Day One: Water Buffalo

The vice-principal handed me the apartment keys. He smiled. “I ope you are veery appy ear, others ave not been zo appy ear in ze suburbs.” I assured him that I was quite excited to be in France and to teach in his school. “It’s going to be a marvelous school year” I exclaimed in a blonde-cheerleader-valley-girl sort of way. Two hours later, after I and two other assistants had lugged their overstuffed suitcases approximately 3 three miles uphill to my new apartment, the noises started.

Imagine a dying water buffalo. The water buffalo is thrashing in the water and uttering his last agonizing groans. Now picture this dying water buffalo in your bathroom – expect the trashing and groaning never stop. Little J, Eliza and I couldn’t believe our ears. We were huddled in my tiny dusty bedroom listening to the dying water buffalo in the bathroom. Little J and Eliza are also English teaching assistants. I had invited them to stay with me until they found an apartment in Paris. We decided that instead of surprising whoever picked me up at the train station with three people, it would be better if they stayed behind while I was taken to the apartment. I would then come back for them once I knew where the place was (see above for location). Little did we know what was in store for us.

Once at the apartment, we were exhaustedly trying to figure out sleeping logistics when the thrashing and groaning started. An hour later we were finally settled (settled being a relative term) when the suddenly the noises stopped. The water buffalo had finally died. Silence. Groan. Silence. Silence. Perhaps he wasn’t quite dead …. Thump thump against the hallway walls. Nope, not dead. There was a crash in the kitchen. More pounding on walls. At some point we fell asleep. I dreamed about flying home.

Photo thanks to Junglewalk.com