My first Sunday in Bourges

Touring the schools of Bourges
I hope to find an apartment close to whichever school the kids will attend -- and of course, should we decide to put them in a public school, the selection will be based on our address. So, I’m keen to sort out which school we’d like the kids to attend before looking for a place to live.

Yesterday I visited L’office de tourisme á Bourges and received an excellent map, listing all the libraries, museums, city offices, and most importantly to me, the schools.

This morning I went for a long walk around the city, visiting each l’ecole primarie shown on the map. My understanding is that kids attend l’ecole primarie between the ages of 6 and 11… what we call first through fifth grade. (In France, the grades count down rather than up, with the youngest children in grade eleven, and the oldest in one.) Miles turns twelve in January, and I’m not sure if that would put him into collège (e.g. high school) or not. I’ve read, however, that it is common for kids to repeat grades if their test scores are not up to snuff, and my preference would be to keep Miles and Lee in the same school. Miles will have enough on his mind – no need to push him too far!

All of the schools I visited today were closed (it being a Sunday in August), and I’m trying not to form strong opinions based solely on their appearance (e.g., “curb appeal” in real estate terms). Nonetheless, I cannot help but react to the size of some schools (smaller seems preferable) and the neighborhood (I like quiet, quaint and close to the center of town). Two or three schools stood out above the others – one being a private, Catholic school just down the street from the main cathedral in town. Perhaps we’ll have an “in” at this school as the kids are currently attending a Catholic school in Seattle. We’ll see. Enrollment doesn’t begin until August 20th, so we won’t know for a while.

Opening a Bank Account
I screwed up my courage and presented myself at the local Credit Agricole branch yesterday. I waited on line, rehearsing my French, muttering to myself: je voudrais commence un comptè, sil-vous-plais… One of the branch managers brought me to his office, and between his English and my French, we had a nursery-school level discussion. (“See Jack run. See Andy move to France. See Andy write a check. Spend, Andy, spend.”) Thankfully, another guy came in and bailed us out. As I had been warned, the first obstacle was the requirement that in order to open an account, I have proof of my residence (and I cannot get a residence without proof that I have a bank account). I told the bank manager that I am living at le Hotel de Bourbon (a fancy address if there ever was one) and he called over there. I can’t be sure what was said between the hotel clerk and the banker, but it seemed to go well. I was asked to return at 9am on August 10th, with proof of my employment and salary in order to complete the transaction. Getting this sorted will be a big help, and enable us to begin the apartment hunt in earnest.

Looking for something to read
I finished the books and magazines I had with me on the plane. What to read now? The hotel has copies of the International Herald Tribune, which is nice, but I need something more substantial.

I went into a very serious-looking bookstore yesterday and asked the clerk, “Est-que il’ya des livres dans anglais?” (Someday I’ll be confident that what I’m saying is what I intend to say – for the moment, I’m operating mainly on intuition. I would not be surprised to learn that I’ve been asking for sanitary napkins and slip-covers when I really want a sandwich and a beer.)

The bookseller said many things in response, including the word non (no), and it seemed like our conversation was over. But as I turned to go, he remembered something and began hustling about the shop pulling a few books off the shelves – turns out he sells bi-lingual versions of certain ‘classics” – that is, books by Hemmingway, Faulkner, Conrad, etc. with the English text on one side of the page and French on the other. “Magnifique,” I exclaimed (meaning to indicate pleasure, though perhaps indicating that I had just seen a manatee swim past, or that I wished to eat a small pair of shoes).

So, I bought the lot – and thus I sat in a café last night, eating alone, sipping vin de rouge and reading The Snows of Kilimanjaro by Hemmingway. Magnifique, indeed!

Plan for the rest of the day
It's lunch time. It would be easy to go down to a cafe, but I'm feeling ambitious: I'm off the le boulangerie for une baguette and then to the butcher (begins with the letters ch) for some slices of ham or pate. A half-empty bottle of wine in my room needs tending to. And the sun is out. A great day for a picnic. Could it be that I'm getting the hang of this place?!

Ou revoir, mes amis.