I went to the prefecture today, and I received another carte de sejour--another residency card-- so I'm good to go until next February. Good news, huh?
In other news, today is a day of strikes.
Yesterday, I was running onto the platform to get my train, and I saw that ominous white paper, plastered to the wall, reading Greve. Strike. Not my favorite word.
I never heard what the strike was for, or rather, what the strikers were hoping to obtain. But this year, it's turned out that every time I've had to go to the prefecture, there's been a strike. Interesting, eh?
In other news, today is a day of strikes.
Yesterday, I was running onto the platform to get my train, and I saw that ominous white paper, plastered to the wall, reading Greve. Strike. Not my favorite word.
I never heard what the strike was for, or rather, what the strikers were hoping to obtain. But this year, it's turned out that every time I've had to go to the prefecture, there's been a strike. Interesting, eh?
But today, all the trains were, as they say in French, perturbed...I'll leave you to guess what they mean by that. The E line was running amok, as were the A and B lines.
And today, I set off to buy my fiscal stamps from the public treasury (the official way of paying the government for another year of living in la Belle France), and everyone here in the office said, "Oh, don't even bother going. The people at the treasure definitely won't be working--it's the greve!"
I went anyway, praying it'd be open, so I could get my residency card. Thankfully, the people at the public treasury were indeed working.
Although, they seemed to be the only ones. The schools in the area were on strike. The kids were all sitting on the stone walls outside the grocery store, drinking Cokes, eating chips, throwing pebbles at the homeless saxophone player on the corner by the supermarket. The market, which is generally deserted on a Tuesday morning, was choked full of people. And the streets were flooded with cars.
And while the strikes normally beat the life out of me, today, I found it charming. When the sun is out and the daffodils are pushing up against the earth, springing to life one more time, streets full of people seems just about perfect. Spring has sprung.
And today, I set off to buy my fiscal stamps from the public treasury (the official way of paying the government for another year of living in la Belle France), and everyone here in the office said, "Oh, don't even bother going. The people at the treasure definitely won't be working--it's the greve!"
I went anyway, praying it'd be open, so I could get my residency card. Thankfully, the people at the public treasury were indeed working.
Although, they seemed to be the only ones. The schools in the area were on strike. The kids were all sitting on the stone walls outside the grocery store, drinking Cokes, eating chips, throwing pebbles at the homeless saxophone player on the corner by the supermarket. The market, which is generally deserted on a Tuesday morning, was choked full of people. And the streets were flooded with cars.
And while the strikes normally beat the life out of me, today, I found it charming. When the sun is out and the daffodils are pushing up against the earth, springing to life one more time, streets full of people seems just about perfect. Spring has sprung.
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