Moving mountains...of paper

The cliché of France being a bureaucratic country is well known (comments #62 and 122), and we certainly had plenty of first-hand experience negotiating the maze getting visas, an apartment, residence cards, bank accounts, and (soon) paying taxes. But more surprising than having to change our flight twice while we waited for someone to send an "official" piece of paper to the consulate because a phone call wouldn't do, were the reams of paper we would soon accumulate. Not just paperwork, but --literally-- paper, and folders to keep it all organized. Making and storing copies of everything, just in case our utility company wants a copy of the lease, or the prefecture wants a copy of the utility bill. Or in case we needed a birth certificate to open an account at the local video rental store (turns out we didn't, but we've taken to arriving everywhere a bit over-prepared...)

The French love everything about paper. The way it feels, the colors, the weights, the pens you use to write on it, the folders you put it in, the envelopes you mail it in, the tampons (rubber stamps) you use to certify it, and the signatures used to sign it.

Papeteries (paper stores) are numerous and they stock every imaginable size, color, and weight of paper, envelopes, and folders...

...as well as accessories to make everything more official, like multicolored wax and personalized seals. In case you need to disseminate a decree to your serfs.

They sell pens too, but unless you're one of those serfs, you'll go to a proper pen store and get a nice fountain pen to give your completely illegible signature that special flare.

Luckily, since they love it so much, most things associated with paper are well designed. Paper is lined both ways so you can draw graphs and make sure your L's are the same height as your H's. Envelopes have easy-open seals...

Note the scalloped perforation (click to expand for a better view).

... and folders are ingeniously designed to make sure nothing falls out. The common grade-school prank of bumping the school nerd and sending their papers flying doesn't work here. Nya-nya.

Not only do they love paper, they trust in it. If it isn't written down, stamped, and signed, it isn't real. In order to change anything regarding your bank account, you must return to your specific branch so they can find your actual paper file and change the info. With white out and pen. Only then will they enter it in the computer database. The digital version is the backup of the physical copy, not the other way around. I imagine that somewhere in Le Nord among the industrial parks of Lille, is a warehouse full of printouts of everything that has ever been written on the internet in French, just in case it goes down someday.

Once you start accumulating this paperwork, you quickly learn to modify your signature. Who knew that writing "lu et apprové..." (read and approved) on each page of the four copies of your 25 page lease can actually make you break a sweat. Pretty soon your signature starts to look like this:

(actual signature, with printed name removed)

Below, in a photograph from a local art exhibit, we have everything coming together in one glorious photo. The numerous rubber stamps of various designs, the filing boxes, stapler, hole punch, folders, hanging files, and a computer that hardly ever gets used:

la pièce de résistance

Close-up of the desk:

Things that hold your bike upright

A lot of cyclists complain about poorly designed bike racks. The ones that you had at your middle school that you could slide the front tire into (see picture). 

Since you can only get your front (or rear) tire in contact with any part of the rack, you can only lock that one part to the rack. For those who use quick-release wheels, these racks are even more troublesome. If you only lock your wheel to the rack, it is pretty easy to remove the wheel and abscond with the remainder of the bike.

These kinds of racks are everywhere, and somehow more are being installed! But I'm not here to complain about these run-of-the-mill, poorly-designed bike racks and the poorly-informed jerks who install them. Instead, I want to point out certain bike racks that are especially insulting to the user or which border on complete uselessness.

First, we have this bike "rack" at the main post office in Poitiers:

It is conveniently located just steps from the entrance, though if anyone were to actually use it, people would have to walk into the street to get around the bikes.  As you can see above, my bike is blocking the entire sidewalk.

And once you've locked your bike to it and stepped back, you should notice something odd. The part of the rack you've locked to is open!! 

If you rotate the wheel a little and slide the lock down, the lock comes right off the rack. How convenient if you lost your key while in the post office. Or perhaps this is the mayor's attempt at a bike-sharing program?

Incidentally, if you were to lock you wheel slightly differently, like this:

...the trick doesn't work and the bike is slightly safer. Another interesting area of common interest between cycling and knot theory.

The second location for insulting bike racks can be found at (where else?) Géant Casino... 

This is the side entrance with no bike parking, though many people lock to the railing pictured above. But since the railing is only a few inches from the plastic backing, I can't get my bike close enough on one of the three sides to the railing to use my small u-lock. So, I end up hanging it off one of the corners (as pictured above).

Around the front of the store there is a something resembling a bike rack, and it is sheltered from the rain:

It is also located on top of a grate where you can conveniently deposit your cigarette butts (and beer and urine from the smell of it) before entering the store.

In case you do find real bike racks that are protected from the rain, chances are that the motorcyles and mopeds have taken all the spots. Because everyone knows those can't stand up by themselves...

And just to prove that Poitiers' cyclists don't necessarily know any better, here's two local bike shops, which are completely free of bike parking:

Keep up the good work everyone.

Tourist towns without any tourists

Rebecca's students were on vacation again last week, and since we've got some visitors coming in a week, we decided to preview some local destinations that people might (or might not) find interesting to visit. We had two criteria: things we haven't seen, and train access.

While the winter in Poitiers has been pretty mild by Jefe's standards, the sun has been playing hard to get. And poor Rebecca grew up within two hours of the East Coast of the U.S. and has been craving the beach since we left Wilmington. We quickly settled on the sunny, seaside locale of La Rochelle as the perfect destination. In order to maximize the discovery factor, we were looking for another destination close to La Rochelle. Following the local train routes and trying not to stray far from the sea, we decided on Rochefort.

When Rebecca mentioned this duo of destinations to people, trying to solicit ideas for things to do in the area, she got a bevy of similar responses.

La Rochelle: Oooh, how nice, you're going to love it, it's beautiful!

Rochefort: Hmmm...(Silence).

Well, La Rochelle is nice. A popular summer destination for French and English tourists, the area boasts one of the highest concentrations of vacation homes in France. There are almost as many hours of sunshine every year as the Mediterranean coast but without the endless stretches of beachside hotels that you find in Nice.

Nice, France: land of beaches and hotels

Despite its un-Nicey-ness, La Rochelle remains a primarily tourist-driven economy. Restaurants have different hours hors saison (out of season) or are closed entirely for their congés in late winter; hotels are cheaper; some museums/attractions are closed. It's not as though we're panting to fight the throngs during the Festival Francopholie, but there is something a little odd about port-side restaurants in a tourist haven who have to fight for the few off-season visitors. We even spotted one restaurant with a designated crier, an older woman standing out front listing the delicacies inside in a loud voice to no one in particular.

Even though some of the posted menus of the restaurants in the tourist area looked interesting, we were disconcerted by the prospect of having people watching us eat, peering in the restaurant windows and trying to determine if you're enjoying yourself enough to merit them coming inside to try it.

Port-side restaurants in La Rochelle...probably to be avoided

Luckily we were able to find excellent restaurants away from this area. La Rose des Vins was wonderful, small, earthy restaurant serving traditional French fare with a little bit of a twist, and occasionally featuring ethnic cuisine from around the world (Jamaican chicken). They also have an extensive wine list, with some wines available by the centimeter (get a bottle and only pay for what you drink), and excellent recommendations.

We also stumbled upon Le Cabanon des Pêcheurs while craving a seafood restaurant. Baked oysters topped with melted cheese, salmon terrine, and fish with spanish chorizo were more than enough to satisfy our urges. And Jefe couldn't pass up a post-meal rhum arrangé (rum with fruit soaking in it) as the giant jars (pineapple, passion fruit, strawberries, and more) were lined up enticingly on the bar.

Lovely Rhum arrangé at Le Cabanon des Pêcheurs

We also wandered along the coastline and the ramparts of ancient castles. And, perhaps even better, we went to the sprawling central marketplace, got snacks, and took them to the beach. We ate our picnic while basking in the sun. Sublime.

●●●

Rochefort-sur-Mer (as opposed to en-Terre) was just a short train ride away. We noticed something odd about it almost immediately. The city blocks are square! How un-French. Apparently, it was a planned community started in the 17th century as a naval base and shipbuilding yard (wiping out the former pesky Protestant town that was there before). The military influence led to the straight streets and right angles.

Apparently, Rochefort is one rung down on the tourist ladder from La Rochelle, it was mostly a ghost town in late February. There are a few interesting things to see (as our extremely enthusiastic hotel personnel pointed out), notably the Maritime Medical Museum, the house-cum-museum of Pierre Loti (author, seaman and general eccentric), and the rebuilding of the frigate Hermione (which La Fayette used to aid in the American revolution).

On top of everything, it seems we picked up some nasty stomach bug while we were there. Not so nice. Reminded us a little of our friends Jessie and Tom, who came home from their honeymoon early because they got sick. And bored.

Well, we stayed it out, but we were happy to get back to good 'ole Poitiers. And now we have the first of our visitors to look forward to, the Jefe's brother, Josh...we can't wait!

Travel Math

Now that I've been riding a bike through the countrysides of Poitou-Charentes for nearly five months, new roads and towns are getting harder to come by. I've covered some of the smoother, more scenic routes dozens of times. In order to expand the limits of my cycling universe, exploring more routes and towns farther from Poitiers, I've decided to combine the two most convenient forms of travel here, bikes and trains.

Instead of biking in loops, always ending up back home, I've decided to try riding one way and taking the train back. The weather has been improving and I'm in much better shape than when I got here, making longer rides much more enjoyable. In addition, I can eat lunch and spend an hour or two exploring a city before hopping on the train back to Poitiers with my bike.

First destination: Niort.
Niort is around 80km from Poitiers, and is almost the same size. Biking there takes about 3-3.5 hours. Since Rebecca's students don't have class this week (because of Carnaval? Or Ash Wednesday? We're not really sure) she decided to take the train to Niort so we could have lunch together and explore on foot.

First step: Wake up early. Normally, I ride in the afternoon, but to make it to Niort in time for lunch, I'd have to leave by 9:30am. The trains stop running before I would be able to finish dinner, so I have to stick with lunch.

Wake up Jefe!

I got to Niort a bit before Rebecca's train was scheduled to come in, so I rode around a little to familiarize myself with some of the parts of town. Then I went to the train station...

...where I met Rebecca and got to change into real clothes (which Rebecca had kindly brought for me).

We found a nice place for lunch. Actually, we were looking in the window of a random place and then a customer came out to smoke his post-lunch clope, and he pretty much forced us to go in.

We sat down to recount our adventures of the morning. Rebecca *just barely* made it to the train on time thanks to the self-service ticket kiosks and their convenient option to "buy a ticket for a train that is departing immediately." Jefe found a really nice route from Poitiers to Niort with lots of smooth roads, nice scenery and not much traffic.

The part between Mothe St. Heray and Chavagné is especially nice, with views down into the neighboring valley.

Rebecca ordered une salade de thon, and Jefe had the plat du jour: roast chicken with spanish rice. We had just about finished up when...

--ok, now I have to recount an exchange I had with the waiter at lunch. It's embarrassing for me, but I feel that it bears an important lesson about French café culture--

...after the meal (in french)

Waiter: Vous êtes terminés? C'était bien? Vous voulez un dessert?
All done? How was it? Would you like some dessert?

Me: Non, merci, euh... {il donne un coup d'oeil a Rebecca} un dessert, peut-être?
No thanks, uh...{glancing at Rebecca} how about a dessert?

For some reason, I thought he had asked if I wanted the bill (l'addition). Perhaps it was my fatigued state, I'm not sure. Besides the obvious humor in rejecting and then asking for the same thing in a single sentence, Rebecca reminded me of two things one must understand about French waiters: (1) they will never offer the bill, and will wait until you ask for it (unless you're just getting coffee or drinks, or if you're in Paris & are perceived by the waitstaff as incompetent to do such things properly) and (2) they will always offer dessert. How I could have mis-heard and failed to take into account these two cardinal rules of the café, I will never know.

Giggling, we wandered through the streets of Niort, stopped by the Donjon, and island hopped in the middle of the Sèvre Niortaise River. We also saw this interesting alternative to standard bollards.

Serpent guarding the pedestrians from the evil cars

When it came time to leave, we got tickets for a local (TER) train to Poitiers. I packed my bike up for the train ride and covered it with a fitted bedsheet that Rebecca got that morning just for this purpose.

So much easier than taking it fully apart!

Everything worked out great. I got to try out some new roads, and we both got to explore a new place. This leads me to my new Theory of Travel Math:

more sweet math, for all you nerdfighters

Attack of the 50-foot Wicker...thing

It must be Carnivale...

Apologies for the poor quality of the video. 

We'll do better next time.