"Puisse le sort vous être favorable."-Hunger Games in French...thank you kindly, Delta.
Life on Stalingrad and "Ernest Dalby" (29/8/2012):
I've spent 20 hours in the air(ports) and 20 hours of unconsciousness and stupefaction out in my apartment. Awake and mobile once again, I've secured both the time and le "Wee-Fii" necessary to make my first post....from Nantes' very own Corner Bar. I shopped for random toiletries with Chuck Berry's "C'est La Vie" blaring (and a young French dad dancing with his little daughter to it), and I'm now sitting in a bar listening to what would classify as American indie rock in a French bar; at least the accordion outside the restaurant I settled on was certifiably French.
I'll post pictures of the apartment I've most thankfully inherited from the Moody's, but suffice it to say that it's a bit bigger than the size of deluxe room in the (old) Cannon, and the shower's about the size of a discount coffin. I'm already in love with it, haha, perhaps because of the fact that the building itself is protected by a large red gate and my windows by the ever-popular slated metal "curtains;" zombies and burglars would have a hard time sacking my little Rent-A-Château (the real Castle here is rather impressive, an ancient bulwark in the defensive network that once protected the Duchy of Bretagne from the early Kings of France)
My apartment is situated about 400 meters from an "arm" of the Loire in what I'd consider a normal quartier (though one specially graced with a Super U, a French supermarket). In a generous gesture of respect to (itself and) the world, the French seem to name their roads after heroes, national and international, and historical victories, so I live in Apartment 1, 94 Boulevard Ernest Dalby (apparently a minor socialist hero) next to Boulevard de Stalingrad. Huzzah. Ok, since I've only purchased one beer here, I feel like I'm becoming a free-loader in the Bar du Coin, and neither my wallet nor my jet-lagged brain are interested in anything else for tonight. Tomorrow I'll confront all manner of bureaucratic obstacles, and I can only hope I can learn how to "demerder," a colorful term the French love dearly, "to remove oneself from the shit."
Hope to post again soon.
On les aura!
