I heard the apartments were small and I did believe it. But after living in the cottage in Long Beach, I was sure we wouldn’t be surprised by the sizes and was confident we would find something we would be delighted with. Armed with a newspaper and the instructions given to us, we went to work pounding the pavement in search of a flat. After 32 phone calls with only 3 resulting in meetings to view apartments, we were getting discouraged. And of the 3 meetings we did have, we began to realize that if we found an apartment above ground with a small window without bars and a shower Mati could actually stand up straight in, we had better take it. Evidently, apartment hunting is very different here than in the U.S and doesn’t apply just to foreigners.

The fact that once someone is an occupant of an apartment, it is very difficult to evict them means the landlords, understandably, want to be certain the tenants are on the up and up. What the up and up includes is that you make 3 to 4 times the amount of rent per month and be able to show proof of that, pay 2 to 3 months rent in advance and in most cases, have a guarantor – someone to vouch for you and sign papers saying they will be responsible for the rent in the event that you can’t pay.

Mati would open the phone booth doors and come out like the oracle and speak to say the news of the Land Lords. No good. Rented. Rented. Rented.



Until Eric, that is. The last call of the Wednesday resulted in us meeting with Eric the landlord on the very same day we spoke to him. To our surprise, the space was big – ger and the kitchen was separate and the bathroom could be walked in and the shower could be stood up in and Eric wasn’t concerned that we didn’t make a million a year and he didn’t ask for a guarantor and we could afford it so we Took it.

Side note: that’s what you do here: you try to secure a series of appointments to See flats and if you make 10 appointments and the first one is “livable”, whatever that means to you and the land Lord will accept you – you Take it. No messin’ around with “Oh, I have a couple of other appointments today and I’ll see which one I like best”. We ditched that approach immediately.

So, after an exhausting search which didn’t seem to have an end in sight, it ended just as quickly…like in 10 minutes, we secured our apartment, paid a deposit and were scheduled to move in the next day. And now we have a space that is ours to sleep and eat in and play cards too. Its lovely and white walled and has a bit of light, not much, but enough, its clean with the exception of a bit of mold which we seem to be solving and accepting and the same time. The kitchen is big – ger without an oven but enough room to put a table and chairs and it actually has counter space with a two electric plate type stovetop.

Since Then…
We bought the bed.
Then the sheets, the pillows, the comforter.
The table and chairs were next.
And while we sat on the bench on our busy cross street awaiting the table and chair delivery from our new favorite store – Intermarche – I walked 2 blocks down to the kitchen store and bought the much awaited French Press coffee maker.
Now we’re seriously in business.

But can we discuss the coffee situation for a moment before I go on??
First, I’m not sure why they call it a French Press in that they’re hard to find and nobody in France seems to use them. I’ll report more as I collect the details.
Second, I don’t think I expected a coffee situation but I had one.
See, I was startled when I found the coffee only served in the baby espresso cups. I knew these espressos existed and have always been charmed by them and even intended to spend time drinking them myself. But I thought I would also have access to a small, medium or large cup of brew when I wanted one. No, this is not the case. I went in search of a Venti with absolutely no luck. Just endless cafes with copious quantities of the one size Thumbelina espressos.
Delicious, indeed. I just always found myself wanting more. Mati tried to help me by asking about getting a larger size and found out that I could order a café allonge or un grand café.
My hopes returned. But un grand café consisted of a Dixie size coffee with an inch more or so more than the original. Like a double espresso, essentially. I love the espresso and am definitely not complaining about the quality. But wiith our new French press in hand, I decided to end the venti search party and make bowl after bowl of delicious French pressed coffee at home.

We’ve been in our apartment for a couple of weeks and settling into the idea that we live here.
We sleep like babies after long days of figuring out how things work and doing so on foot.
We eat like bears after long days of figuring out how things work around here and doing so on foot.
We drink coffee now, out of regular sized coffee bowls instead of the Dixie cup size cups everyone fashionably sips espresso from.
What more do you need for a good life, I ask?

Since Then….
We found Carrefour.
A bus ride up the hill.
To the mother ship of all stores - like a combo of Costco, Target, Wallmart, Food 4 Less, Best Buy and Bev Mo'
The biggest.
More stuff we love and need.
We bought some drawers to store stuff in, a book shelf and our most recent aquistion, which will be delivered on Friday, is the armoir for our clothes. We can unpack our duffle bags.

We’ve been eating really good since the kitchen has been equipped. I’m learning to cook on the two electric plates and still come up with pretty tasty meals and we’re staying pretty close to the diet we’ve become accustomed to. I ventured to the market by myself and was able to get our greens for the week.

We’ve designated Sunday as feast day. On Sundays here, the city is quiet. Most businesses are closed and there few people on the streets at all really. The market is jammed packed with everything good and French. The flowers, the cheese, the meats, the moon-sized pans of couscous, paella, the bread, the fruit, the antiques, the fashion, the vegetables, the people, the surrounding cafes. The market is the place to be on Sunday around noon – evidently to be social and to get your goods. Then people go home and eat and relax. I like the market earlier though. That’s when all the older people are shopping the markets and the walkways are clear and you can pick anything you like without a line. And you can take your time if you’re a beginning French speaker as I am and make your order with clarity. Though I thought I asked for a bunch of bananas but came home with one. I still have my linguistic work cut out for me.

So, yes, we’ve designated Sunday as feast day. On Sundays, I will cook with butter if I like and we’ll cook a rabbit Frenchie style or buy a delicious chicken off the rotisserie like we had this past Sunday. An appetizer, the main meal with wine, salad, cheese and dessert with coffee. And that’s how we did it this past Sunday. Then we rested. And then we went to mass at the mass – ive church with the really loud acoustics and Mati got asked to take the basket around and I couldn’t understand the sermon. Its just such a grand and beautiful church and I was happy to be there.

Speaking of Church.....
I wouldn’t be honest if I said that everything has been perfect here while getting settled in a new country and getting comfortable. So much of me that really embraces the newness of what we’re experiencing while unpacking emotionally, spiritually and physically and finding a home here in Rouen is also scared and uncertain.

I embrace the idea that we haven’t been exposed to television and we haven’t had a phone and because we’re so new to the area, our lives are not inundated with the modern comforts we had in Long Beach.
After living in a place like Los Angeles County for 18 years, one has resources she’s taken for granted.
If there were a loud thunder, I’d commiserate with the neighbors and they would understand that I have fears of the world ending too soon.
If I were lonely, I’d call and ask a friend to meet me at a local place where we could drink wine and talk smart of things we really know very little about.
If anything at all went wrong, I had resources within minutes regardless of the concern.
My chiropractor is a genius, my friends and family are brilliant and loving and helpful and accessible.
My neighbors are kind and neighborly and available to congregate for fire pit drinks,
bar–b-ques, mail gatherings and to feed the cat if needed.
We had a real and foundational network despite our not planning for it that way.


It is strange to give yourself over to a country and its people with whom you have no connection and no effectively rapid way of making connections.
By this, I mean, I have had to address some of my rather deep fears about emergencies and other existentialist type issues.
I go out to the market by myself, which I’ve become brave enough to do, despite the language barrier.
(This would be a good place to tell you that before we left, I heard many people say over and over again about how everyone speaks English here)
No. They Don’t.
Like I was saying, if I go out alone, and something happened to me, how could Mati be notified? And visa versa.
If you take this topic and expand upon it again and again and go for all the questions you can extropolate from this topic, you will maybe work yourself into a frenzy similar to mine on a rainy but QUIET night with the Italian sleeping soundly next to me.
My dear friend gave me the most obvious and sound piece of advice once when I expressed some of my death ideas and fears like these at home. She said, in her Betty Boop voice,
“Well, don’t think about death, then.”
I ignored her in Long Beach too. : )
But here, these cerebral/spiritual voyages take on a whole new perspective.
I found myself praying.
Praying is an important subject to clarify because it has implications that may be religiously or politically confusing. I don’t belong to any official religion and don’t care to.
I don’t know what it is about being here.
It could be that the city is filled with churches. Old churches.
Churches made with powerful old stones.
It could be that I am here without any tangible safety net to speak of.
I don’t know exactly.
And I’m not going to try to figure it out.
So praying.
For much of my adult life, I’ve abandoned praying in the way I prayed when I was little.
I abandoned getting on my knees next to the couch bed my grandmother set up for me in her living room.
I abandoned the “our father"
I abandoned the “hail mary”
But not here.
One morning of few days ago, I woke up feeling very dizzy and got up anyway, headed out to the bakery to buy our favorite little loaf of bread chocked full ‘o nuts and seeds. As I headed out of the house, I became acutely aware of my physical discomfort. I had this weird type of dizziness. Not the kind of dizziness like if you had low blood pressure type dizziness but more like if you had sea sickness type vertigo. See I teach human anatomy and know just enough about pathophysiology to make me nervous about every small variation away from homeostasis. So this vertigo type observation made me nervous. I did not feel right at all.
And as anyone who knows me will atest, I have a tendency to make a mountain out of a mole hill when it comes health issues. I admit, I am a bit of an alarmist. I’m sorry. I’m working on it. I thought I might be having a cerebral vascular accident and was worried.
So as I was walking, this fear set in. What if I passed out on the street? How would the Frenchies get in touch with Mati? Where would they take me? What would happen when I came to and couldn’t tell them where I live and how to get in touch with my loved ones? On and on…
I managed to buy bread from my favorite baker lady and get myself home where I crawled back in bed and spent the next 4 hours snoozing.
I think I was just overstimulated, overexhausted and overthinking everything because after the extra hours of rest, I was feeling much better.
But as I lay in my vertigo stupor while Mati went to his meeting at school, I began to pray.
My vertigo, real or not, encouraged me to reclaim my relationship with the universe, God and angels.
Please help me, God. Help me to accept what I cannot control.
I prayed for God take care of Mati and I while we were away from home without loved ones nearby. I prayed for my family and friends, each one, specifically.
God, please let everyone be healthy and happy and please take care of everyone so we can love bomb them when we get home.
On and on, individual prayers for each loved one.
Please let your light shine on all that is valuable to us and let them know through you, that we love them.
I never made my holy communion.
And I don’t belong to any particular religion.
But being here has encouraged me to be faithful and to be powerfully present in every little activity I participate in. Because I am grateful.
Mati and I went to Mass on Sunday. The acoustics were powerful.
I could hear the Priest loud and clear.
But I didn’t understand a word of the French sermon. I didn’t need to.
I’m allowing myself to get comfortable with the lack of control and the lack of resources and to sink into the uncertainty about the nature of life and the safety nets we set up.
I am faithful.
I guess what I am saying is that when I was a child I went to church and I prayed.
Because of the nature of my life as a child, I felt safe there.
As I grew older, confident, skeptical and prejudiced, I abandoned the church building and praying. Maybe I was angry with things that happened in my life. I don’t care to go back and figure it out too much. What I am amazed by being here is my openness to try again.
Whether it be the old stable trusty churches, our being here without a safety net; maybe the vertigo, I don’t know but I’ve abandoned my own critical political voice begging me to define the nature of my praying.
I just pray. Unadulterated wishing for goodness in the world, in the lives of those I love and in my own life here with Mati, in a foreign land, different than anything I’ve ever known.
Goodnight moon.