Four Explore Feel Poor . . . and Other Notes From the Road

By Dan

OK, I thought that I’d do an entry that was less travelogue on what we’re seeing and doing, and more on what we’re thinking and feeling. It may occasionally devolve into rant, but bear with me.

When last we had internet access, we took the opportunity to check bank accounts, credit card statements, etc. (A bit of background: My mom has graciously stepped up to contend with our mail, but we’re set up to handle most things automatically and remotely. We’re funding things on the road primarily via ATM, on the theory that bank fees are less than credit card fees, although we’ve also got travelers checks and some greenbacks, to ensure triple redundancy.) I had an unexpected reaction when I saw the ATM withdrawals shown in dollars – boy, were those big amounts! For some reason, when talking in euros, 200 here and 300 there doesn’t seem so bad. Add 30% (the approximate exchange rate differential), and they look a lot bigger in dollars. So, yes, we’re feeling a bit impoverished. The kids are getting the picture that this is a new regime, though: we were walking through Paris, and came across a funky playground setup which offered 5 minutes on a trampoline for 2 euros. One of the kids turned to the other and said something like, “Well, it costs money, so we probably can’t do it, but it really wouldn’t have been worth it anyway. . . .” (For the record, Mr. Scrooge swallowed hard and told them that they were welcome to do it regardless of the cost, but they declined.) Living in euros has some odd results, psychologically: going to the grocery store, it feels like you get a lot of stuff for your 20 – although if it’s 20 euros, it’s really 26 dollars. Buying gas has required much greater focus. At home, I’ve never worried too much about a 5 cents/gallon price differential, since with my 10 gallon tank it doesn’t amount too much. However, we often see a 0.15 euro/liter differential as we drive around here – still not all that much, you think, until you remember that the tank takes 60 liters, so you’re talking 9 euros or 12 dollars in total.

The French. Ah, the French. We’re periodically reminded of the cultural drivers that make the French the French. At our last internet café, Christina started to type away on the keyboard when she realized that it had a totally different layout. About 30% of the letters were in the same spots as they are on the keyboard that the rest of the world uses. (OK, I can’t speak for every country, but I know that I have used keyboards in at least half a dozen countries in Europe, Asia, and South America, and with the exception of a few different punctuation features, they’re all the same. In fact, I learned a lot of Spanish vocabulary using Microsoft Windows in Spanish, in Spain and Costa Rica.) I chalked up the different keyboard simply to the French liking to be different, just for the heck of it. But, that explains a few very poorly written and short emails that we sent.

It may be that one comes across more irritating, irrational things when one is traveling, because at home you either accept it or find a way to work around it. Yesterday, we hit a doozy. I went to buy tickets to get us into a chateau, and for two adults and two kids, it was going to cost 24 euros. I pointed out that there was a family price of 22 euros for two adults and three kids under 18. Ah, yes, the woman at the register agreed enthusiastically . . . but you only have two kids. So, I have to pay more for 2 kids than if I had 3, I asked? Yes, she answered firmly. I pondered my options: (i) run out to the street and hire the first under 18 year old I could find for a euro, to tour a chateau with us; (ii) try to convince the woman that my third kid was actually invisible, but very much a part of our family; (iii) threaten action with the French anti-discrimination office, or the French office on population growth; or (iv) etc. Ultimately, I sucked it up and paid the 24 euros, taking some comfort in the confirmation that there are true knuckle-heads in at least one other country in the world.

The kids have had fun checking out the French devotion to their dogs. True to stereotypes, there are huge numbers of little Fifis on leashes everywhere we go. They named them Pampered Pets, so the call frequently goes out, “Check out the PP across the street,” or, more importantly, “Watch out for the PPP (Pampered Pet Poop) on the sidewalk.” They spent a hilarious dinner as we ate outside by the docks in Honfleur, waiting and watching to see if passing pedestrians would step in the PPP on the sidewalk behind them. For a dog lover like Abby, this is truly heaven!

Having savaged the French for a few paragraphs, I have to clarify the record a bit. People have been extremely nice to us, by and large, and have gone out of their way to be helpful. It’s hard to know how much of that comes from the fact that I’m speaking French to them, but that probably does help. Reports from the French are that my accent is somewhat unidentifiable – either they hear so few Americans speaking French that they don’t recognize an American accent, or my French training produced a different sort of accent. (Thanks go out to Mr. McGhee, my high school French teacher, who may have built a slight Scottish brogue into my accent!) There was even lots of smiling and chuckling as we stumbled through the supermarket routine a few days ago, holding up everyone in line. We did a big buy at Leclerc, which seems to be something like Sam’s Club, with groceries as well as clothes and everything else imaginable. We got to the front of the checkout line, and after having had 25 items rung up, were told that we needed to have weighed the produce at the produce department before getting to the checkout. So, back Christina went to the produce department. And, at that moment, she was on her game enough to remember that you don’t get bags at supermarkets in France. So, I did the 100 meter sprint to the car, to get a duffel bag in which to stuff all of our purchases. If people were muttering under their breath, I sure didn’t hear it. Thank you, fellow Leclerc customers, for pitying the ignorant gringos!

Loyal readers who have been worrying about the kids’ educations will be relieved to know that they have been doing their school work on a more or less regular basis. We ceremonially rip out the math workbook pages as they are completed, and toss them to lighten our loads. The grammar workbook pages don’t rip as easily, but they are being done as well. And, the kids scored perfect 10s on the last evening pop quiz. (How many of you know the name of the Virgin Mary’s mother, who shows up in lots of sculptures at medieval cathedrals?)

P.S. (by Christina)

To add one other thing about the French that is truly impressive: there is very little litter floating around. Perhaps it has to do with the unavailability of plastic bags at the grocery stores or lots of civil servants (high taxes!) cleaning the stuff up, but whatever the reason, it is amazing driving down highways and roads and only seeing sporadic trash, if any at all.