The Malaysian ladies were so well-prepared, they even set up a table for the children to try their hand at batik painting.

Anak-anak Malaysia get first try at the batik-painting table

I didn't have the chance to take pictures during the event as there was a continuous stream of "tourists" to our room all day. Almost everyone were in their national costumes. It was certainly a feast for the eyes, as kimono's, hangbok's, saree's, qipao's, football tees (Brazil!) and an assortment of costumes were paraded all over the school.

These two from Uzbekistan were so unbelievably photogenic I had to stop to snap their pictures

This will be an interesting 2 years for Sophie...

It's true what they say about Paris

...that the streets are rigged with dog poop everywhere. Be warned.

Study hard YL

Last week, my immigration consultant informed me that my carte de sejour (resident permit) was ready, and I was to go to the Prefecture de Police de Paris to collect it. In their signature organised manner, she detailed the location and the procedures for the collection in the email.

First thing the next morning, I showed up at the building and joined a queue of foreigners (i.e. Africans and Chinese) in the drizzle. First step according to the email was to obtain a queue ticket. While I waited to speak to the receptionist, I marvelled at how those in front of me were able to communicate effortlessly with her in French. Aren't these supposed to be foreigners?? Did I miss a paragraph in the "Moving to France" manual that I must speak fluent French before moving?

Of course, when it came to my turn, I could not explain clearly why I was there. After some confused exchanges between us, she told me dismissively to go to Charles de Gaulle Etoile, which was near where I lived, and where I had travelled from that morning, and most importantly, a good 45 minutes' commute.

Nothing about France surprises me anymore; I expect nothing but stumbling blocks for every thing I try to do here. But of course it does not make it any less exasperating, and question marks were doing dances in my head. I did not believe that my immigration consultant had sent me on a wild-goose chase on a rainy Thursday morning. So I sat down in a corner to call her, but it was too early and no one picked up the phone. After 10 minutes of pondering and plotting my journey to Charles de Gaulle Etoile and bemoaning my fate, I began to wonder who the people milling around my corner were doing.

And then it occured to me that I went to the wrong room. And then the ticket machine materialised out of thin air, right in front of me. So I slowly and casually stood up, strolled over to the machine, and took a ticket, hoping NOT to attract any attention.

And then, trying hard to maintain the same nonchalant expression and pace, I strolled over to the caisse (cashier) to buy my stamps for the carte, which is step two on my email.

Look at the (tiny) directions properly...

The fees for the carte are to be paid using.....special stamps!

And voila, 15 minutes later, it was my turn, and I received my carte de sejour with no further incident.

Paris tires me out...

YL, study hard, learn your French before coming and save me!!