A year and a half ago, I fell in love with an antique oak dining table in a secondhand store. Originally it was too expensive, but a month later, the price had fallen to one I could afford — no one wanted its black patina and slight damage. When I cheerily told the secondhand store owner I wanted to buy it, he sighed and said he was sorry about the damage, but that I could always paint over it. I said “oh non, jamais je la peindrais ! Ce n’est pas profond, je vais la poncer.” (“Oh no, I’d never paint it! It’s not deep, I’ll sand it.”) The owner looked at me and smiled, “c’est bien, c’est mieux comme ça.” (“That’s good, it’s better that way.”)

Thanks to a short visit by building management yesterday that required me to take the day off (to document the water damage from two months ago), I had plenty of extra time to do a project. Off to the home improvement store I went, to buy sandpaper and beeswax to redo my dining table. I’d long been ruminating how to restore it, and decided that sanding it by hand would be better than mechanically, since I only wanted to take the patina off and keep some of the table’s history, rather than erase all trace of previous usage. I’d settled on a beeswax finish for several reasons, mainly that oils don’t age well — indeed, linseed oil, which was used often in France (and still is), turns black with age, so it’s quite possible my oak table had been treated with it. Beeswax brings out the natural color of wood, doesn’t cause a patina, and still protects well. Paint and colored varnish were entirely out of the question, since I wanted to keep the table’s character.

Once home I started sanding with nothing more than sandpaper and my hands. The oak’s natural coloring, as shown above, was beautiful, and I was delighted at how the artisan had chosen the different grains for the border and Versailles-style top. It made me feel much better about taking off the patina, since once sanded, it was clear that this was a table whose woodwork was a work of art in and of itself, meant to be seen.

I applied two coats of beeswax (waiting two hours between them), let the table sit all night, then photographed it the next morning. The finished table: from the damaged end (showing how I didn’t sand out damage entirely), a photo with better lighting, and finally, with both extensions out. The beeswax really brought out the oak’s gorgeous coloring.

In a stroke of synchronicity, on my way home from work this evening, I passed an antique store with old books on sale. One of them was a 1967 home improvement book that I picked up as soon as I saw its instructions for reupholstering Louis XIV chairs. It also described some French furniture styles, which finally helped me ID my table, thanks in large part to the very typical legs for its style: it’s a Louis XV, also known as rococo. At home, I made my usual visit to the ApartmentTherapy site, where they had… a retrospect on Louis XV / rococo! I see rococo-style couches all the time in secondhand stores here, and now that I realize they’re from the same period as my dining table, I may well get one!

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

For about a year now I’ve been toying with the idea of continuing my studies, having always wanted to get a Masters degree. After my BA in French, I was actually accepted to a Masters program in the same subject, but decided instead to stay in Europe. It’s a decision I’m glad I made, because in the years since then I’ve come to know myself much better. Ten years ago I thought teaching would be great, but after experience teaching privately, I discovered it’s not something I enjoy as much as I’d imagined. While I would like to teach children in public schools, you have to be a French or EU citizen to even apply for the degree programs. Meanwhile, in the time I’ve been working as a translator and in IT, it’s become increasingly clear that my dream career would be something that combines my loves of literature, languages and computing. This was what I kept in mind over the last year.

Lo and behold, such a dream career does indeed exist: librarian. With today’s information systems, being a librarian now entails having IT knowledge, and a common degree is the Master of Library and Information Science (MLIS). While public librarians may be the first to come to mind, there are other related careers as well: information retrieval specialist / reference librarian, archivist, information subject specialist, knowledge manager, manager of library and information organizations, technical services librarian, Web librarian, and so forth.

I looked at various programs in the US and in France, hoping to stay in France since leaving for more than 3 months would mean losing my long-term resident status and having to start over from zero if I ever returned to the country. But how to finance my studies in France? A friend answered for me: in France, there’s a program funded by the Fongecif for the Congé Individuel de Formation (CIF), or Individual Continuing Education Sabbatical. For continuing education programs of at least 6 months to a maximum of 6 years, on approval of your proposal, the Fongecif can reimburse your employer for your salary, while you do your studies. In other words: you continue to receive your full salary, if it’s less than twice French minimum wage (which is about 1300 euros gross a month), or if it’s more, you get 80 to 90% of your salary. On agreement with your employer, you can return to your company after finishing, or find work elsewhere. There are differing requirements to qualify for the Fongecif depending on your situation; in my case, as a permanent employee (I have a CDI), I need 2 years as an employee, which recently became the case.

As for the program I hope to follow, I jumped out of my chair and started bouncing around my apartment when I discovered that one of the best MLIS programs in France is not only in Lyon, a city I love and miss dearly, but it also offers an option called Systèmes d’Information Multilingues et Ingénierie de la Langue (SIMIL), which translates to Multilingual Information Systems and Language Engineering, with courses in French and English. The school is the Ecole Nationale Supérieure des Sciences de l’Information et des Bibliothèques (ENSSIB), the degree I’m interested in is the MSIB (an MLIS), and they have other programs as well.

The first step is a Fongecif introductory meeting, which I’m going to attend this Thursday. If all goes well, the application process then begins.

In my previous post on French health care, I went over the basics of how things are done here. In this post I’ll compare some statistics, citing Canada and the UK as well since those two countries have often been the focus of recent debate in the US.

The last time the World Health Organisation (WHO) ranked world health systems was in 2000 — they no longer produce rankings since it’s so complex a task. Here are how the four countries fared:
1. France
18. United Kingdom
30. Canada
37. United States
Countries such as Colombia, Saudi Arabia, Morocco and Chile also ranked higher than the US.

Life expectancy has become part of the debate in the US currently. These rankings were taken from the list of countries by life expectancy:
8. France, with an overall life expectancy of 80.87 years
14. Canada, overall life expectancy 80.34 years
37. United Kingdom, overall life expectancy 78.7 years
45. United States, overall life expectancy 78.06 years
The French live nearly 3 years longer than Americans, on average.

Another key issue is pregnancy and childbirth. Here are a few stats taken from Wikipedia’s list of countries by infant mortality rate. The first number is the infant mortality rate per 1,000 live births, and the second is the under-five mortality rate per 1,000 live births:
Iceland: 2.9 and 3.9 (they have the best numbers)
France: 4.2 and 5.2
Canada and the UK: 4.8 and 6.0
USA: 6.3 and 7.8

In France, pregnant women have 3 sonograms and blood tests (one per trimester), with a three-hour blood test around the 4-month mark. All covered at 100%. Anything beyond that’s deemed necessary is also covered 100%. Mothers-to-be get 6 weeks of paid vacation legal minimum before their birth date — it can be extended, for instance if the pregnant woman lives more than an hour’s commute from her offices. They then get 10 weeks after giving birth. Fathers get 11 days of paid vacation (18 days if they’re father to twins or more). Postpartum exams are covered. Parents are given allocations familiales depending on their need; all get a basic “starter” minimum of several hundred euros. There are also allocations to help cover childcare if/when the mother returns to work. Mothers have the option of working 4 days a week instead of 5; fathers can now do this too (but only one member of the couple can do this, and there is a sort of “salary cut” in that a few — less than 10 — vacation days are removed if they choose the “4/5 work week” as it’s called).

All this and per capita, in France we pay half what Americans do: Health Care Spending in the United States and OECD Countries (2007).

From another scientific study, Americans Spend More on Health Care But Are Not Healthier:

The study is the first to use a universal set of standards to compare the quality of health care in the five countries surveyed. The researchers found that no country scored the best or worst overall and that each country was the best and worst in at least one area. The study is published in the May/June 2004 issue of the journal Health Affairs.

Peter S. Hussey, lead author of the study and a doctoral candidate in the Department of Health Policy and Management, said, ”It is well known that the United States spends much more on health care per capita than other countries, and it is commonly assumed that we have the best health care system in the world. However, the results of our study show that the United States performs better than other countries in only a few areas, while performing worse in others. This raises the question of what Americans receive for all of the money devoted to health care.”

Overview
France has a public health system called “Sécurité Sociale”, also known as “Assurance Maladie”. It has a standardized, automatic, electronic system for processing bills and reimbursements. Every French citizen enrolled in “sécu”, as it’s called for short, receives a green card with a microchip, called “carte vitale“. The carte vitale contains only insurance-related information; no medical records are stored on it.

It is also illegal to publicly advertise pharmaceutical products and medical services in France. Quote from the linked article: “Direct-to-consumer advertising is forbidden in France for reimbursed and prescription-only drugs, with the exception of vaccines and products used [to help quit smoking].” Pharmacists, doctors, hospitals, etc. can only have office signs, for instance, and there are no TV advertisements for prescription medication.

Sécu covers a range of percentages, up to 70%, of basic care: general practitioner visits, opthalmologists, dentists, prescriptions, and so forth. Emergency care is always 100% covered. Prescription medication for chronic conditions is also always covered at 100%.

To cover the remaining percentage of basic care, you can choose a private health insurer. In France, those known as “mutuelles” (mutuals) are required to be non-profit, and also cannot advertise. They usually cover 100% of the remainder, with some exceptions for optical and dentistry. I happen to have one that covers 100% of everything, optical and dentistry included. For optical and dentistry there are reasonable limits, which means I can get “only” one free pair of prescription eyeglasses per year, for example, and there is an upper limit to the frames’ price.

Going to the doctor, the pharmacy and the ER
For regular doctor visits, when you go to the doctor, you show your carte vitale, which is put in a special reader. Since doctors can set their own rates — the government does not control them, it only sets a maximum amount beyond which it won’t reimburse — you pay for the appointment at the end. Your payment is reimbursed by the sécu at the going percentage, and the sécu transmits the details to your supplemental insurer, who then reimburses the rest per your policy — all electronically and automatically, direct to your bank account if/when you give your account details. (As a tangent, bank accounts are highly secure in France, and so it’s quite safe to give out a “deposit permission”. No one can take money from an account if all they have is the deposit info.)

When you go to a pharmacy, you again show your carte vitale. If you’ve been to the pharmacy before and they have your supplemental insurance information on record, you don’t need to show it again since they link it with your carte vitale. Since prescription medication prices are set by the government, if your supplemental insurance covers them at 100% beyond sécu rates, you won’t have to pay anything. At all. It’s processed automatically. (This is a VERY weird sensation when you’re an American and used to paying — 10 years later and I’m still not used to being given a bag of medication and just walking out.)

For emergency care, an example: three years ago I fell off my mountain bike and nearly broke my ankle. I had to call an emergency number. The firemen — they’re also trained EMTs here and so answer medical emergencies as well as fires — took me to the closest hospital. I was evaluated immediately on arrival. Only once they saw that I was at no immediate risk did the hospital ask me for my carte vitale. The firemen/EMTs hadn’t asked me for anything; they gave the hospital whatever information they needed. I had some X-rays and the wound was cleaned, then I was told to go to my general practitioner for follow-up, and I was sent home.

That was it. No bill. I was given copies of my X-rays and the doctors’ evaluations to show my GP, but nothing more.

My GP then prescribed physical therapy, an ankle brace, and pain medication. All of it was covered at 100%, and the only thing I had to “pay” for was the doctor’s appointment — as described earlier, it was automatically reimbursed 100%.

Paperwork and prices
To show how basic care is documented, I took a photo of my latest sécu and private health insurance reimbursement statements, along with a shot of my carte vitale so you can see what it’s like.

For information, my GP charges 22 euros. A specialist I go to regularly for my preexisting condition (covered 100%, because there’s no concept of “preexisting condition” in France) charges 45 euros. A packet of ten 500mg aspirin costs about 3 euros over-the-counter; it’s free when prescribed. A three-month supply of the Pill costs 27 euros. (The Pill is one of the only prescription medications not to be covered by sécu, so we do pay out of pocket for that — it’s the only prescription med I’ve ever had to pay for.) I don’t know what ER/hospital stays are charged because mine have always been entirely covered.

My supplemental health insurance costs me 20 euros a month. The national health insurance is paid as part of employer taxes; in my case, my employer pays 320 euros a month. That amount is paid directly to national health care, my salary is not affected. Everyone, not just employees, enrolled in sécu is covered, and as you can see from my case, you don’t have to be a French citizen in order to be able to enroll — you just have to work or study in France.

Conclusion
The only thing I have to worry about is having my carte vitale on me. If I don’t have it, it doesn’t matter, I’ll still be covered — I’ve been able to return to a doctor/laboratory/hospital (yeah, I’ve been around) with my card after minor emergencies when I hadn’t had my card on me at the time, no questions asked. I don’t have to worry how much anything costs. I don’t have to avoid doing sports out of the fear I might hurt myself and lose insurance coverage. I don’t have to worry about being able to afford medication. In the 10 years I’ve been in France, my health has honestly become something I only ever think about when I’m ill or injured, and even then all I need to do is call my doctor. I’ve always been able to get an appointment the same day.

I’m taking a short vacation this week — short by French standards, anyway, with 3 days off before the weekend. In my current job, I get 25 base holidays, 1.5 extra holidays due to length of time with the company, 2 “bridge” days, 4 employee RTTs and 6 employer RTTs, for a total of 38.5 paid holidays. Per year. The “bridge” days are to be used when there’s a national holiday on a Tuesday or a Thursday — you can take the Monday or the Friday as a “bridge” (pont). RTT stands for réduction du temps de travail and is related to the 35-hour legal work week in France. Since we work 39 hours a week at our offices, we recover that overtime with extra paid holidays, called “RTTs”. Some are “employee”, i.e. can be used at employee discretion, whereas others are “employer”, i.e. only the employer can set them for the employee, up until October, when the employee can then use them at will. These are mainly used for any unassigned time, since we’re consultants and sometimes, though rarely, don’t have a mission. As for sick days, the concept as used in the US does not exist in France, since if you’re ill enough, a doctor will give you an official form (arrêt maladie) for the number of days you need to stay at home. You’re always paid for those days, and regular paid holidays are only affected by sick days if you miss a large amount of work due to illness (after something like 2 or 3 months’ worth, they might take off a few paid holidays).

So in short, I’m using a few of those 38.5 paid days off to relax! Tomorrow I’ll be taking a day excursion to Corsica, and thought I might share how I pack for day trips in this part of the world. I only take one bag, which is my camera bag. In it I put:
- my camera with a fully-charged battery
- lens cleaning tissue
- my mobile phone, also with a fully-charged battery
- sunglasses
- fold-up brush with mirror (it’s surprising how handy a mirror can come in)
- small packet of tissues, because I’ve had it happen often enough that public restrooms had no toilet paper!
- a few bandages and aspirin just in case
- small wallet — not my usual one — with just one bank card, my carte Vitale (French national health care card), one piece of ID, and a bit of cash (not much)
- prepaid bus card for travel to and from the boat (or train or plane)
- keys to my home, of course
- a pen (always seem to use it when I bring one)
- an extra, small fold-up bag for any purchases

In addition I carry:
- a bottle of water
- snacks

The bottle of water is important, because when traveling in France, you can count on bottled water prices to be much higher than in any regular supermarket. The boat to Corsica is fast, but still takes 2 hours and 45 minutes — you don’t want to be stuck on a boat without anything to drink and where a small bottle of water is sold for €1.50, when you can get them in stores for around 30 cents, or fill your own bottle at home for free!

This way you have a minimal amount to carry, making it easier to explore unencumbered, much easier to keep an eye on your things, and yet you have the right necessities to ensure that all will be well in case anything goes awry.

Photos from my excursion will likely be up on Friday.

Yesterday I went to Nice’s city center to shop our summer sales, then buy groceries for the week. After finding some clothes and DVDs, I went home. As I walked into our building entry, my upstairs neighbor’s middle son asked me whether I knew how to turn off the building’s water, since they had a leak. “You should have a cutoff for your apartment,” I offered helpfully, “I have one in mine.” “We don’t, or we can’t find it,” he said worriedly. “Where’s your leak?” I asked. “In our bathroom… a pipe beneath the bathtub blew out…” Suddenly I realized I was probably being inundated. I ran downstairs, opened my door, and sure enough, there was water streaming down my walls, as you can see here. I moved the stereo and computer away — luckily the wood table over my PC had protected it, and only my stereo and the tabletop were wet. Then I took the photo you see here.

The neighbor’s son and I went into the building’s plumbing and heating room, but couldn’t find which valve to turn; there were nearly a dozen. I shoved the Pages Jaunes (French Yellow Pages) into his hands, since he didn’t know any plumbers, and told him to find one and call them. Then I ran back into my apartment to save more things and strategically place buckets to catch the rainfall from the ceiling.

Thankfully, my neighbor across the hall got home a few minutes later. “Bonsoir !” I said quickly, then “do you know where the building’s water supply cutoff is?? A pipe burst and we can’t find the valve, meanwhile my apartment’s turning into a lake!!” He showed me which valve to turn. It was in a small back chamber of the plumbing room, which was black with age and entirely dark. Once the building’s pipes had emptied most of their remaining water, the rainfall in my apartment subsided to intermittent dripping. Mission accomplished — and now our whole building was without running water.

A plumber, drunk, finally showed up two hours later. Diagnosis: the pipe that had burst in my upstairs neighbors’ apartment was part of the building’s main line. We don’t know when it will be able to be repaired; it’s made of copper, which erodes with age and hard water. Probably all of the building’s pipes need to be replaced — as a matter of fact, two weeks ago I had noticed micro-leaks in pipes that run through my WC, which I’d reported to our building management and my insurance. (French homeowner rule #1: never trust a syndic — building management.) We told the drunk plumber to go home for the evening since he could do no more, and I called another plumber, the one who looked at my shower last year. He doesn’t work weekends, so I had to leave a message, and we won’t know anything more until tomorrow. My living room looks like this, and my bedroom was affected too. The good news being that nothing else was damaged, and I’ll likely have both rooms repainted by my homeowner’s insurance.

I did get to see my upstairs neighbors’ apartment. It’s about 60 square meters (645 square feet), two bedrooms, one bath, separate WC, living room, and separate kitchen. Six people live in it. Two adults, their three sons, and their eldest son’s daughter. It’s not unheard of here, since real estate prices are so high, but it was the first time I’d ever witnessed such living arrangements myself. It humbled me, having 45 square meters (480 square feet) all to myself. I certainly don’t look at my place with the same eyes as before.

On a related note, this MetaFilter post led me to a wonderful site about communal living in Russia: A Virtual Museum of Soviet Everyday Life. Once you’ve chosen your language, you may need to set your video options, which can be done with the “Options” tab on the right there. It’s fascinating. Apartment buildings in France weren’t too different up until the mid-20th century. Although apartments themselves were private, not many had their own toilets, which were shared, one on each floor depending on the building’s size. This is why my own WC is so small — originally, there was only the bathroom; the WC was put in later, its size minimized to save space.

Yesterday I took the train to Monaco and went to one of my old haunts: the offices I used to work in. They’re on Boulevard Princesse Charlotte, which is where the Tour de France passed yesterday for the Prologue. I sat on a curb bump at the Livestrong ads, since they made a nice solid background, as opposed to smaller and more colorful ads. This was my general view. All of my photos from the Prologue are in this set.

My vantage point did indeed make for some great photos. The one posted here is my favorite — the rider is Arnaud Coyot. I did, of course, also get Lance Armstrong, but he lowered his head. His fiche coureur (rider stats) put him in tenth place currently. Another favorite is this shot of rider Bernhard Eisel, who rounded the corner near the railway station while I was walking there to take a train back to Nice. Japan has two riders in this year’s Tour, and this photo of Fumiyuki Beppu is one I’m really happy with — you can tell how the solid yellow advertisement makes all the difference with these. Currently in eleventh place, Gustav Larsson has a great tattoo on his left calf.

In just a few minutes I’ll be leaving to watch the Tour on the Promenade des Anglais. I doubt I’ll get such good photos as yesterday’s, since the Promenade is flat, so riders will be going faster, and in groups rather than separately. But it’s certainly a neat experience to watch them!