Living in Europe has made me more and more aware of the politics here (as it should)…and I found this cool link on the NY Times website today, that I thought I would share.

Click here to take a look!

Let me know what . . . → Read More: Cool link about European politics!]]> Hey Guys!

Living in Europe has made me more and more aware of the politics here (as it should)…and I found this cool link on the NY Times website today, that I thought I would share.

Click here to take a look!

Let me know what you think!



Banks.

Today was a series of issues . . . → Read More: Excuse me while I air a few complaints.]]> Since I’m living in Paris now, and I want to be totally French, I’m going to complain. I love Parisians (God knows that they know how to charm a girl), but nevertheless, if I have learned one thing, it’s that the French sure know how to complain a whole darn lot.

Banks.

Today was a series of issues with various banks, and I pose this question: Am I the first person to have decided to move overseas? Am I so weird and unusual that they just don’t know how to handle me?

I’m not really sure, but I think it’s safe to say that I’m not the first person to move out of the United States in search of adventure far and wide. I also don’t think I’m that weird, but maybe you disagree. Whatever the case, I’ve had it up to my eyeballs with these guys.

Yes, I know, I’ve complained before about how my banks treat me…but it is high time for another round, so here it goes:

There is a bank in America that starts with a “W”, ends in an “A” and has artistic swishy looking lines as their logo. You suck. I’ve been a client with you for eight years. EIGHT YEARS! Can you start to treat me like I’m valued?

Why, when I call you to tell you that I didn’t, in fact, pay $250 for a taxi ride here in Paris (only the second dispute I’ve ever made in my life with said bank), do you make me wait on hold for 40 minutes (at a huge cost to me) and then FREEZE MY CARD, without my permission? Have I mentioned that I’m in France? At this point, I am told that I will have another card shipped to me in about two weeks. No, they wont ship to France.

After twenty more minutes of discussion, I managed to organize a partial account refund, cried a bit, and then was promised that my card would still work.

For those of you who have traveled, nay, for those of you who live in the Western world, you may understand how important it is to have money. On my person, at this moment, I have about 100 Euros. That’s it. That’s supposed to last me two weeks or more?

I should add that I do have two American credit cards, but these have been frozen by my banks on a weekly basis since I landed (always for highly suspicious activity…like, my grocery shopping). Needless to say, despite me calling and reiterating that I’m living in France, and asking kindly if they would update my profile to reflect that, I would venture a guess that the chances of these cards working enough for me to pay my bills, and buy nourishment are fairly low.

Finally, today I had the pleasure of dealing with my French bank. These folks have actually been extremely helpful in person, so I’m not holding a long-term grudge. That being said, I tried using my French debit card today and the PIN didn’t work. Although this is clearly not my fault, I have to pay an 8 Euro fee to be mailed another PIN, which will take up to eight business days.

So where does this leave me?

With an American debit card that might not work. With two American credit cards that may or may not be accepted. And with a French debit card that I cannot use to get any money.

This would be a great evening to drink several glasses of wine…oh, in a fit of delusion I almost I forgot: I don’t have access to my money and can’t even buy a bottle of alcohol.

On the bright side, I have now learned how to be an expert skype-user, since this is what is required for me to call the various banking institutions which take such pleasure in making my life difficult.

In fact, I think I might call again and demand that they pay for my next hair appointment; they’re giving me a lot of gray hairs that need to be  colored out of existance!

Kim here, with a few thoughts on life in general, and such other unimportant things.

1) I turn 23 on Saturday. That makes me very happy

2) I wish, nay, I yearn for a mentally stimulating job. For months, if not years, I’ve been challenged, and all of a sudden, that’s not the case. Also, I’m . . . → Read More: Bonjour tout le monde!]]> Bonjour!

Kim here, with a few thoughts on life in general, and such other unimportant things.

1) I turn 23 on Saturday. That makes me very happy

2) I wish, nay, I yearn for a mentally stimulating job. For months, if not years, I’ve been challenged, and all of a sudden, that’s not the case. Also, I’m near broke, and it would be nice to have a better paying profession. However, I cannot create miracle jobs out of nothing, so I continue to learn French in hopes of climbing up the career ladder here in Paris. Easier said than done in a city with 12% unemployment, the fact that I have a biology degree in a finance-dominated city (or so it seems), and finally, that everyone and their mum speak English…like me. So I’m going for the (soon to be) tri-lingual angle (English, German, and French) and hoping that takes me somewhere.

3) I’m looking into graduate school. Found a great English/French master’s program that I could enroll in starting in January. Alternatively, I found an even better Ph.D. program that I will apply for which is completed in Paris and Plymouth, UK.

4) This last week I complained a lot. Could it be that I am getting more French? French people will readily admit that they complain a lot…ask them about it, and they almost look slightly proud of the fact.

5) There was another metro strike and I unknowingly ran into the techno-parade last weekend. The French do not joke around with police; I’m talking, full riot forces out and about. Was the same when I went to a football game here…I don’t know whether the French riot police are really necessary but they look intimidating all the same.

6) I’ve been here for just shy of one month. Crazy. I’m much more broke than I wanted to be. But in all other aspects, life is pretty good.

7) My friend just emailed me, and the subject of the email was: TERRORIST PLOT?!?
So yeah, Paris has been in this weird heightened state of awareness recently; the Eiffel Tower got evacuated yesterday (I believe), but I think this is equivilant to the terrorist threat level going up in the United States…does anyone really change their daily lives because of it?

Anywho, ladies and gentlemen, that’s all for now! I know, this is SO boring to read…that just goes to show that traveling is not always a high-speed adventure through glittering destinations. Living abroad is just like any other life…except with slightly more daily confusion

Love,

Kim

What large victory is worthy of such comparison?

I have internet in my house my friends. No more sitting at Mcdonald’s hoping that the WIFI works. No more calling the Orange company and trying to navigate French automated call lines.

Freedom.

It’s a . . . → Read More: A small step for man, a big step for mankind.]]> Or I think that’s what Armstrong said.

What large victory is worthy of such comparison?

I have internet in my house my friends. No more sitting at Mcdonald’s hoping that the WIFI works. No more calling the Orange company and trying to navigate French automated call lines.

Freedom.

It’s a sweet feeling.

To be honest, I’ve had a nice case of writer’s block.

So here it goes – I’m hoping that if I just start writing, I’ll be able to dust the cogs away from the old machinery, and get this going again.

I’m in Paris. I live in an over-priced and tiny apartment, but . . . → Read More: It's been a while :-)]]> Sorry I haven’t written much recently.

To be honest, I’ve had a nice case of writer’s block.

So here it goes – I’m hoping that if I just start writing, I’ll be able to dust the cogs away from the old machinery, and get this going again.

I’m in Paris. I live in an over-priced and tiny apartment, but I’m smack dab in center of it all. Walking distance to whatever my heart desires to see.

Every night I’ve got people to hang out with. Monday it was a stroll to the Eiffel Tower to watch the night show. Tuesday it was Pizza and a somewhat humorous attempt to use the city’s bicycle system. Wednesday I sang along with some musicians on the Pont de Arts until the sun set. Thursday I commiserated over café au late.

Today it’s Friday. No plans and I sit here thinking about how I’m just one week away from turning twenty-three. One year ago I was slaving away in various laboratories trying to graduate from university and excited about the prospect of taking off into a year of adventure and unknown.

Here I am.

I’ve learned a lot about people in general; good and bad. Let’s start with the bad, so that I can end this whole post on a positive note.

First things first: today a middle-aged and fashionably dressed woman told me to f**k off (in her beautiful French accent) because I accidently cut her in line for the ATM. Despite the verbal abuse so casually flung my way, I smiled, apologized and went on with my day. An even better example of inconsiderate and absolutely rude behavior was the night I finally moved myself and my four suitcases into my new hole, also known as, moi l’appartement, mi casa, or mein Haus. Heaving about two tons of shoes up a small staircase, I notice a well-dressed and heeled lady looking down her nose at me. “Who are you?” she inquired. Smiling, I held out my hand for what I thought would be the beginning of a civil meeting. Flinching at my shake, she quickly put two and two together and realized that I am American, but of German birth. With a short preface of, “it’s OK, you’re not really American because you were born in Europe,” she proceeds to lecture me for twenty minutes about how she hates Americans. In a nutshell, she’s visited New York City but hates what people wear, what Americans eat, and more than anything, she hates the accent. Keep in mind that I sound completely, 100% American. There is not one trace of British or German in my manner of speaking. Do you know how hard it was for me to keep a straight face? Finally, I managed to escape, but not before she commenced on a long description of how American movies give her headaches…apparently the way we pronounce our “R”s makes her temple throb.

Second things second. I have made a point to never broach the subject of my own personal, romantic life on this blog. I think some things should be left private, not to mention, me going on and on about that sort of stuff is kind of like a boring movie: you already know what will happen at the end of the flick, so why bother watching?

That being said, riddle me this: where have all of the decent men gone to? Unknown to me, I have stumbled into another universe where everyone is a little less honest, a little less sincere, a little more jaded, and out to find love for one night and not for a lifetime. While romantic French charm may mask an ugly interior, the truth always comes out and when it does, I feel stupid that I didn’t see past the chipped facade in the first place.

I meet fantastic men here every day; as with everywhere I travel, I find myself surrounded by people of the opposite gender who feel they can openly talk to me about their problems without being judged or having to censor themselves. These people usually invite me out for drinks, for dinner, for whatever, and then when it becomes apparent that I’m not interested in sleeping around, they’re gone and never heard from again.

It gets tiring. It truly does. But I know that if someone is so fickle at the start of the friendship, it probably won’t get any better, no matter how many chances I give.

Third. City life is hard. Getting anywhere takes forever, and I haven’t adjusted properly yet. That being said, I love that I can always go to a museum on a rainy day, people watch on a sunny day, hang out at my house when I want me-time, and lay around in a garden when I want friend-time. It takes some getting used to, but I am slowly changing my mental programming to account for this new and exciting lifestyle.

The good: there’s lots of it.

I have beauty all around me. The buildings, the food, the people, the culture, the language; this list is far from exhaustive. Every morning I get to saunter down my building steps and breathe in the deep scents of France. Fresh baguettes at every corner, the sweet fall wind wafting across the surface of the Seine, and tourists snapping pictures of every mundane detail. Every statue causes wonder to spread across their tanned faces and I realize how lucky I am. Trees shade long boulevards and blanket the quick chatter of incomprehensible languages. It’s the experience that I live in. Why would I want to be anywhere else?

The people. Yes, I’ve mentioned above some individuals who quite literally take the wind out of my sails and make me wonder why I’m even here, but there are so many more that are just lovely. There is one man, in particular, who is worth mentioning. When I told him about this blog, he requested that he be nick-named Geoffrey, after the British butler from “The Fresh Prince” TV show. Never one to turn down a request like that, I now have the pleasure of introducing you to him: a charming, mid-twenties, British man who also just moved to Paris.

Geoffrey is a wonderful example of human kind. Yes, he kisses his own arse (note: I did not type “ass”) at every possible instance, and yes, he corrects my English grammar at least once a day, but all in all, he is a kind soul who says “bless you” too much and likes to go on long walks around Paris with me. Every so often he looks at me with a pitying glance and then says something ridiculous like, “let’s go buy you some towels,” or tries to impress me with his bike renting skills, only to find out that with both our minds combined, we still can’t properly figure out the rental process.

Next: John Mayer. Yes, he is not French. But his playlist is with me at all times. He serenades me when I take the metro. He coos into my ear when I walk over the Seine, strumming his guitar as I look over my left shoulder to take in the Eiffel Tower backlit in all of its majesty. He’s everywhere with me. And he rocks.

My French classes. After three weeks here, I realized I was stuck in the expat Catch 22. I was working at an English job, speaking English. Always speaking English. Forgetting my French. So I did what I had to do: I quit my job, got a different job, signed up for intensive French lessons, and washed my hands clean of being forever stuck in my little English-speaking world.

The tourists. I’ve mentioned them before, and I’ll talk about them again. In my area of town, I am constantly surrounded by them. I thought I would find it annoying, but instead, I find it refreshing. It’s easy to rush through the city with your head down and never stop to realize that you are in a place that is living history. Visitors to Paris remind me of why I moved here in the first place. Even if I decide that this is not the city for me, the tourists will never let me stop appreciating how lucky I will have been to have this experience.

So.

That’s the update for now. You will notice that I did not talk, as usual, about drinking copious amounts of alcohol. I know, you must all be very concerned because I ALWAYS talk about wine. Or beer. Or cocktails. Well, have no fear – I am very willingly making my rounds to bars, although I haven’t had the “true” wine experience (whatever form that comes in).

Anyway, that’s all folks – keep sending me those emails and I promise I will answer

Bonjournee or Bonsoiree…depending on where in the world you might be,

Love,

K