In preparation for a rapidly approaching trip to Paris -- made sweeter by the aforementioned job offer and thus the knowledge of having a steady income stream when I return -- I have been reading Adam Gopnik's "Paris to the Moon," which is an excellent collection of essays on living in Paris and on being an American abroad generally. And even though I am overlakes rather than overseas, and the only language barrier I encounter is an over-reliance on the word "eh" and a predilection for inserting the letter u into words, I'm finding I relate to a lot of what he writes. It helps that he's a wonderful writer in that New Yorker style. (He and Malcolm Gladwell? Both Canadians, doncha know. Of course, both Canadians living in New York, now.)

There was a passage I particularly liked , which I'll reproduce here if I can find it, about how living in another country means not having any particularly strongly help opinions about the things most people feel strongly about. You listen to both sides of a debate and you think, well, they both have a point, which is exactly how I felt listening to all the debates during the last election here. The differences that seemed so glaring and fundamental to Canadians seemed rather slight to me, and it didn't matter much to me either way. And he writes a little about how this feels very free and refreshing, but after a while you get tired of it and it starts to feel a bit lonely, which I can see as well. As tired as I am of the whole red/blue conflict in the U.S., I could see how you would start to miss it after a while.

And reading his experiences with the bureaucracies of France, I realize we have it easy here in Canada even though I was pretty steamed that I have to pay $18 just to get my mail put on hold for three weeks. Yes, we have to pay the heavily-taxpayer-subsidized post office $18 -- plus provincial and federal sales tax, of course -- for the priviledge of them NOT delivering our mail. But still, it was a pretty simple transaction at least, so merci beaucoup for that. In a few phone calls to French restaurants to make reservations I have learned that my French is not up to French waiter standards, but I will continue trying because I took 10 years of French, dammit, and I ought to have something to show for it. Of course I dropped French immediately when I satisfied the language requirement in college, thinking, When will I ever live someplace where I'd need to know French? Little did I know, the places I'd go....

So this blog, updated at a pitiably slow pace as it is, will be on holiday for the next few weeks while I eat my way through France. If I do not exceed the weight limit on the flight back I will be back in September to report on the trip, and also my new job, which I'll start soon after I get back. Au revoir pour maintenant!