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French Sabbatical
1. Setting It Up
2. The Preview
3. French Christmas
4. Univ. of Rouen
5. Parents Visit
6. 2 Weeks in Paris
7. Spring Sights
8. 1st Week- Périgord
9. 2nd Week- Périgord
10. Adv. in Brittany
11. 1st Week- Alps
12. 2nd Week- Alps
13. England & Home
14. They Visit Us
15. Other Visits

Master of Arts in Counseling Psychology ("MAC")

3. A French Christmas

That next fall (1994) was a time of nail-biting frustration. Everyone seemed to be dropping the ball. Paris told me to apply through the French Consulate in San Francisco but the Consulate wouldn’t reply to 200+ phone calls, multiple faxes, registered letters, and express packages. (We later learned that they only had one telephone line serving nine states and generally just kept that one telephone off the hook!) Frustration!

They finally called in October and said, “We hadn't realized you were going to receive a salary. You'll have to get a work permit in Paris. The Univ. of Rouen should help you but you’ll have to start over."

Over the next few weeks, the university’s personnel office dropped the ball again and again. They finally told us that we needed translations of our marriage license, all four birth certificates, my regular SMC contract, and the sabbatical agreement – all done by “approved translators" at a cost of over $900 and certified by the French Consulate in Seattle! I decided to do the translations myself with the help of the local French club but after a week of work, I learned that the office in Seattle was closing that day for several weeks.

Okay, here's the picture. Merry is driving in a panic. I’m sitting next to her getting motion sick and gagging on a flashlight held in my mouth while trying to type the last translation on a laptop. We arrive in Seattle 15 minutes late because of traffic and they’re all bent out of shape when I start plugging in computers and printers to crank out the last document! Well, the Consulate finally certifies all the translations (without reading them I might add!) but there’s still one not finished. So she takes a blank piece of paper and signs the bottom. “There! Just print the last one onto that,” she says.

I’ll spare you the details of how the University of Rouen continued to drag their feet but, by December 13^th, the certifications arrived. After 100+ long-distance phone calls and faxes to San Francisco and France — and just three days before we left — we finally had our visas! The nightmare was over.

The next crisis was the weight restrictions on our suitcases. The "maybe" pile quickly got added to the "leave-it-behind" pile but we still ended up with eight giant suitcases averaging 60 pounds each, plus carry-ons, which were up to 50 pounds each with bulging fanny packs and stuffed pockets. We had to rent four baggage carts just to get through the various airports.

We landed in Paris just before Christmas; the adventures started immediately. Merry and I got lost in Paris and didn't arrived at our new apartment in Le Havre for six hours! The doll-size apartment had a sloped floor, which made it feel as if we were walking downhill, and occasional hollows, where a foot step would suddenly land an eighth to a quarter of an inch too low. Disconcerting, that! The hot water heater only held 8 to 10 gallons so we could only sponge-bath. The tiny kitchen had two camping-style burners (one didn’t work) and the smallest fridge we had ever seen. Fortunately, a church member later loaned us a stove/oven run with bottles of butane. Gasoline for the small car we bought ran from $5 to $6 a gallon so, at first, we felt guilty every time we used the car.

But we had a wonderful Christmas Eve dinner with the French members with all manner of delicious French foods (altho' the boys didn't agree that everything was delicious!) Then we drove to Paris for a few days with Brice and his family. We also went to Euro-Disney, which was a lot of fun.

We celebrated New Year's Eve at the Lechevallier's. Far from the often drunken celebrations we were used to seeing in the United States, the French tradition

dictated that everyone dress up in Sunday dress and eat a huge meal together. What a very French thing to do! It went on for several hours. Above is a photo of the beautiful table that Dominique Lechevallier set for us all.

But, poor Braden! Only a minute or two before midnight, the family convinced him to try a raw (read that, live) oyster. Half-way down, his face turned gray; it was amazing! While the rest of us were celebrating the new year, he was in the bathroom throwing up! On the left, Braden takes advantage of a sign in a Paris metro stop to demonstrate his opinion of raw oysters....

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