The last few weeks, I’ve been busy scraping off the textured paint in my living room to make way for a new color (of regular, non-textured paint). Luckily the textured paint had been put over white paint, which I then had to wash. That last photo may look relatively white, but in reality, it’s quite yellowish — the cleaned walls look much better. This means I won’t have to use primer, which is nice.

About a year ago, Nice started a “city bike” program called Vélo Bleu. I took a 15-euro yearly subscription, which lets you borrow bikes as you want, with the first 30 minutes free on each bike. While it is very cheap, it’s not so practical when, in reality, I’ve only been able to find a bike to use about 10% of the time, plus they’re very heavy and only have 3 speeds. I enjoyed riding them anyway, which helped me realize that I’d be happy with a cheap bike of my own for riding around town. I wouldn’t have to lose any time looking for a Vélo Bleu, and would save the money spent all those times I ended up paying for a bus or tram ticket when a bike couldn’t be found. The downsides are the probability it could be stolen, and having to maintain it myself. But even needing to do maintenance has its upsides: you know what you’re getting into with your own bike.

I didn’t plan on shopping for one until my yearly subscription ran out. I visited one of my favorite secondhand shops today, as I often do because they’re so much fun to browse, then went upstairs to check their used bikes, just in case. I’d seen decent ones in their store over the years, but nothing that ever caught my eye… until today. A charming old Peugeot in orange, with bright green decals, touring handlebars, a chrome rack on the back, front and rear lights, and a mixte (unisex) frame. I could hardly believe my eyes, and figured something must be wrong with it. I spun the wheels to check for wobble: they turned straight and true. I looked at the rims: no divots, cracks, or any other problems. I checked the rear derailleur: a bit gunky, but in fine working condition, which surprised me for a bike its age. The teeth on the chain wheels looked good; the bike pedalled smoothly. I sat on it: surprisingly, the seat was already at the right height for me, and the frame a comfortable fit for head-up city riding, though I would need to turn up the handlebars to level. There was no rust around the bike’s various bolts, which meant adjustments would be feasible. “If the brakes still work, it’s mine,” I thought — not only did the caliper brakes still clamp onto the rims, the pads were in good enough shape that the bike braked without a problem. The only reservations I had were for the shifter and number of speeds: it’s an old lever shifter, and there’s no front derailleur, so the bike’s 5 rear chain wheels meant it only had 5 speeds. “It is just for riding around town, and 5 speeds are still better than 3, plus this is a lot lighter than the city bikes,” I pondered. Then I bought it. 50 euros, and all I need to replace are the tires and inner tubes.

According to its decal styles and serial number, which starts with Y904, it’s a 1979 touring model. Everything on it but the seat and tires is original. 1979 Peugeot Cyclotourisme set with all the photos I took today. As a kid my brother and I would ride steel-frame Takara road bikes, which also had lever shifters. We often had to finagle their caliper brakes and derailleurs, so having another bike with a lever shifter brings back fond childhood memories. I’ll have to re-learn how to ride with one hand while shifting, and memorize the sweet spots for each of the 5 speeds! It will also be fun to have a mechanically simple bike to work on again. I do love my mountain bike, but with disc brakes, and front and rear suspension, it’s not one I can repair entirely on my own.

About four and a half years ago, I built a PC to take over from my aging laptop. That PC served me faithfully until December 2009, when I got myself a 24″ monitor for Christmas and upgraded Ubuntu to 9.10 (Karmic Koala). My four-year-old graphics card, with just 128 megabytes of memory, could barely handle my monitor, meaning I couldn’t watch DVDs full size. Furthermore, two weeks ago, while playing a complex Flash game, Ubuntu… crashed. Yes. The almighty Linux operating system crashed, for the first time in the three years I’ve been running it.

It was time to upgrade core hardware (motherboard, processor, graphics card). It was a bit disorienting to see how far things had come since building my PC in 2005! After getting up to speed on modern developments, I opted for a smaller-format motherboard (Micro ATX), a decent dual-core AMD processor, and a cheap but fast graphics card. I reused my old PC case, hard drives, CD/DVD drive, multi-card reader (mainly for SD cards), and no-name 7.1 surround sound card that I got for 15 euros a year ago and that works great. I don’t demand much of my system, so I always focus on the best quality I can find in the lower price ranges, making sure everything is compatible. Spending the time to research components really pays off in the end. I did also spend a bit of money to replace the old power supply that came with my computer case, since I wanted something more ecological. The components arrived today:
- ASRock N68-S micro ATX motherboard (this has great reviews)
- AMD Athlon II X2 245 (2.9Ghz) dual-core processor
- Gigabyte NVIDIA GeForce 8400 GS graphics card (512Mb of memory)
- 1Gb DDR2 RAM
- Antec EarthWatts 380W Green power supply, rated 80Plus Bronze

My PC innards looked like this before, and now look like this. Time from start to finish: two hours. Zero problems, and excellent performance. I didn’t even have to reinstall my operating system! I just turned off the computer, unplugged it, changed around the innards, plugged it back in, turned it on, and it worked. Vive Ubuntu! I did need to remove some tweaks to Ubuntu for my old graphics card, but that was it. DVDs play smoothly at full resolution now, and I’m delighted with how fast Gimp opens and edits my photos. My old setup (AMD Sempron 2800+ 1.6Ghz processor, 128Mb graphics card, and 1Gb of RAM) had a rough time with Gimp, taking nearly a minute to open; the new setup opens Gimp in less than three seconds. I’m happy!

A few days after the New Year, we were hit with a freezing cold front on the French Riviera. It having been twelve years since I lived in Finland and last had to deal with ice on a day-to-day basis, I had essentially forgotten about the slippery phenomenon.

That is, until my foot slid on the sidewalk and I thought to myself, “these soles are really wearing out,” put down my second boot, thinking it would stabilize me, then, as both slipped out from under me, I promptly found myself seated on my now-freezing rear end. “What??” I put my hand on the sidewalk. What should have been gummy, rough asphalt was instead icy smooth. I ran my hand over it inquisitively, and finally the memory returned: “oh, ice! What?! Here?!”

I picked myself up and paid more attention while I finished walking from the bus station to our offices. Fifteen minutes after settling in at my desk, my lower back began to ache. I soon realized I wouldn’t make it through the day without painkillers, and so called up a doctor. I was able to get an appointment an hour later. By then I was nearly unable to walk from the pain, much less stay seated for very long. The doctor prescribed x-rays of my lower back, an anti-inflammatory (ketoprofen) and painkiller (paracetamol), and sent me home for two days of rest. Since the accident had been on my way to work, our office assistant filled out an accident de travail form, which is the first time I’d ever seen one. It’s roughly equivalent to workers’ compensation in the US.

It turns out that having an accident de travail makes everything even simpler than health care already is in France. I don’t have to pay for anything that is prescribed as a result of my accident. Not even the usually-mandatory base fees that, otherwise, would later be reimbursed. As a result, the five x-rays of my back (only two are shown there) were free, and my regular physician prescribed 15 physical therapy sessions, which are also entirely free. My spine, sacrum and coccyx are fine; the doctor who did my x-rays even pointed out that I have “particularly well-spaced vertebrae”. Way to go, vertebrae. The muscles, however, are a different story; it’s only today that I’ve been able to go without using much pain medication.

I was able to find a great physical therapist with offices five minutes from where I work. Few things are better than a deep, full-back massage right after a long day.

Today while walking home from grocery shopping, a man called to me from his rental car in the street, while waving a map. Used to being asked for directions here (I seem to have an “ask me for directions” face), I approached, cautiously nonetheless. He pointed to the railway station and asked if I spoke Italian. “No, sorry,” since my Italian for directions is pretty terrible. He then asked if I spoke English. “Yes, I do,” I smiled. “Your English is good!” he remarked, “where are you from?” “Oh, I’m American,” and suddenly his story got complicated.

He said there’d been a problem at the airport. “Radio, boom!” he said. “Ah,” I nodded, puzzled. “I have been in Nice for three days. I am a fashion director for Armani in Milano,” he said with some confidence. I looked at him: hair shaved at the same length all over, no-name watch, nondescript beige V-neck sweater over a nondescript white dress shirt, black canvas man-purse. Hmmm. He continued, “I have been staying at the Negresco, giving a fashion exhibition. And after the exhibition, you know, we give away the clothes! Because we can’t keep them! And now I have to go back to Rome. Would you like free clothes?” Hm. Milano, he claims, but then he says “go back” to Rome? Milan and Rome are not exactly close to each other. In Nice he’d been at the Negresco? That’s only a couple kilometers from the airport, what was he doing on the opposite side of Nice, and what on earth had been the original story about the railway station? Plus, an international fashion director who doesn’t speak French, only English and Italian? Yeah right. I smelled a rat. Ever the curious cat, I pretended to be interested, just to see where his scam went. There was no one else on the street, it was my own street, the shop behind me is owned by someone who knows me, and I was safely ensconced between two parked cars on his passenger side; even at the worst, he couldn’t open the door and nab me.

He once again brought up my nationality. “You’re really American! Wow!” Idiot, I thought, you take me for a tourist who won’t see through your bullshit story and who wouldn’t know who to contact before it’s too late. “Would you like a leather jacket?” Oh, sure, I pretended. He flashed his plasticised “business card”, his thumb placed directly over the company name, then showed me photos of models wearing crappy box-cut leather jackets. “I give you this one, all right? But, I explain you my problem!” Ah, we finally get to the point, I thought. He continued: “So, haha, you know what it is like, you go to the casino, you gamble, and, eh, you lose. Five thousand euros I lost yesterday! Ah!” Uh-huh, sure. He went on, “and so, my problem is I have no gas to get to the airport and no money to pay for it. I’m very happy to give you a leather jacket!” as he set a cheap, no-name plastic bag on the passenger seat, then added, “I just need some money for gas.” “There’s a gas station a kilometer down the street,” I said matter-of-factly. “Yes, but, I have no money to pay for it! Haha! I lose everything yesterday! Five thousand euros, can you imagine!” “Yeah, that was irresponsible of you, wasn’t it,” I backed off. “You have no money you can give me? But I give you free leather jacket! Not even a few euro to get to airport?” he insisted. “No! Ciao ciao!” I walked off.

I called the city police as soon as I was home, two minutes later. However, the city police told me that they don’t handle scams like this; the national police (gendarmes) do, so I phoned them. The officer asked me to describe the scam, and if I had the guy’s license plate. Unfortunately I hadn’t thought to memorize it, but I did know which rental company his car was from, and what kind of car he was driving. Normally it’s the license plate that matters, but when I told the gendarme that the guy was still driving around my part of the city, the gendarme took what I had for a description and thanked me.

If you are approached by someone telling a story like this, do not give them any money. Even if it were true, someone who works for a company and who’s on a business trip, would be able to contact their management and get emergency funds. (Or, y’know, he could have sold his leather jackets, if it were true he didn’t need them and so urgently needed cash.) Besides that, if someone is so foolish and irresponsible as to blow everything they have at a casino, including their gas money, well, quite frankly, they can walk to the airport, for all I care. Take down their license plate number, but don’t make a scene of it, and phone the French national police once you’re somewhere secure. Scams and rackets here can and do get violent, there’s no point risking your personal safety. That’s precisely why I checked that the guy didn’t have associates somewhere, that there was at least one witness who knew me, and, obviously, I was on my own street. Anywhere else, I would have just walked away.

A meme that’s been making the rounds:
1. What did you do in 2009 that you’d never done before?
Called French national police (gendarmes) to my home due to a dangerous, mentally ill neighbor (glad I’ve only had to do that once); painted my walls (had never done home painting before).

2. Did you keep your New Years’ resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
I don’t make resolutions.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Yes, several colleagues had babies! They’re all adorable and healthy.

4. Did anyone close to you die?
Last year was one of the first years I can remember in which no one close to me passed away.

5. What countries did you visit?
Italy and Switzerland

6. What would you like to have in 2010 that you lacked in 2009?
Better physical shape: I didn’t bike as much as I wanted to, and am starting a simple upper-body strength program (push ups and sit ups).

7. What dates from 2009 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
It was an eventful year, I could name many things; but seeing kabuki performed by highly talented actors and musicians was incredible.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Restoring the beautiful original “tomettes” floor in my apartment, on my own.

9. What was your biggest failure?
Not managing to get my bathroom water damage repaired

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
I came down with swine flu, which was the worst illness I’ve had since my childhood

11. What was the best thing you bought?
Paint for my walls

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
My brother’s. He’s awesome.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
I plead the Fifth

14. Where did most of your money go?
Mortgage and food

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
Coming home every evening to my dear, sweet kitties and a comfy bed. Simple pleasures are often the best.

16. What song will always remind you of 2009?
None in particular

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
a) happier or sadder? Happier
b) thinner or fatter? Same, but in a bit worse shape
c) richer or poorer? Less in debt, so “richer” :)

18. What do you wish you’d done more of?
Seeing friends, sewing, writing, biking

19. What do you wish you’d done less of?
Reading websites (even if they are informative)

20. How will you be spending Christmas?
Spent it at home with Kanoko, Grey, and a delicious home-cooked meal

21. Did you fall in love in 2009?
No, but friendships deepened, which was great

22. How many one-night stands?
My reading lamp is on the same one nightstand I’ve had for a while now. (Yeah, I’ve never had a one-night stand and never will.)

23. What was your favorite TV program?
Mad Men

24. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?
I don’t do hate. Such a pointless waste of energy.

25. What was the best book you read?
Ise Monogatari

26. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Old university friends sharing videos from when we were in marching band 14-16 years ago. (For instance, Oregon Marching Band at the 1995 Rose Bowl!)

27. What did you want and get?
Adopted a second cat, earned a raise, and got a small oven

28. What did you want and not get?
I’d have liked to find someone neat with whom to start a relationship.

29. What was your favorite film of this year?
Up

30. What did you do on your birthday?
I forget

31. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
Can’t really say

32. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2009?
Chic French hippy business

33. What kept you sane?
Getting home every evening and opening my front door to the sight of my two cats, purring and excited to see me

34. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Eh. I’ve never really fancied famous people, because I know that I don’t know who they really are.

35. What political issue stirred you the most?
Health care for the US, the ridiculous “identité nationale” so-called “debate” in France

36. Who did you miss?
My brother and my cousins!

37. Who was the best new person you met?
I didn’t get to know any new people very well

38. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2009:
One I’ve long known, that keeps getting confirmed as life goes on: sincerity and integrity, along with compassion, earn respect, and even when overlooked, give you an inner strength that keeps you going during the worst of times.

39. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year:
Encore un matin, ami, ennemi (Another morning, friend, enemy)
Entre la raison et l’envie (Between reason and desire)
Matin pour agir ou attendre la chance (Morning to act or to wait for luck)
Ou bousculer les évidences (Or to shake up things taken for granted)
Matin innocence, matin intelligence (Morning innocence, morning intelligence)
C’est toi qui décide du sens (You’re the one who chooses the meaning)
- Jean-Jacques Goldman, Encore un matin

This morning, Nice woke up to snow, for the first time since January 2005. I remember where I was those five years ago: in a run-down furnished hotel room, where I’d been since having ended the relationship with my ex of six years, who had taken everything. The lease on our apartment had been in his name only; according to him at the time, it was “easier”. The car was in his name too, so it was also “easier” for him to put everything in it and leave me with just my clothes, even giving away my cat, Malo, at Christmas after telling me I could come take care of him during my ex’s vacation. Furthermore, as a freelance translator at the time, his taking my computer effectively meant I was without a livelihood. And since I was a foreigner, in addition to being a freelancer, landlords did not want to rent to me.

Family chipped in to help me purchase a laptop so that I could get back to earning money. I found the cheap furnished hotel that offered long-term stays (these types of hotels are called meublés here). And three months after that snow, I got an email from two men — fellow freelance translators — who would soon become my landlords, mentioning they were readers of my blog and they had an apartment free to rent. In a joyous coincidence, Malo was returned to me at the same time, since his recipient had had enough of his fur. Six months after that, I was offered a job. With an income that bankers could verify as regular on paper, I was finally able to purchase an apartment a year and a half ago. Slowly but surely, I built a new life.

I was surprised by the strong memories that seeing snow outside my patio evoked. Five years ago, seeing the snow at such a dark time in my life felt cold and hopeless. Seeing the snow today cued those feelings, even while I felt happy to see plants and my patio roof covered in white. I realized how far I’ve come; the cold weather is merely cold weather now. My life is filled with wonderful colleagues, dear friends, fluffy kitties who are always waiting impatiently for me at the door, and of course a home of my own. I hadn’t thought of those difficult times in a while, my life being filled with, well, life now!

A few weeks ago I became one of the many “lucky” folk to catch the H1N1 flu (“swine flu”). For the first time in my adult life, I understood how someone could die from the flu. Not to sound alarming, mind, just that on the fifth day of a high fever, bad cough, and exhaustion, I was so sore and tired that I barely had the strength to cough well enough to clear my throat to breathe. And that was with medication, and I was in pretty good physical shape before that. Flu vaccinations. It hurts less to get one than to get this flu.

While I was ill, the French national police knocked on my door. At first I wondered if I were in a movie, seeing the plain-clothed gentleman present himself with blue-white-red-striped official ID in hand and firm look on his face: “Bonjour madame, police nationale.” He was looking for one of my upstairs neighbors (the eldest son of his parents, who also live there, along with their two younger sons and the eldest son’s daughter), who has a warrant out for his arrest. Delightful. I swear my apartment is in a nice neighborhood overall. It would seem I’m just in a bad micro-part of it.

I finally recovered to the point where I was able to get back on my mountain bike yesterday at noon. Taking in the fresh autumn forest air on the rocky hills was wonderful, and raised my spirits. Then, this morning (on foot, not on my bike), a car driver decided that she would rather risk killing or handicapping me than lose ten seconds at a stop sign, which also had a clearly-marked pedestrian crossing. She accelerated — yes, accelerated, to my horror as I kept trying to signal “stop” with my hand and even shouted at her — then swerved to the side of the road to go around me, missing me by a few centimeters. I spent the rest of the day taking short breaks to pull back from my desk, wiggle my legs and look at them, happy they’re still attached and in good working order. Before that, however, I called the police. Again. It’s to the point where I recognize the dispatchers’ voices now. Good to know in this part of the world where there is no shortage of drivers who have a sense of entitlement the size of their hurtling metal narcissism machines: if a driver runs you down in a pedestrian crossing, you can write down/memorize their license plate, then go to the gendarmerie and file a complaint (porter plainte), also giving a description of the car as possible. The police will then contact them and handle it from there.

I could write a book on interactions with the police and gendarmes in France. I’ve now dealt with pickpockets, a drunken upstairs neighbor who would tip over his furniture at 2 in the morning while watching football, a mentally ill East German woman who’s hit her children, husband and niece, insults everyone in French and threatens to poison my cats, an upstairs neighbor who threatens his own mother (yes, I had called the police on him a couple of times — the national policeman’s visit didn’t entirely surprise me), and dangerously irresponsible drivers. Have a complaint? I probably know how to file it. In French!

Besides that, though, I found some beautiful chrysanthemums at a florist. They reminded me of Chinese and Japanese paintings. Earlier I had potted daffodil and iris bulbs I’d dug up and stored this summer, and am pleased that all of them are starting to sprout. From the two daffodils and three irises I had originally, I now have four daffodil and seven iris plants. Work on my apartment is also coming along, although very slowly.

As I approached the Casino de Monte Carlo, which also contains the Monte Carlo opera house, passing the Maseratis, Jaguars, Lamborghinis, Rolls Royces, Bugattis and Bentleys, I stopped in my tracks, wowed by a beauty I hadn’t expected to see much of: kimono. Not just one or two, but dozens upon dozens of Japanese women wearing gorgeous silk kimono with shibori, yuzen, embroidery, tsuzure weave and other designs, all wearing their obi (wide sashes/belts) tied in the traditional taiko style. I was delighted to be able to see what kind of kimono were worn to a kabuki performance: the formality ranged from irotomesode, the most formal I saw there, to iromuji, houmongi and tsukesage, which are usually worn to such performances, to tsukesage komon. (The least formal of kimono is the komon; women’s kimono types are described here.) There was even one woman wearing a cream tsukesage made of translucent ro, with a matching light blue ro obi woven with metallic threads. It was also interesting to see how the women wore their kimono: indeed, as I’d always read and seen in kimono books and magazines, older women wore their obi and obijime (cord tied around the obi) lower than younger women, some with it only an inch above the bottom edge. One older woman had a beautiful light grey iromuji with a black-ground obi, woven with metallic blue, green, silver and gold lozenges; a middle-aged woman had a forest green irotomesode with metallic embroidered flower rondels along the bottom hem and a silver obi; a younger woman had a bold yellow houmongi with yuzen flowers and an orange and gold obi. As for men, I only saw one man in the audience wearing hakama, entirely done in a beautiful deep grey. At the end of the performance, Ichikawa Ebizo XI was wearing a formal hakama outfit with five mon.

Then there was the opera house itself. It seats only 520; at least a fifth of the audience was Japanese. I had a seat in the second row on the middle left: this was my view, and the only photo I took since I wanted to enjoy the performance. At one point I remembered I should look at the opera house ceiling, since I’d heard it was richly decorated. As I looked up, I had to catch my breath — I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life, and yet I’ve visited Versailles, Florence, Venice, the Loire Valley castles, the Forbidden City… I think the difference was that for the first time, I was actually participating in an event that a particularly gorgeous edifice was meant for, rather than being a simple tourist. The ceiling and walls were gilded, sculpted, painted, with an enormous gold and crystal chandelier hanging in the center; there were tall windows onto the Mediterranean with immense burgundy velvet curtains that closed when the performances started.

Kagami Jishi was danced first. Seated so close to the stage, and on the side where Ichikawa Ebizo did most of his acting, I was able to see his delicate and subtle facial expressions, hand movements, and changes in body position. Videos you can find online come nowhere near conveying all the delicacies in a kabuki performance. I was also able to hear the quiet vocal cues given by both Ebizo and the musicians: the almost-whispered calls and pianissimo shamisen plucks that gave the time, tunings, stage cues and more. I could even hear the cords on the ko-tsuzumi being tightened and loosened by the first drummer. The musicians were exceptional, with precise timing and tuning. I was very happy to experience such a wonderful live Japanese music performance, because it greatly contributed to my appreciation of it. Listening to a recording, no matter how good, is simply not the same as witnessing the expert interplay between a flutist, shamisen and ko-tsuzumi on opposite sides of a stage, not facing each other, with no conductor and no cue other than a sub-vocal “oh”, and yet making their entrances in precise unison. Having been a musician myself, I know how much trust, skill and knowledge go into a simple entrance, especially when there are so few musicians — if just one is even slightly off, it’s obvious. They were always “on”, and it was breathtaking.

Narukami was done next, with Ichikawa Danjuro XII as Narukami, and Nakamura Tokizo V as Princess Taema, just as in the examples on that Narukami page. To my surprise, Narukami was a humorous play, and done with real artistry by the two men and their supporting cast. It made all the difference that they were older men playing the parts of younger people — their depth, composure and maturity threw the characters’ inexperience and immaturity into stark relief, making it even funnier. Ichikawa Danjuro honestly seemed to be having the time of his life; his performance was inspired. If he always performs like that, he’s an incredible artist indeed. For a play that was first premiered in 1684, Narita-ya has kept all its vivacity; it does not “feel” 325 years old at all.

Online you can read that kabuki pursues “on-stage expression that goes beyond mere realism.” In an era of digital special effects and never knowing what’s real and what’s not, I was amazed at how kabuki truly does evoke sensations and feelings in its audience. In Narukami, after Princess Taema has cut the cord imprisoning the dragon gods of rain, a thunderstorm begins. And you know it’s a thunderstorm, because the enormous, roaring o-daiko is the thunder, and the deafening, scintillating shamisen are the rain. It took me several minutes of childlike wonder before I finally figured out that the rain was, in fact, the musicians plucking their shamisen backstage, and not a digital effect. In short, an unforgettable experience. I hope to be able to attend kabuki again someday; it also reminded me of the better ballets and operas I’ve seen in my life, and how wonderful those can be too.

Yesterday evening, while walking to the bus stop to go home for the weekend, I noticed that the advertisement had changed, and had a Kabuki actor. To my great delight, on approaching close enough to read it, it was indeed for Kabuki, in Monaco! I could hardly believe my eyes. As long-time readers may remember, I’ve always loved Japanese culture and the Japanese language, and five years ago, nearly went to teach English in Japan, having been accepted by an elementary school on the outskirts of Kyoto. Kabuki is a popular form of Japanese theatre that was founded some 400 years ago. Invitation to Kabuki is an excellent site with information about its particularities.

Once at home, I went straight to the “Kabuki in Monaco” website to reserve tickets, and was overjoyed that I could get a spot for next Saturday evening’s performance. The first two kabuki actors are the most prestigious in Japan: Ichikawa Danjuro XII and his son Ebizo XI, of the Narita-ya kabuki guild. From their site: “Narita-ya is the yago, or guild name, of the Ichikawa family, the best known acting family in Edo kabuki. Narita-ya is also the earliest known yago in all kabuki.” As for the third, Nakamura Tokizo V is a well-known onnagata actor, meaning he plays female roles. The play they’ll be performing, “Narukami“, likely means that Nakamura will play Princess Taema, one of his best roles, and one of the Ichikawas will play the priest Narukami — indeed, the “Narukami” link has video of Nakamura Tokizo V and Ichikawa Danjuro XII playing those very roles.

As for the dance “Kagami Jishi” (The Mirror Lion, 鏡狮子 in Japanese), I was able to find it on YouTube, in several parts. It’s played by a different actor (Bando Tamasaburo V), and has nice commentary in English:
- Kagami Jishi, part I
- Kagami Jishi, part II
- Kagami Jishi, part III
- Kagami Jishi, part IV
- Kagami Jishi, part V
- Kagami Jishi, part VI
- Kagami Jishi, part VII

I’ve had a gurgly stomach and painful abdominal cramps since Monday. Since my stomach is generally able to withstand pretty much anything I throw at it (the only exceptions being gluten and casein), I figured it would get better, but instead it’s worsened gradually. I could barely sleep last night for the pain, and was unable to move due to cramping after eating breakfast.

So, this morning I emailed our offices to let them know I was ill, then called my general practitioner at 9:20 am. My regular doctor wasn’t available until tomorrow morning, so I asked if another was. (I’m grateful to have found an office with three doctors, all of whom are good, upon my arrival in Nice nine years ago.) Another was indeed able to take me at 10 am — 40 minutes later. I took a quick shower, then walked to the doctors’ office, which takes 10 minutes.

I waited a half an hour, reading a couple issues of L’Observateur. Then the doctor examined me, diagnosing a bad case of indigestion, and prescribed me a proton pump inhibitor to take for a month (pantoprazole for anyone curious), an antispasmodic, and rest. He gave me an arrêt maladie (permission for work absence due to illness) for today, ran my carte vitale through his reader, and I wrote him a check for 22 euros, all of which will be reimbursed by the sécu and my supplementary insurance.

Then I went to a nearby pharmacy to fill the prescriptions. I presented my carte vitale; they already have my supplementary insurance on file. The pharmacist replaced the branded medications with generics, wrote the correspondences on the boxes so I’d know which was which, put them in a bag, and said “bonne journée, au revoir !” The medications are fully reimbursed, so I didn’t have to pay anything.

I was home by 11 am. It took less than two hours for me to make a doctor’s appointment, take a shower, go to the appointment, get diagnosed, pick up medication, and walk home. Total cost, once the 22 euros are reimbursed (tomorrow): Zero. Although I will admit the walk wasn’t much fun considering how tired and weak I am, but still, it was free monetarily speaking. It’s taking all the self-restraint I have not to make a scathing remark comparing this French experience to the US. And in my ten years in France, this experience is the norm — I usually get an appointment on the same day, within a couple hours of calling.

Related post explaining more about France’s sécu, the carte vitale, supplementary insurance, and why I paid at the doctor but not the pharmacy: Health care in France – Basics