France: The Préavis and the Long Goodbye

Christmas was great.  Too short, slightly stressful, but great.  We spent a few days with my parents, a few days with David's parents, bought a Jeep, and left for Pittsburgh on December 29 with the new car filled with luggage, Christmas gifts, and some basic supplies from both mothers.  Plus one mewing cat.

By the way, Oliver was a prince during the holiday.  He had big houses to run around, and loads of people to give him attention whenever he wanted it.  Maybe he was just happy to be out of his carrier, and not on a plane.  Or maybe he had been getting tired of France, too.

Anyway, we rolled into Pittsburgh by early evening.   The sky was cloudless, and we were treated to a evening sun-soaked first view of our new home.  First the skyscrapers of downtown, then the mountains, rivers, and many bridges.

We picked up the keys to our apartment, then commenced settling.  Our rented furniture was already in place, so was there little more to do than unpack our luggage and boxes of supplies, make the bed, and start counting the days until the shipment arrived from France.

Over the next few days we were orientating and supplying the apartment with basics.  For New Years Eve we slept.

Then, before I knew it, I was standing in an unknown airport, preparing to leave my new city for a more familiar airport in a city I still called home.  But this time without David.  Without Oliver, without an apartment to return to. I was a tourist.

Pierre and Samantha

Thanks to weather the flight was delayed more than six hours, so I arrived in Paris especially grumpy. But I was immediately cheered by seeing our good friends Pierre and Samantha, who greeted me at the airport curb with smiles and kisses before whisking me off to Samantha's parents' home for Sunday dinner.

It was Galette de Rois day in France, which meant that dessert was one of my favorites - a flaky pastry lined with almond paste.  Pierre found the little ceramic favor in his piece - despite Samantha's insistence that her papa won every year - and we crowned him king.

Somewhere during the cheese course, Pierre and Samantha's father embarked on a discussion about the qualities of different cooking oils. As I sat there listening, groggy with jet leg, I stared into the middle distance, realizing that men don't have conversations like this in America.  I was going to miss it.

After dinner we continued on to Pierre and Samantha's new house in Herblay. Herblay is a charming little town next to our old home of Conflans-Sainte-Honorine, which means that the four of us would have been neighbors if David and I hadn't spoiled everything by leaving the country.

Pierre and Sam had just moved in a few weeks earlier, but had earnestly prepared the guest room to be cozy and welcoming for me. They left me to settle in while they ran around taking care of new house issues - hanging curtains, fixing loose door knobs. Eventually I just settled into the couch, trying to stay out of the way, blinking through the sleepiness.

The next day Pierre and I drove to the office together and I stepped back into the only normal pattern I still had my life: work. Despite the annoyance at having to come back to France to finish my notice, I was thrilled to have this little bit of regularity back. I answered phone calls, I bantered with my colleagues, I took far too many coffee breaks with anyone who wanted "one last".  People asked me why I was smiling so much, and it wasn't entirely because I was leaving soon - it was also because I had the time to disengage my emotions from the job, and to fully appreciate the things I truly liked about working there before I left. And most of those things were my colleagues - the patient, warm, funny ones I had grown to know well over the past four years.

Aside from my favorite French coworkers, I was particularly attached to the foreigners like me, whom I would meet for coffee or lunch over shared stories about working in the land of the French. Like the gregarious Romanian engineer who startled the French with this enthusiasm. The Chinese development engineer, shaking his head and laughing happily at whatever I was ranting about that day. The Spanish quality leader, so smooth and charming and pretending to be offended when I accused him of being typically Latin. The Polish tool engineer, with his easy smile through which I recognized a sadness that I knew well - one of being far from home and unsure about the future.

Guest Room - Chez Demortain, Herblay

I spent time with all of them, between earnest bouts of tying up loose ends at my desk, and every night rode back to Herblay with Pierre to share stories of the day with Samantha.

Living in Herblay quickly eased from formal politeness to fraternal cohabitation, and I soon felt a college-roommate fondness for my hosts. I loved bursting into the door to yell "you hoo!" to Sam after work, cooking dinners together in their kitchen, and unravelling the day in the armchairs in the living room with a hot cup of tea firmly in my grasp.

When the weekend arrived we took off in different directions - Pierre and Sam went household shopping, and I took the train into Paris for my last moments with the city.

On Saturday I met Wally on the Bir-Hakeim bridge for a photo session. Wally has taken a series of beautiful photos of girls in Paris, and I asked to be a part of the project before I left. He let me choose the location and I opted for this unique bridge, which I had first seen with Alban and visited since with David. The weather was lousy, but we got a few photos off before calling it a night and going out for sushi. We shared a sort of melancholic meal as I remembered that Wally is our oldest and best French friend, and that brunch with him was one of those great things about Paris we will look back upon and know that we had taken for granted.

Sunday I returned to the city for lunch with my longtime colleague François. François was one of the leading supporters of bringing me to France, even if he claims to have forgotten.

Francois and Escargot

We met at a typically charming restaurant café on the canal Saint Martin not far from François' home. The weather was mild, and after an excellent lunch (a vegetable soup I am still dreaming of) we lingered at our window table in the sunlight, talking about the training plan for my replacement, who was scheduled to arrive in the office the next day.

The second week at work wasn't as nice as the first, partly because I was running out of time, and partly due to the appearance of said replacement. He was fine, really, but now I was responsible for transferring knowledge, and I had kind of already mentally checked out. Plus, I was annoyed that my many bosses hadn't managed to get a replacement until four days before I left, which I found rather insulting. Seven years wrapped up in four days!

Alex and his girlfriend

Monday night my roommates graciously let me invite a colleague and his girlfriend for dinner. Pierre knows Alex as well, so we were off to a good start. Samantha and Pierre put together an excellent raclette, and despite some early stresses (Alex's girlfriend may or may not be sick, the house is still in the throes of moving in, what are we going to do with all this cheese...), Alex and his breezy nature soon calmed everyone down. It's that Latin smoothness of his.

By Tuesday I'd decided that despite the fun that I was having, I wanted to give Samantha and Pierre a break from me. I accepted a gracious invitation from my friend and colleague Luc to stay in his parents' home for two nights. With both sons grown, they had plenty of space.

I had my doubts about staying with complete strangers - especially those who don't speak any level of English - but Eveline and Michel were nothing of the typically formal French parents I'd met before.

The evening did start off on an intimidating note, however, when we pulled up to the house in a village outside of Chantilly.  I had often driven past houses like these and asked myself, "Who lives in these massive old houses?" Well now I knew - people like Luc's parents.

With Eveline, in the main hall

We had barely stepped into the intricately painted foyer before I was making noises of delight. As I walked into the main hallway, the click of my heels echoed off the murals on the walls. Luc walked ahead of me, and I turned to him in astonishment. "Your HOUSE has an ECHO." He just smiled, and ducked into one of many doors to find his mother.

Eveline and Michel were charming and warm, and welcomed me with smiles and kisses. I was given a tour of the house and shown to my room on the second floor, one of six doors that I immediately lost track of as soon as it was closed again. The bedroom had old wood floors, a massive wardrobe and a vanity, an antique desk, a balcony, and two doors leading nowhere that Luc told me I shouldn't even bother with.

I tossed my bag onto the bed and made my way back downstairs, where Luc was making small talk before taking off for tennis practice. I watched his parents fuss over him as all parents do before reassuring him that I would be fine there, he didn't have to worry.

In the end, my French got me through the evening. Michel and Eveline were very patient and managed to guess their way through my stream of poor grammar and improvised vocabulary. Considering the only thing we had in common was their son, we spent a lot of time talking about Luc. I felt a lot like a girl visiting her boyfriend's parents for a weekend during college. I made a mental note to encourage Luc to bring his real girlfriend around to see his parents once in a while.

Eveline and Michel over raclette

The next morning Luc picked me up for work, well rested and gushing in English about his parents. He just smiled.

That night Luc joined us for dinner, another delicious raclette. I certainly had my share of raclette that week, but I am not complaining in the least. The taste of the oozy cheese with its crispy crust topping a warm potato and a thin slice of dried ham is as vivid a memory in my mind as the sight of the Eiffel Tower from the A15 highway.

During the meal Luc's parents peppered us with parental type questions and poured wine while I answered as politely as my poor French would allow and Luc silently honed in on his dinner. In fact, it was a lot like eating with my real inlaws. Without the language hurdles, of course.

Luc mixing cookies

After dinner we had a cookie training session. A lot of people ask me for the chocolate cookie recipe I use (Nestle Tollhouse), and I always feel bad having to tell them that I'm happy to share the recipe, but it requires ingredients only found in the States (baking soda and brown sugar).  For good friends I'll bring ingredients from the States with me, and in the case of Luc I offered to help him make a batch in exchange for the room and board.

So we took to the kitchen, winging our way through a recipe converted to metric and using a broken food scale.  The evening ended with a kitchen full of cookies and everyone exhausted.  I packed up a few boxes to take to work the next day, and left the rest with Luc and his parents.

My last day at work finally arrived.  Luc drove me to the office and I spent the day between last minute loose ends, reminding my replacement of little details, and last coffees with friends.  For lunch I went to the local pizza place with Luc - our end of the week tradition - and ordered the usual salad from the usual waiter, who wouldn't care less if he had known that this was to be our last exchange.

In the afternoon my boss came by and presented me with a small gift from my collection of bosses - a bracelet made with bits of shell from the local museum. The town used to be known for its decorative products made from shell, and it was the perfect present to remind me of my days in Méru.

The day ended late, as last days always do, and I left my computer with IT on my way out the door. Luc walked with me to the parking lot, and I felt a remote longing for business as usual - a casual wave goodbye to my friend, the long drive home on country roads, and a quiet evening with David in the apartment before returning to the office the next day.

I did get the wave goodbye, but the country roads took me away from Méru for the last time toward Herblay, to a borrowed room in an empty house.  Pierre and Samantha were in Paris for the evening, and I had my own dinner plans to get to.

Hector, Ainhoa, and Alban

After dropping off my bags, I trotted down to the Herblay station and took the train into Paris.  There I met Hector, Alban, and Ainhoa for one last dinner together at my favorite duck restaurant.   It wasn't quite the same without David there, but I appreciated my last moments with some of our dearest friends. It was a turning point evening as well, as Ainhoa and Alban announced their engagement and Hector announced that he was up for a big promotion that would take him back to Spain. We called David and passed the phone around, everyone happily sharing the news.

The next day was a Friday, so I decided to take advantage of the weekday opportunity to visit the winter sales. I spent most of the day on the Champs Élysées, pausing only to have a sushi lunch with Samantha on her break. Samantha's office is within a stone's throw of the Arc de Triomphe, so lucky!

That night Pierre was out to a concert, so Samantha and I had a girls' night in with a bottle of wine from Alsace that a friend had given me for a going away present. We hadn't told Pierre of our evening plans, but from the throngs of a Chemical Brothers concert Samantha received a text message that read "Don't drink too much, girls!"

Saturday was my last day in France.  I felt a lot of pressure to enjoy my last day in a beautiful place after nearly four years, especially when there is no guarantee that I'll ever be back.  Perhaps I should have gone to the top of the Eiffel Tower, or ridden a bateau mouche, or climbed up to Montmartre to take in one last view of the city.  But I didn't want to get wrapped up in the drama of goodbye, so I decided to live life as usual.

I took the train into the city, where the sun was shining unusually bright for January.  I walked over to the big department stores near Saint Lazare and bought a birthday present for David, my absolutely last purchase because my luggage was already stuffed.  I took a long subway ride over to the east side of the city on line two, which has a delightful length above ground, giving me a sunny sliding tour of the eighteenth arrondissement before slipping underground again for my stop.

I met Francois again for a coffee in a small cafe where we were the only customers and all the waiters knew him. I felt like he was looking at me like I was about to die. This long goodbye was painful.

I returned to Herblay in time to change my clothes and chat with Samantha for a while before my evening plans arrived.  Luc picked me up from the house and we spent the rest of the day together in a nearby shopping area.  And this is how I spent my last evening in France - searching for the perfect curtains for Luc's apartment.   After a few hours we stopped at an Italian restaurant for pizza.  Then he dropped me off in Herblay again, with the sort of quick forever goodbye that good friends have to exchange before getting emotional.

It wasn't a dramatic or romantic last day in France, but I spent it with some of my favorite friends, enjoying last laughs and simple time together before everything was changed forever.

I wish I could reflect on our time in France and come up with a sweeping conclusion about how important this period was in our lives. However, I think it might be one of those seeing the forest for the trees situations that prevents me from really looking at the big picture when I'm still standing so close to it. What I can say now is that France gave me some of the most interesting, dearest friends I'll ever have.

Three years and 361 days.