[I actually wrote this last week, but was holding off posting it until I'd written something else, so as not to leave things on a complaining note.]

It's been an overwhelmingly good month so far, with just a few frustrations. I want to get those things out of the way so I can talk about how awesome everything is, so I suppose this will be an Entry of Complaints. It won't be too long.

By far the biggest frustration has been sorting out my apartment. Which has been kind of a saga. Here's the deal:
I spent 2-3 weeks trying to find somewhere, anywhere, to live. This included a lot of emails/phone calls/texts and a very few apartment visits. Finally I found a girl who wanted me to be her roommate! Her name is Marie and she is a 20-year-old art student. The place is tiny, but in a good location, great view, decent price, and it's not like I have much stuff, so who cares if it's not very big.
Hilariously, it was after I finally found something that it got complicated. Marie had signed a contract with the rental agency to pay the entire rent, with the understanding that when she found a roommate, she and said roommate (me) would go back in together and write two new contracts, each for half of the original amount. Problems arose when I tried to go in, because I didn't have a French guarantor. I offered first my American parents, then the LocaPass service I mentioned before, and finally to pay the entire eight months of rent in advance (I would have borrowed it from my parents and paid them each month instead of the landlord). No dice. They do have a system whereby people are allowed to pay in advance, but a) it's only for people who are staying at least twelve months and b) you pay in six-month chunks. Why would they take my word that I would pay the 2nd six-month chunk, but they won't take my word that I'll pay for eight months? I have no idea.

François (who was still putting me up through all of this) had been telling me that I needed to be patient because France can get pretty bureaucratic, and sometimes you just need to accept that things happen slowly, and look for a different solution. But when they refused even to accept my $4000 in advance - effectively cutting off the last alternative left open to people without French guarantors - he completely lost patience with how ridiculous things had gotten. He talked to his parents about it that night and they agreed to become my guarantors, which (as I mentioned before) is a hugely generous act, since in the worst case they could wind up owing a ton of money. My parents wrote them a letter to assure them that if anything were to happen they would (of course) be reimbursed immediately, but even so, I'm really really lucky to know such kind people.

Of course, that's not to say that things are actually resolved yet. Marie gave me the keys, so I moved in last weekend, but I'm still not officially on the lease. When we went over with Mme Bargel to get everything taken care of, there was a wrinkle - because Marie is getting a new contract, they're refusing to use the paperwork she and her father filled out last month - apparently they think he might refuse to guarantee her for 360€ and will insist on guaranteeing her only for 720€. Or something. Meaning she's supposed to show back up with him, despite the fact that he lives an hour+ away and works full time, and the rental agency has no late or weekend (or lunchtime) hours. So finally they agreed to mail him the contract, which he'll sign and mail to Mme Bargel, and she'll sign it and give to François who will give it to me and then Marie and I will go back to the agency and I will finally have a legal address. Well over a month after arriving. It doesn't matter much - I'm living there already, after all, and the front desk people know I live there, and I can get mail etc. But there were a few things I had to do that required addresses (most notably, opening a bank account) and I'm tired of my official mail showing up at school where I don't see it for days.


The second complaint is semi-related.
Last Saturday, having moved the night before, I decided to go shopping for a few things that I needed around the apartment. As background, something you may or may not know about me is that I really, really dislike large stores. I'm more or less okay in anything up to the size of a Target, especially if I have a list and can get in, grab what I want and get back out. Anything larger than that, like Fred Meyer, super Target/super Walmart [is that what they're called? the ones with grocery stores included], Carrefour etc begins to pose a problem I can't really explain. It's not claustrophobia, and it's not really a result of there being so many people around. It's that there's too much stuff, and finding things takes ages, and you can actually sort of get lost if you don't know your way around, and it starts to get a little overwhelming. Generally speaking this doesn't really cause me trouble - I can avoid going to those places most of the time, and when I do go it almost never takes more than 15 or 20 minutes to get what I want and leave. I grumble about it, but it's no big deal. With all that in mind, I decided to grit my teeth and go to Ikea.

Which was pretty much the worst idea I have ever had. It turns out that in Europe, Ikea's floor plan is essentially a maze. You go in the front door, and from there on there's only one path through the store, which winds through every single room. So (especially on a Saturday) you're in a crush of people, moving alternately too fast and too slow, trying to make sure you don't miss any of the things you need and trying to get past the useless crap, and where you go is almost completely out of your control. Off the top of my head, I can't remember ever having had a more thoroughly miserable shopping experience. I was fine for about twenty minutes. And then I wanted to be done. And then I needed to be done. And after two and a half hours, I was finally out of that godforsaken store. I was miserable enough that I only wound up buying about three things, partly because I (mistakenly) thought I would get out of there sooner if I got less stuff, and partly because there's no way to go back for things you've forgotten that are kept in the first part of the maze.

I have no real explanation for why it got to me as much as it did - why it went beyond frustrating to a genuine loss of composure - but I do know that I'm never setting foot back in that soul-sucking place ever ever again. Why that seems like a smart marketing strategy is utterly beyond me.

One long trans-atlantic phone call later I was fine (thank you, Google Voice), but I still don't know what I'm going to do about the rest of the things I need.