A Better Day

Woke up Saturday morning sans personal belongings and sans bike but needed some new road, so I called Morgan and proposed we see if we can find the Atlantic ocean.  Rumor has it it is just west of Nantes.  So I picked up Jerry and off we go, west toward Sainte Nazaire.

Motoring down the N171 toward Saint-Nazaire throught the French countryside.





Went around Saint-Nazarie to the beach resort town of La Baule.  Beautiful area.  This will be a great Sunday afternoon bike ride when Betsy gets here.

Neat French town.  But, even in winter, and keeping with tradition, seemingly limited parking.

Nice wide beach and neat buildings.

Great old hotel on the beach.

A casino!  Looking forward to a little Hold-em we enter only to find out you have to have a "Casino Pass" to get in and gamble.  The lady spoke less English than we did French putting communication out of the question.

I've been unable to determine how to get the needed casino pass, but you can be assured I won't lose the opportunity to lose.

Neat statuary on the beach.

I'm remembering what W.C. Fields said about drinking water.

I couldn't figure out if this was the name of the play, or a critique of it.

Guy walking his dog on the beach.  More appropriately, the guy was walking.  The dog was jetting past him one way, then coming back, getting his ears rubbed a little, then jetting the other way.  I got tired just watching him.  Has to be the most "in-shape" dog I've ever seen.







Nice little safe harbor for the boats.

Heading back to Nantes we stopped in Saint-Nazaire and rode around town a little, stopping at this little park for a couple of pictures.

A nice enjoyable day riding in the country.

George Carlin: Where's my stuff?

Friday was to be a red letter day. My personal belongings were to be delivered. And they were. And then they were hauled away! Of course, I didn't know it. Until I went home at lunch to make sure they would call me when the truck came. You see, they, obviously, didn't have enough warning it was coming. I initially thought it would be here Tuesday, so I called the front desk and told the lady there that my personal belongings would show up that day and I needed her to call me whenever they came in. She wrote down my number and I figured, "hey, Im out in front of this thing, huh?" But, as good ol' Robbie Burns put it, "The best laid plans of mice and men gan aft agley."

I called her again on Wednesday, and again on Friday to make sure she knew to call me when it came in. The reason I wished to be called when they came, above and beyond the obvious one of opening my apartment door so things could be placed inside, was because I knew it was a large crate and would require opening where it was sat down. It contains something like nine (9) items ranging in size from a golf travel bag, a guitar case, three (3) 30x30x30 in. boxes, a computer box, a computer printer, etc., etc., etc. It's heavy and it's large. My assumption, and here's the beginning of the mistake, was that it would be delivered on a truck with a lift or someway of taking it off the truck.  The other assumption was that, after discussing this with her three times, the lady at the front desk would call me as we agreed.  Neither happened as it turned out so they came, she looked at it and refused the delivery, and SHE DIDN'T CALL ME!!!!!!!!

So, delivery has been postponed until Monday at the plant where we have equipment that can offload the crate.  I, meanwhile, am spending the weekend saying, "I think I'll do X...oh, wait a minute, I can't do that, it's in the delayed shipment.  Okay, so, I'll do Y...oh, no, can't it's in the shipment."   And so forth all weekend long.

 But, the good news is I shipped it Air Freight.  I could have shipped it UPS Ground!

Best Laid Plans O' Mice and Texpats

If Morgan and I haven't learned anything else over the past week and a half, it's how much we wish we understood and spoke the language. Everyone has been great, but, it's still a hassle not being able to follow all the conversations without either missing something or wasting other's time requesting explanation. So some planning (or was it plotting?) was done last night.

The fellow on the right in the blue shirt is Tony Haywood, Oracle consultant extraordinaire. Also, all around good guy. (Has enough b.s. to be Texan by acclaimation. ) Tony lives here in France with his wife and two young children. We're hoping to bribe, threaten, or extort him (back) onto our project.

But, to the planning point: the gentleman sitting next to Tony is Florent Racape (pretend there's an accent over the last "e"...this blogspot isn't too much on latin emphasis). Florent is a native who speaks excellent English and, more imporantly, teaches French. Jerry and I are working on using Florent to help us out. If we do this it'll mean putting off my planned winter travel to Paris to spend each Saturday and Sunday over the next five weeks in extensive immersion into French. After that we'll work together weekly to continue the improvement.

Obviously, we won't be fluent after five weeks, but we can advance considerably, and lay the foundation for picking up more in the shorter term. Here's hoping it works out. (It better...if I'm giving up Paris for five weeks.)

New Found Favorite

I'm sure most have heard of crepes. These are light, fluffy pastries that are wonderful. There's another kind, though, specialty of the Britagne area called Gallets. Instead of sweet, these are brown, salty, square tortilla-looking pieces of heaven, oh so much lighter than a tortilla. They put all kinds of stuff in them and they are somewhere immediately past great! Had one the other night filled with jambon (ham), fromage (cheese) and egg (Oeuff). It was great AND, I think I found my Saturday morning breakfast! Now, if I could only find some good chilli. A Cisco gallet. What could possibly be better?

The Price Ain't Right

Okay, now it's time for some of the sticker shock. I have mentioned that things are expensive here, but some things are really off the wall. Case in point: washed underwear.

I went to the cleaners (pressing) last week and dropped off six shirts for laundry and two pair of pants for dry cleaning, The bill? A whopping 25.80 Euros. That's a smooth $36.64. The shirts were $4.04 each and the dry cleaning $6.18. Complaining, I was told that, perhaps, the service offered by my apartment (actually an appartment/hotel) might be better. I checked and they weren't. In fact, they wanted 2.35 Euros ($3.34) to wash my underwear!!! Now, it may come as a surprise to some, but I'm not your regular Yves Saint Laurent type of fellow, walking around in $25 boxers (or briefs). I'm your basic Haynes from Sam's Club sort of guy and I pay about $3.34 per pair. I felt like asking if I could rent them until the spot in the back got too large.

This is only one example. Tonight I stopped for another gallet and ordered a Pepsi with it. It came in a small 250ml bottle (reminiscent of the old, small Coke bottle). Price: 2.35 Euros ($3.34). So, there you have it. A Pepsi is worth as much as a pair of washed underwear. Figure that one out Bernanke.

Castle and Cathedral in daylight

Met Morgan this afternoon to do a little familiarization tour of Nantes.

On our way I happened to notice this building stuck between modern edifices. Certainly not pretty, but easily several hundred years old, and still useful, and inhabited. Hard to imagine such history.

(Click on any picture to enlarge)

Le Lieu Unique

Once a biscuit factory (crowned by a replica of its original tower), the building is now home to dancers and theatrical performances. According to Morgan, the biscuits were originally prepared by a monk for additional income and became so popular they, I guess, "took it public."

Crossing the bridge adjacent to the Lieu Unique one comes upon the city center.

The obelisk is a tribute to Louis XVI. I'm curious as to when it was put up. One suspects he was

out of favor for quite some time after they separated his shoulders and head. Then there was Napolean, et al.

In the left of the picture you can see the spires of the Sainte-Pierre of Nantes cathedral. To its left and closer is the home of the Duke of Brittany (Duc de Britagne).

The castle is walled by a sentry walk of 500 meters (1500 ft) with seven towers. It was built by Duke Francis II and his daughter, Anne of Brittany, to defend the independence of the Duchey then under threat from the French king.

A rampart.

View over the wall at the moat area.

A surprising view upon entering through the gate.

The detail of the craftsmen of the period is absolutely awe-inspiring. Much more of that to come.

The much-married Anne of Britagne. For an interesting view of political marriages, and favorable papal dispensations relative to them, check out Ann of Brittany in Wikipedia.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anne_of_Brittany

The moat on exiting the other side of the castle.

Going straight across the street from the castle gate we stopped midway between the castle and the cathedral. Interesting sight. Obviously, since the rulers ruled with the consent of God (Convenient what? Not unlike some of our political partisans in America) the church and the castle were never far apart.

The castle at one end.

The church at the other.

You step out of the narrow street into a large and beautiful square.

And, to your right, the Cathedral of Sainte-Pierre of Nantes.

Begun in 1432, it wasn't finished until the 19th century, but remained archetechurally harmonius.

I need some more adjectives. The only word I can find for the detail of this work is amazing.

The closer you get the more surprising the artisanship.

A tourist.

Tomorrow, work.

Answer: Ennuyeux

Question: What's the french word for boring?

Nightly Nantes

Afternoon libation and relaxation over, Didier shows up as scheduled to take Morgan and I around Nantes. Didier is the project manager here in Nantes for our system implementation. He is also a native and can actually get around this city without circling the road circles two or three times, or breaking his neck snap looking at a wanted roadsign as it fleetingly passes in your peripheral vision indicating, after a brief "aw merde," that you are now going "around again." (I'm not trying to show off my French...I just don't want to use the English version of that word in my blog...prude? Perhaps, but it's a nasty word, and the French seems, somehow, more acceptable.)

So off we go, into Nantes arriving at Morgan's place on schedule, a feat I find intimidating. We begin by walking around the city center area. I took quite a few photos, but many just didn't turn out well given the lack of lighting. Several were of the Castle (Duke of Brittany) and the Cathedral (Sainte-Pierre of Nantes), but it was too dark to get anything meaningful. Morgan and I have decided to tour them in daylight and better pictures will be taken.

If you read my previous blog on the October trip you'll recognize the picture here as the great little square near our hotel during that trip. At night it's equally nice.

I just love the way people, even in cool weather, get out on Saturday night and share the city.




This window was so bright and pretty it begged a photograph.


Didier and Morgan waiting on me to take a picture.

We had a great meal in The Petite Baccus. Actually got Morgan to try escargot. He said he liked it. He got the escargot in a trade from me. Jerry (Morgan) is a meat and potatoes guy and not prone to eating crustaceans or even vegetables for that matter. Didier tried to order him an appetizer with meat but Morgan didn't find duck gizzards and smoked duck meat very appetizing. One of my favorite things on the planet is chicken gizzards and now I can say, it's one of my second favorite things, the duck gizzards easily beat them out as favorite. Glad Morgan didn't want them.

The gizzards as appetizer complimented nicely the grilled venison with smashed carrots and small potatoes. A little muscadet and local red made it all work together. These folks can cook!

The restaurant is in a building that is several hundred years old. It's amazing to look around and know you are sitting in a room that has been there for three or four hundred years. The timbers on the ceiling are just unbelievable.

There was a large table of locals adjacent to us and, while many of the table were out smoking, a lady asked if we were American. Responding affirmatively, she told us that when she was young she spent several years working in Washington, D.C. with the French consulate there. She obviously liked Americans and relished the opportunity to speak the language to some natives.

The lady in white is the former consulate official in Washington, D.C.

She was kind enough to take a picture of us generating some laughter from her tablemates, one saying she only loves Americans and is quite wealthy. When Didier responded back in French they all laughed loudly, having sort of been busted. It was all in good fun and the lady was very nice.

Didier, Jerry (vieux - old), and Jerry (jeune - young). I prefer Jerry (joli - pretty) and Jerry (atric).

Banking and Buying

Ol' "smarty" outsmarted himself yet again. Upon leaving Houston I had about 80 Euro and $500 in cash. I also brought a cashier's check made out to myself to open a local checking account. As I meandered around the area of my apartment trying to buy things over the last few days the Euros disappeared quickly. So I determined I'd find a bank and exchange my dollars for Euros. I wasn't going to do it at the airport because they really rip you off; to the tune of about 10%. Funny, that's sounding cheap about now.

Beginning Wednesday I left work about 4:30 trying to find a bank. I was unable to do so, but I did find one at the big shopping center that was closed. Yesterday, the young lady who has done so much setting up our apartments (that's a-part-te-mo' in French), and getting our cars, etc. was going to take us to the bank to exchange currency. We went to the bank used by the company for much of its business. Turns out it's the bank headquarters, and they don't handle such, I guess, meaningless, transactions there. We were told we'd have to go into the city center (Nantes) to the main branch to make it happen. I wasn't about to drive downtown (odds were better than even I'd never get back). So I said, I knew of a bank at the mall that looked good.

So, late in the day, Morgan (the guy travelling from Houston with me) and I head down to exchange some money, with the intent of finding a beer and dinner later. We go into the bank and the guy tells us they don't do currency exchange either, we'll have to go downtown. Now, for the first time, I'm getting a little up tight about this. I have never seen a bank in the U.S. where you couldn't exchange currency. Sure, they charge you, but so will these people if I'm ever able to do it. Now it's getting interesting. And, I have to go downtown!! The going is easy, I follow Morgan. The coming back? That's another kettle of fish.

I have a twenty-Euro note and some change. Plus about $5500 in, evidently, worthless paper!! Anyway, Morgan and I find a nice Irish bar in downtown Nantes (he's young and elected to live downtown, as the young are inclined to do). We have a couple of beers, and I throw my last 20-Euro note on the table and we go to dinner. We went to the restaurant where I'd had some of the best mussels and escargot ever when we were here a couple of months ago. My luck is holding. No mussels. But they did have a great scallop dinner. This is rapidly becoming my favorite restaurant in Nantes. Btw - met our first snooty waitress. She was, as is usual here, a cute young lady who, upon hearing my "Pardon, nous parlon un peu le francois," (We speak little French) made a face and then proceeded to speak excellent english to us. Despite our gratitude and friendly (I thought) banter, she seemed in pain whenever she had to speak those terrible words, but I didn't care; her problem, not mine. We did get revenge though...we didn't tip. She had to make do with the amount added automatically to the bill. Revenge is a soup best savored cold, huh? Especially petty revenge. One doubts it even registered. Doesn't matter, food was good, we had a good time, and, wtf, it's her country.

End of adventure? Non, mon amis. I had to drive home from city center. I'd have never made it using a map. Fortunately, Morgan loaned me his GPS and it, eventually, got me home. Garmin's descriptions of what to do at these traffic circles takes some getting used to. The good news is, when you miss the turn, you just keep going around in circles until you come back. At one point last night I thought I would get dizzy, but, after two laps on one, I managed to take the correct exit and get home safe and sound. (Takes three laps to qualify in NASCAR.)

Woke up this morning wanting a good cup of coffee and breakfast. But, wait a minute! I have no money! At least any money that counts for anything. I've been trying to avoid cash withdrawals on a credit card because they charge you like crazy for those transactions. After all, some banker on Wall Street needs a new third (or is it fourth?) home on the coast of Maine. But, resigned to further enriching the banking industry I went to my, now, favorite mall and withdrew some Euros. To breakfast, huh? Well...maybe.

Stopped at this cute little restaurant in the mall and ordered "cafe American." I'm told that's universal for "weak" American-style coffee. I don't think so. No one I've ever said it to seemed to have the slightest idea what I was talking about. I think it means, "Hey, I'm an American wuss...look at me, smile and laugh, but don't let on you have a clue what he needs." Anyway, I order cafe American, and l'eau chaud (hot water). I thought. I failed to understand that the "L'" didn't have to be added, just "eau chaud." So...I got very strong French coffee and a small container of lait chaud (hot milk.) I guess lait was the only word she could think of that had a contextual association with an "L" and cafe. In any event, the coffee would eat a nail...the steel kind...not the finger kind. I did get a roll with the cafe (coffee...see, I speak French) and it was good, though I'm not very fond of chocolate pastry. I thought is was filled with some kind of jam or jelly, not a sweet chocolate. Well j'apprends (I learn). Observation: These folks really like their chocolate...in just about anything.

Not having sufficient retail challenges this week, I went to the big store in the mall and spent almost two and a half hours wondering around trying to pickup stuff I need. Was able to pick up the needed ironing board and iron, paper towels, alarm cock (without batteries), clothes hangers, washcloths, and a bunch of other stuff. More importantly, I bought the needed materials to continue the single-malt Scotch testing my friend, Diron, and I have been engaged in for quite some time. (We expect the complete test will take years, if ever completed.) Total bill was 104 Euros, of which, about 40 was the scotch. (That's about the correct ratio of necessities, the Scotch, and luxuries, like ironing boards and paper towels.) Neat little thing here. I bought a "Malts Collection." For the 40 Euros (~$56) I got three small bottles of scotch; Talisker, a 10-year ol from the Isle of Skye, Cragganmore, a 12 year-old from Speyside, and Lagavulin, a 16 year-old from Islay.

Talisker was founded in 1830, Cragganmore in 1869, and Lagavulin in 1816. You know, you can learn a lot in 140 to 190 years. Decided to relax with the Cragganmore this afternoon. It is very smooth and, as I like them, not overly peaty in taste. I'll be buying more of this. Can't wait to sample the others...and the others.

Got some money, got some Scotch, relaxing a little. Doing it right here. Enjoying even a laundry day. Hope you're having as much fun as I.

Settling In

Things are starting to settle down now, and I think the jet lag's winged off into the future somewhere.



I've really enjoyed the folks I'm meeting and working with here. The one or two who looked askance at me in the grocery line had every right to do so. I would have done the same, except I can't scowl in French. That brings up a point. We, or at least I, have heard for years about the dour French. I haven't seen any of that. Everyone I've come into contact with smiles and laughs easily and often. Another myth probably bites the dust. I can settle that along with the one about them working 35 hours per week. It's not evident here. Most on the project are easily exceeding the 10 hour mark and the ethic is equal to any I've seen in America. Man, what can you do when even the bad crap proves untrue? This is devastating.

Went out again this evening and had a very successful transaction buying a hamburger and a milkshake. No faux pas, no faltering, no stuttering. A great transaction. It's funny how a new culture and language can really lower your criteria to determine a good day

Took a snap of my little Toyato as I left the apartment this afternoon. Cute little thing.

My first picture in France is a Japanese car. Go figure.


This weekend Didier, the project head here in Nantes is going to give Jerry (the other ex-pat) and I a tour of Nantes. That'll be good. One should be somewhat familiar with the home place before he takes off to Paris, etc.