The Congélateur

The apartment we are renting in Toulouse did not have freezer section in the fridge. Our landlord, Vincent, said he would spring for a new freezer (a congélateur in French), so of course we said yes. We live on the fourth floor, which in France is four floors above the ground floor and the elevator can barely hold two people standing very, very close, spooning if you will. It sometimes takes us a few dance moves in the elevator to get it to go up if we are carrying groceries. Slide to the left, slide to the right, do the hokie pokie and voilà, it starts!

But I digress. Vincent ordered it and gave explicit instructions that the congélateur (I love this word), was to be delivered up to our apartment, and not to use the elevator as it was too small.

The delivery guys showed up as I was walking back from the market. Kirsty was having a chat with the guy who had set the congélateur on the ground outside of the entrance to the apartments. This was a far as he was going to move it as it was not his job to carry it up the stairs, or even into the apartment complex. Delivery to the outside door was his motto. 

She told him to sling his hook and take the congélateur back if he wasn’t going deliver it upstairs to our front door. So off they went and we told Vincent what had happened and he was a bit put off by these guys as he had paid extra to get the thing hauled up to our apartment. He called the store and chewed some butt and a new delivery date was set.

A few days later the new delivery guys showed up and brought it inside the lobby and stuck it in the elevator (by itself), pushed the button for the fourth floor and closed the door. The elevator stayed put and would not go up. One of the guys tried to open the door but it was locked closed.  Nothing we could do would open the door. Nor could we call the elevator up to our floor. It was stuck, unusable on the ground floor.

Your man called a phone number on the elevator and talked with somebody who said he would send someone around to sort out the problem. The delivery guys said they had deliveries to make so, au revoir and good luck. 

We went back to our apartment and waited for the elevator guy to call. He wasn’t too long and before you knew it, we were standing there before the open elevator door looking at a congélateur that was too big for the elevator. I pulled it out and the elevator guy gave a few hand signals to maybe take it out of the box and see if it would then fit. After a bit of pushing and shoving, I got it in the elevator and he made sure the door would close. Up it went, and Kirsty and I carted it the rest of the way into our apartment. Easy peasy. By the way, our congélateur model name is California. True story.

Peace my friends!

A Little of This, A Little of That

It is too bleedin' hot here to go outside so I will take this time to relate the good, the bad, and the ugly of my time so far in France. This is my fourth or fifth time in France, (can't remember how many times, I will blame that on mind fog from my meds and covid!). This time we are here explicitly to stay put for a bit instead of merely wandering about in search of a great baguette and croissant on our way to somewhere else.

We picked Toulouse, over the Loire valley (and a few others), for a couple of reasons having to do with the weather and the availability of a place to stay. Finding an apartment in France from the US is not an easy task and we were very lucky to happen upon our landlord, Vincent. He understood that we were coming to stay in France and apply for a carte de séjour, and was very accommodating in all aspects of the rental! He is definitely in the Good category.

We thought the weather in Toulouse, which we knew to have its hot days, would be manageable and not too much different from the Loire valley, and surely not as hot as the south of France. Hahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahah! Weeks of over 100 this year! To be fair, it has been roasting over much of France and Europe as well, including the Loire. But not as hot as Toulouse. So, one could say this was in the Bad category, approaching the Ugly category.

We are very lucky to have found great boulangerie in Toulouse, Boulangerie Credo. They are in the Good category. Their baguettes, croissants, and cakes are among the best I have had the pleasure of eating. 

There is a trend in France to replace the beloved neighborhood artisan boulangerie with a shop that doesn't bake its own bread on the premises. This is definitely in the Ugly category! The baguettes are sad looking in these shops and no doubt taste just as bad. They certainly have on the rare occasions that I have had to buy a baguette from these fake boulangeries. First world problems for sure, but hey, some things do matter!

Good things: wonderful public transportation (buses, trains, metro, trams, city bikes), a government that truly cares for its people in a way I have not experienced, (you know, socialist-like, good for the whole, not just the elite) tree-lined boulevards, red brick buildings, neighborhood gardens, aromas from the boulangerie, neighborhood fruit and veg markets (real ones where the common folk shop, not the spoiled yuppie driven, I feel good about myself for spending so much for cage-free eggs and honey from small farms in Outer Mongolia wank fest that is an American market). Okay, a bit touchy here, but come on! If you've ever been to a Saturday market in America, you probably know what I'm talking about.

Bad things: body odor and lots of it. What is it with some folks and their disdain for a bar of soap? I'm not talking only street people here, but regular folks like those I meet at the market, in the stores, on the bus or the train. Jesus people, take a shower! You stink and eau d'whatever the heck you spray on doesn't work. Bureaucracy, whether one is trying to get a carte de séjour or open a back account. Forms, forms, forms. France runs on paper.

Ugly things: French folks love to smoke. Still. In this day and age of medical enlightenment and all that. Second-hand smoke is pervasive on the streets, outside the cafes and bars (where they still haven't banned smoking like most civilised countries). One cannot walk the streets without trailing behind, or sitting near some inconsiderate person who is smoking. Why can't they slowly kill themselves away from those of us who don't need smoke in our lungs? They don't care, get over it, yada, yada, yada.  

Peeing in the street, on the side of buildings or trees. Seriously. Take a walk down the streets of Toulouse and you will see (and smell when really bad) the evidence of a lot of peeing on the sidewalks, walls, doorways, anywhere really that someone feels is suitable to pee. Add the dogs that piss everywhere and you get the idea that the street is one big toilet. Luckily only the dogs crap on the sidewalk, at least where I live. I give thanks to the street department of Toulouse for hosing the streets and sidewalks down once a week or so. 

We have a small pisoir (public urinal) at the end of our street. Apparently one pees into it onto straw bales. Takes the odor away and would work as designed if people didn't pee all around it. I know certain french men are not at all reticent about peeing in public. My lovely bride tells me that it's in the culture: pipi sauvage (or pissing in the wild).

There are other things, that are weird or different, like pharmacy rules, but that is for another time.

Peace my friends!

Viva La France!

Here's the thing...

We have stepped away from the crazy that is the USA and settled in the ville rose: Toulouse, France. 

This is the Capitole, or city hall in Toulouse. First built in 1190, it went through a few changes until this façade, 135 meters long, was built in 1750. These red-pink bricks, used to build much of the city, were made from clay high in iron oxide.

We have been dealing with the Prefecture to get my carte de séjour (residence permit), so that I can stay in France for more than 90 days. Fingers crossed, we hope to hear back from them by the end of August.

More to follow as we get settled in.

Peace my friends