Fat and Hungry

After a far too long period of Belley failing in the morning department, yesterday, it was back on it’s A game with a beautiful sunrise.

"The fog creeps in on little cat feet."

Today I learned new vocabulary.  A pomegranate is called a grenade.  A loofah is called a fleur de douche (shower flower.  Sadly, no rhyme in French.  Their loss.).

The day after moms left, I had to go to Bourg-en-Bresse for a medical appointment in order to get my visa validated.  Because, without this stamp, apparently, they could just show up at the internat and be all, “Fool, what you been doin’?”

And I’d be like, “Aahhhh!  The authorities!”

And they’d say, “Tant pis. (Too bad.)  Come with us.  A la Bastille!”

And I’d be all, “Aahhhh!  My liiiife!”

As great a blog post as that would have made, I decided to avoid it by validating my visa.  Maybe next time, I’ll decide to do the above.  I’m sure it would have been a better day. 

My appointment was set for 2pm at the X-ray office and for 3pm at the OFII office.  Since they weren’t too far apart, I figured life would be gravy. 

The bus that I always take to the train station wouldn’t arrive at the train station until like 5 minutes before the train.  So, because I’m a scaredy cat, I called to have a cab pick my up.  I was bummed because it would cost about 20€, but it seemed a small price to pay for peace of mind.  So I called to have it waiting for me in front of the lycée at 11:10.  At 11:15, it still hadn’t showed.  The bus was coming at 11:20, so I started walking towards it, but always looking over my shoulder to give the cab every opportunity to make some scrilla.  Alas, it didn’t make it.  So, I hopped on the bus after checking to be sure it would arrive on time (not that I had any other options at this point) and plopped into the seat.  This bus that takes me to and from Virieu is a coach bus.  I have never seen more than 15 people on it.  Hi, wasteful.

Anyway, I sat down and pulled out my French phone.  Two missed calls.  This is unsettling because, well, no one contacts me on it.  I knew immediately that it would be the cab driver.  Sadly, I can never hear my French phone ringing, so I don’t know why I even bother with it.  As I slid it open, a voicemail registered.  I checked it and it was the driver asking if anything had changed because he was waiting at the agreed upon spot.  False because I had been waiting there, but I called him back.  The following is him in miffed French and me in “trying to know what’s going on” French. 

“I’m in front of the school,” he said.

“I was there.  I didn’t see you.  I’m on the bus now,” I responded.

“I’ve been here for the past 10 minutes.”

“We must have been at different parts.  I didn’t see you.  Sorry.”

“You owe me 6€.”

“For what?”

“For coming out. There’s a 6€ fee.”

“I don’t know what you want me to do about that.  I’m on the bus.  I won’t be in Belley.”

“You owe me 6€.”

“I’m sorry.  I don’t know what to say.”

“I’ll come find you.”

“Okay.  Bye.”

Completely incensed and embarrassed that the whole bus just heard my pitifulness, I sat in silence.  When I got off the bus, this taxi van rolled up and was kind of following me.  So I dramatically rolled my eyes and pulled out 10€ for the dude.  He smiled and said, “Where do you want to go?”

I started laughing and smiling like a fool when I realized that he wasn’t my crazy cab driver!  I hustled into the gare to buy my ticket and then ran over to the other side of the platform to wait for the train.  I don’t know why I hurried.  There are rarely more than 12 people at the train station.  It’s not like he wouldn’t have been able to find me.  But he never showed.  So I’m forever 6€ in debt to a Belleysanne cab company!  Suckas.

Had a lovely train ride to Ambérieu where I was to make a connection to a bus that would take me the next leg of the journey to Bourg.  When I got to the screen that lists the departs, what should meet my eyes but the fact that my bus was supprimé.  DELETED.  Awesome.  The next train would leave at 2:17pm.  Hmm.  Perfect.  Except that I would completely miss every appointment I had scheduled.

So I went across the street to a tabac and, after the clerk jokingly asked me if I was invited to the store, asked for a cab company that he could recommend.   He gave me a phone number and I went to stand in front of the station and make the call.  “Sorry,” the voice on the other end said.  “I’m busy today.”  Because that’s how French cab companies sometimes work.  If they have something else scheduled, tant pis pour toi.  So I went back to the man.  He was shocked.  Then he told me to go look at the tourist wall outside the station where it listed cab company names.  So I went over and called one.

“When would you like it?”

“As soon as possible, please.”  He sounded a bit annoyed but said he’d arrive shortly.  I went to take out some cash from the ATM and about 3 minutes after I’d done that, the cab showed up.

We went via the highway.  It cost 60€.  Good thing I scammed the other cab company.  Otherwise, this day would have been a wash.

I was about 30 minutes early for my appointment, so I just walked around outside for a bit.  Eventually, I decided to just go inside because I felt like a dumb.  Naturally, since it wasn’t yet 2, the whole building was on a lunch break.  I went inside and sat on the bench in front of the X-ray technician’s office. 

At 2pm, and not a moment before, the staff showed up and let us inside.  I checked in and had a seat for two shakes of a lamb’s tail before I was called in.

“Take off your shirt,” the woman said.  Uhhhhhhhh.  I started while she walked out.  When she came back, I was still in my bra.  “That too.  And your jewelry.”  Oh good.  I’d like to be as uncomfortable as possible in the least amount of time possible. 

Then she showed me into the next room and told me to press myself against this massive rectangular machine.  Then she went into the other room while the X-ray machine does what it does.  The woman came back in and told me I could wait in the other room (where I had gotten undressed) while she made sure that the photos came out.  “But don’t put on your clothes yet.”  So I did.  Naturally, the camera loves me, so the photos came out in the first go.  Regarde!:

Thumb and chest.

That took about 10 minutes.  So I now had copious amounts of time to kill before arriving at the OFII office.  Not wanting to waste time, I started walking over, trying to check the map, which was hopelessly useless.  I found the road after wandering some back streets for a bit and started looking for an impressive looking building.  When I looked up, I realized, I had passed the building.  Hmmm.  So I doubled back.  Next to a faded wooden door, in the window, was a paper sign barely still taped up declaring this teeny building the OFII office.  I pushed the (already open) door further inside and knew I was in the right place when I heard Trudi’s Jamaican accent coming from down the hall. 

            I went and told the woman I was here, and she told me to go to the waiting room down the hall.  While I was waiting, Trudi came back and told me that she was there with another assistant, Katie.  We chatted until an older dude called me into his office.  I sat down and we discussed my medical history, inoculations, my family’s medical history, and the like.  He asked me at one point what something was.  Sorry, I’m not a doctor, so I don’t know what Adacel is.  He excused himself and when he came back, he told me that Google told him it was multiple vaccines in one.  America’s always the first.

            Then he told me to take off my shoes and sweater to go stand on the scale.  After he took my height, he told me to lose 2 kilos.  Okay, guy.  As we went over for me to lay on the doctor’s bed thingy with the paper on it (don’t know what this is called), he started asking me about how often I eat croissants, because you know they’re like eating 4 tartines (pieces of toast).  (For those of you also concerned with my weight, I think I’ve had about 4 in the whole time I’ve been here.)  Then he started talking about the French diet and how rich all the foods are.  So much cheese.  The patisseries.  Okay, guy.  Shut up!  It’s okay to have them once in a while, but not too often.  Also, all of this is in French, so I can only smile like a fool and just keep saying “okay.”

            When I lay down, he raises my shirt and picks up my stomach fat and goes, “That’s right where you need to lose it.”  Okay.  Where am I?  Is this for real?  I awkwardly laugh with him because, zOMGz, this is the funniest!

            When he’s finally done, I go sit in the waiting room until the woman from before tells me that I can come back.  She asks if I speak French, and when I say yes, she seems happy.  (Trudi had been speaking English.)  She asks how my journey was.  I tell her the bus was supprimé.  She is appalled as she kindly stamps my visa.  Success.

            When I leave, I have (once again) tons of time to kill before my train leaves.  Since it’s not horrifically cold outside, I stop in a park and have a bit of a read before heading to the train station.  I’m also really hungry, but since the doctor told me that I really shouldn’t ever eat again, I just look at the boulangerie with longing.  Sometimes, I find myself just licking the air, like this.

            My return journey went off, miraculously, without incident.

Hungrily,

Juice