A
couple of weeks ago we made our second annual trip to the prefecture to ask
Marianne* to let us stay here for another year. Among the paperwork required
for our carte de sejour, Cynthia and I have to sign statements
swearing that we will not seek employment in France. This, coupled with my
language incompetence has the effect of making us perpetual foreigners and permanent
tourists.
As
if to prove it, this year Cynthia set for us a touring schedule at times so
hectic that I wondered if her doctor had given her only 6 months to live. We bought a used car back in May and
have already put nearly 15,000 kilometers on it. This might not seem like much
to an American, but considering that until two weeks ago we were living in an
apartment, using public transit and shoe-leather express most of the time, it's
a shitload.
