Day two post!

September 25, 2h45 French time

Today was “démarches admistratives” day. I ran around this confusing city taking care of official business, setting up things for my apartment and picking up papers and signing contracts and buying stuff and asking anyone who would look my way for directions. Seriously, I have the most pathetic sense of direction, and this city, like many French cities (or all?) is arranged much differently than U.S. cities. The French seem to like “places,” centers where streets converge in a sort of star, rather than grids. So when someone tells me to turn left, as far as I can tell, that could mean a slight left, a left at a right angle, or a very sharp left. And street signs are tiny and hard to find. Zut alors. So I just wandered the city today! I bought a delicious Panini and sat on the steps of a cathedral to eat it, which felt very serene and European. I had at first tried to walk while eating it, but stares informed me that the French don’t really eat on the run.

I talked in French quite a lot and met a number of strangers, but I really have very little company here. I met a couple of lovely Germans last night and we commiserated over excessive French tape, and I’ve run into some rather forward French men. But as far as I have seen, I am THE American in this city. Some people assume I’m French—today at the supermarket, the girl who checked me out started muttering about the mean, crazy guy who was in front of me in line. (He really was unhappy; there was a big to-do later at the supermarket when he got angry at the check-out girl in the toiletries section of the store for trying to sell him his soap for less than what he had seen it marked.) I might have been able to understand, but she was practically whispering her rapid French. I just said, “Oh. Yeah. I’m sorry. Don’t worry.” I must have looked pretty confused. Most people understand me pretty well, and the woman at the immigration office told me I spoke very good French. Another woman who helped me with my apartment insurance noticed immediately that I was foreign and graciously spoke very slowly. A couple of people have assumed that I’m European of some sort—German and British. They’re actually surprised when I say I’m American, which I think is a good thing (not that I don’t like being American. I very much appreciate Americans right now). And once someone understands that I’m American, they try to say something barely intelligible to me in English, which I think is amusing. I’m not very encouraging when I don’t understand, though. Last night, an Algerian man said to me, “Good afternoon!” at 10 pm. I looked at him strangely, and he said, “English. Good afternoon!” And I said, “Oh! Yes, good afternoon. Good evening!” I can’t wait to find out what these kids I’m supposed to teach will sound like.