First day in Ferney-Voltaire, France

The first day in Ferney-Voltaire
Jorgen picked me up from the Geneva airport with his adult son visiting from Sweden. The two drove the five minute ride to Ferney-Voltaire, which from now on I will abbreviate as F-V. Très bien. I had a hand drawn map and it was not difficult, in the small town, to find the apartment building. We carried the stuff through the lobby and unthinkingly got into an elevator.

We got to the last, the seventh floor. “I thought Sachiko lived on the eight floor!” I said. We looked puzzled at each other. I took out the keys that the Portuguese concièrge, Mr. Carlos Martim, had given me in an envelope with “Ms. Tania Ramalho” in Sachiko’s handwriting. I tried to fit these keys in the seventh floor apartment while talking with the men. Jorgen’s son tried to read the names of residents on the other doors. Suddenly, the apartment door opened and I immediately saw my mistake—out of excitement and mindlessness. I did have the wrong floor. A tall French man came out and told us that there were two elevators, one for odd and another for even floors. I apologized, and we decided to walk up the stairs carrying the heavy suitcases.

There it was, “my” apartment for one month! The key to the security iron front door fit, opening all six of the protective locks at the same time with one simple turn. The first thing we noticed, to Jorgen's big, big laughs, were post-it notes all over the place and a long note “for Tania” on the back of the front door. While we had gone over many details about how the place worked, Sachiko decided to make sure that I had everything in writing. It was thoughtful of her. After all, as the first event of not finding the right door shows, I can be extremely absent minded. (I take a moment to beg the pardon from all who I have injured with annoying distractions and forgetfulness. I am working on this terrible habit because I do not want to go to hell for it.)

Ok. Just one of the notes on a cupboard over the stove, in neon green paper:

You may use salt & pepper here, but I prefer that you do not use the olive oil here (as it’s a very special one I bought in Italy & cannot buy it in Geneva or France). Thanks.

I laughed. Truthfully, I understand Sachiko very well. I have a thing for good olive oil. I hoard it too. Hands off her Italian oil…

After the men left I got one of Sachiko’s specially strong grocery bags everybody uses to avoid the environmental curse of plastic bags and went to the Champion, a store in front of the building but across from its parking lot and on the next street, so it is not like I live right in front of a supermarket. Still, it is convenient. As a diehard shopper of food (once I am, hopefully, a recovering… overeater…) I was in heaven. It must have taken me more than an hour and a half to go through the aisles of French food, examining everything, checking prices and converting Euro into dollars, trying not to feel overwhelmed. I bought salmon and turkey (dinde), bio (meaning organic) broccoli and cauliflower, onions and garlic, soy milk, oats and olive oil!

I had the first meal I cooked myself for a long time and was grateful for it. (In London, besides breakfast, lunch of peanut butter on rice cakes and apples, I was eating out once a day, with prices being twice as much…)

I started to establish a routine of exercise, meditation, journaling, reading and writing the next day. I also break for cooking; a walk, and now that I found the local public pool also to go swimming. My first walk in town led me to find a HEALTH FOOD STORE just beside the Champion! I got a French SIM card for my cell phone. I went to the Tourist Office for maps and schedules of the buses to Geneva and Gex, the next French town. I found the pool, the apartment complex where the poor—Africans and older French people—live, and a Moslem grocery store with reasonable prices and lots of spices.

I promise not to bother my readers anymore with meals and food details. I just meant to give a picture here of what is available in F-V.

Did I mention the view of the Alps?