Welcome home

This morning I returned to Paris after a three-week, whirlwind tour of US medical school admissions offices. Stumbling off the plane at 6:45 am (my body utterly convinced that it was shortly after midnight), I queued up to go through customs and started assembling my papers.

Having moved to Paris in mid-August, I have yet to receive my one-year carte de séjour (isn't French bureaucracy wonderful?!). Lacking this document, I have to show my original visa - which expired in October, my temporary "visa to return to France", and a very official-looking récipisse (complete with ID photo and watermark) which shows that I am in the process of trying to obtain my carte de séjour.

When my turn came, I stepped up to the counter, thrust my papers towards the custom officer, and with a cheerful "Bonjour!" began to explain my situation. "Ne vous inquietez pas," he said calmly, amused by my concern. Handing me my stamped passport, he shook his head and smiled: "Ah, vous êtes charmante".
Welcome back to France, where no romantic come-on goes unsaid.

My adopted city then greeted me in characteristic fashion with a railroad strike. Line RER B, the commuter rail that crosses Paris north-to-south and connects Charles de Gaulle/Roissy airport to the city's mass transit was not running. This happens about once a month. Fortunately, the strike only affects the central part of the line (all stops between Gare du Nord and Denfert Rochereau). I was able to take the train from the airport to Gare du Nord and then transfer to metro line 5, which terminates (after about 12 painfully-slow stops) not too far from my house.

Trying to make my way through Gare du Nord with my luggage, I got stuck in a mob pushing me towards the metro entrance. Not having had a chance to recharge my metro pass, I tried to piggy-back through the gate on the person in front of me. This is illegal, and sure enough the sliding doors closed on me and my luggage. I was trapped, unable to move either forward or backward. After some confusion, the woman behind me swiped her monthly pass and the doors opened, allowing me to pass through.

Finally I got home, found my roommates there to let me in (I had loaned one of them my keys during my absence). The apartment has been decorated in Obama victory photos cut-out from French and American news journals. On my phone there was a message from a French acquaintance, congratulating me on Obama's victory, "from the bottom of her heart". Not a bad welcome after all.