Hola Mi Amigo

Practicing for Spain in a week.  Sorry, Bratislava and Budapest, you’ll have to speak my language at all times.

Putting “Hola Mi Amigo” in the plural form?  Don’t know how to do it.  I wanted to, because I suspect that there are gatherings at cafés to discuss my blog posts? 

It’s your lucky day; this won’t be a pack-my-stats post in which my only goal is to string you along, keep the views up, and inch towards 10,000.  Get yourself a Venti this time, ‘cause I’m about to throw some content at you.  At the end of this post, your temporal lobe will be nonplussed, and perhaps your comments will be seared with vitriolic criticism.  By the way, nobody ever comments any more, but I’m not going to harp on it. (Mad Lib nouns, adjectives, and verbs provided by R. Flinch via GChat) 

There are many tidbits about France that I have neglected to speak of in my two years as a blogger.  Ironically, but I suppose not surprisingly, I often jot down very normal, logical ideas for blog posts that then lie dormant on pieces of paper in the corner of my room (pictures to come), and when I do pick up a computer, I just felt like writin’ (Forest Gump voice) [sic:  verb tense, Forest].  A lot of times when I start a post, I don’t really know what I’m going to write about, and for that reason, it’s more fun for me.  In this post, I shall purge myself of these unspoken truths by not having any fun and telling you some nuggets about France.

Customer Dis(Service)

Among the English assistants, the limitless depths of French bureaucratic disorder is well-known and well-complained about.  So when an assistant talks about going in to check on the status of the Carte Vitale (health insurance card) that he/she applied for a month ago, only to be told that there is no record whatsoever of that person’s application in the database, I can’t muster a genuine, impassioned reaction.  I’ve become immune to the inconveniences of the system.  Put more accurately, I have become immune to a literal shock in my system regarding the inconveniences of their system.  As for my frustration, there's no immunization in sight for that.    

Examples:

1.  In late November, I sustained an impressive cut on my leg in banging it against a rail when I was at an Arcade Fire concert.  It quickly ballooned up, and it was apparent that it was infected. 

I went to the doctor, who provided me with the proper medication.  I am entitled to a partial reimbursement on this medication that I received in early December, but will I see these precious euros before my May 18^th departure?  Doubtful.  So, yes, the French are very proud of their universal insurance.  But, in terms of those handling the masses of paperwork, there’s no accountability whatsoever.

Because I have transformed into a calendar book courtesan in my two years here, I can look back and share with you my appointments with the health insurance office and the hospital.  This would be after the initial incident, when I started the pursuit of my reimbursement:

January 13^th:  I go to the hospital to ask about the process.  I am pointed in the direction of CPAM (the health insurance office), which is on the other side of Lyon.

January 18^th:  I go to CPAM.  I am told to head back to the hospital.

January 21^st:  I go to the hospital, and, despite trying to synchronize it so that I get a fresh face involved, my number is called by the same woman as the first time.  She tells me to go back to CPAM.  I tell her that they told me to come to the hospital.  She tells me that they are wrong. 

January 26^th:  I go to CPAM.  An attempt by the terse-reply-assembly machine (or “unfriendly old woman”) to turn me away is fought off.  I remain firm, explaining my tribulations.  She finally writes me a list of all the documents that I will need to present to them…at CPAM. 

You get the point.  Bureaucratic pinball.

I’m no guru of the inner workings of this country, but I’m going to chalk up the Tourette-inducing disorganization to over-the-top job security (seems to me you don’t need to produce results around these parts to keep a job) and terrible continuity of the work day/schedule (as they are always racing off for their two-hour lunch break or one-week vacation).

2.  I take the metro to work.  As an English assistant, I am entitled to a half-off reduction of the monthly public transportation rate.  Thus, every month I go to the metro office, ask for a receipt for that month’s metro use, and present it to the school that I work at.  The money is supposed to then be automatically put into my bank account.  I have not received a penny.

3.  I go to bars.  One of my favorite bars has a decent happy hour from six to eight, in which beer is half-off.  My friend and I take a seat outside to take advantage of that young spring weather.  A server comes around to take our order, and we ask to make sure the happy hour is on.  “Oui, mais faut que vous vous mettiez a l’interior.”  (“Yes, but only if you sit inside.”)  What?  Really?  You mean the table through that open window that I can reach out and touch from here?  We retreat to the dim interior.  OK, so I just threw this one on my list for the hell of it.  The first two examples are quite irritating; I got over this one quickly enough.  But space is definitely at a premium in Lyon.  You will pay for that outdoor seating.   

 

You see how these inconveniences can wear on you when you’ve been Americanized? I’m working twelve hours a week in this beautiful, expresso-on-the-terrace country, and here I am going on about bureaucracy.  It is frustrating sometimes, though, folks.  I want my money, or I could set the building on fire.   

In my opinion, universal health insurance is a great facet of life over here.  You would just think that they could have it smoothed over in this day and age…and also that one wouldn’t have to pay extra for a spritz of sunlight with that beer.

So, the grand finale of my travels is on the horizon.  Here’s the itinerary: 

April 22^nd:  Train to Paris.  Spend two nights at my buddy’s aunt’s apartment.

April 24^th:  Flight from Paris to Bratislava.

April 26^th:  Bus from Bratislava to Budapest. 

April 28^th:  Bus from Budapest to Bratislava. 

April 29^th:  Flight from Bratislava to the Spanish island of Mallorca.

May 3^rd:  Flight from Mallorca to Bratislava.

May 4^th:  Flight from Bratislava to Paris.

May 5^th:  Train from Paris to Lyon.   

“Why you do like that?”

I love the janitor, and had to link that.

Well Manolo, Sebastian and I were supposed to go to Vienna, where we were going to have a free condo left for us by friends of a family that I know.  But that plan fizzled, so we had to get creative and plan a trip around the low-cost airlines that offer limited destinations.  Should be a good time. 

Ciao