THIS is going to be a grasshopper blog entry. In other words, I’ll jump around a bit. Please bear with me. But before my memory fades I want to get a few random thoughts down about our recent two-month sojourn in Dijon, France—so I’m just going to write as things pop into my head.
Many of you have asked us about our experience living in France, even though it was only for two months. So I’m hoping this might also be helpful to those of you who may be thinking of moving to a foreign country. Please feel free to contact me directly with any questions you may have if I don’t answer them here.
The Mission Statement
If you’ve worked in the corporate world you know that you can’t begin any project without first pulling together a cross-functional team and crafting a mission statement. Better yet, also draw up a vision statement. And to really drive home your point, put everything into a PowerPoint presentation.
Pam and I have each been to France over 20 times. So we didn’t “Need no Stinkin’ Mission,” to paraphrase that famous line from the movie, The Treasure of Sierra Madre.
Simply put, we like it in France--and in recent years have talked seriously about making it our home. But everything we’ve read about becoming “expats” in France (or any country, for that matter) has told us that while it is one thing to visit your favorite city or country—it is an entirely different thing to actually live there. Always do a test drive for two or three months, we were advised.
Therefore, our “mission,” if you will, was to actually reside in France for two months--to live as much as possible like regular residents. No hotels. No dependence on restaurants and/or room service for every meal. And to do all this with our two adorable and spoiled little dogs, Gravy and Salsa.
Originally, we wanted to go to Lyon for our two months. Second choice was Bordeaux and third choice was Strasbourg. We had been to each of those cities at least once—for no less than a week each time. We had made three trips to Lyon in recent years. (We decided to eliminate Paris because the cost of living in Paris is about the same as New York City and we wanted to scale back on expenses should we decide to make a permanent move.)
Background Information
I grew up in Missouri in an area outside of Kansas City that at the time was almost rural. But at about age eleven I knew I wanted to live in New York City. That eventually happened, of course. And my wife, Pamela, is a native New Yorker—one of the few actually born in Manhattan where we live today. But she went to college in Austin, Texas. So, in addition to our love of New York City, we also share a fondness for barbeque and country music. Well, not so much with the country music for Pam—but she can still finger-pick a folk song on her guitar better than I could ever hope to.
Anyway, I’ve got the New York City living thing pretty much down by now.
Get to the point, Richard!
My point is that I live—and love living in—what many may call a hyperactive environment. For example, our apartment building adjoins one of the most famous, smaller, and most exclusive hotels in NYC—the Gramercy Park Hotel. I can’t count how many rock stars and celebrities I’ve seen standing on the sidewalk outside the hotel over the years I’ve lived here. And even our short block has its share of celebrity inhabitants. Restaurateur Danny Meyer lives across the street (our dogs have sniffed butts), Uma Thurman keeps an apartment in the same building, Julia Roberts used to live around the corner. And in earlier days I used to frequently say hello to Margaret Hamilton, The Wizard of Oz’s Wicked Witch of the West.
More to the point of this missive is that my experience living in Manhattan is so different from that of those living in a smaller city. I know, I know--many, if not most senior Americans, prefer to retire to someplace smaller and quieter. In other words, move to God’s Waiting Room in Florida.
Not me.
For almost 40 years I’ve lived in a building with 166 families. We have ten full-time building staff members, including five doormen who keep us protected 24-hours a day.
In my younger days I was politically active as a building organizer. Before our building converted to a co-op, I was the president of the then tenants’ association.
What I like about where I live is the energy I get from always being around other people. I share so many laughs, for example, with our main daytime doorman, Dowen, who started working in our building the same month I moved in.
So, as much as I find French/European “charm” appealing, for the longer term it gets old real fast. Just sayin’.
Planning the Trip
Let me be clear. The Bradley’s never travel lightly. On our honeymoon to London and Paris (a two-week trip) we left New York City with eight pieces of luggage. We returned home with ten. We’ve gotten better over the years, but we still both like to have “options” when it comes to clothing, jewelry, and shoes, when we are traveling.
I quit my job—retired, that is, for the second time--on August 31, 2018. Our plan was to travel to France on or about October 1, and stay there through October and November and then get back to NYC in time for the holidays. So that gave us September to get ready for the trip. Some things, of course, had to be done long before September--like booking our flights and finding a place to live.
Surprise, surprise! We couldn’t find an apartment in Lyon that we could rent for only two months—and that would allow our dogs. Same for Bordeaux and same for Strasbourg. Forget about Airbnb and their competitors. Useless for our needs.
But at almost the last minute, Pam found us a great apartment in a city that we hadn’t considered—Dijon. Not only could we rent it for just two months, but the owner agreed to make an exception and allow Gravy and Salsa as well.
Neither of us had ever been to Dijon, so this was a bit of a crapshoot. On the other hand, our “mission” was to experience living in France like locals. In that regard, the city didn’t really matter quite so much as we originally thought it might. We decided to roll the dice and go to Dijon.
We had passports, of course. And a couple of years ago we went through the process of becoming Trusted Travelers. So we could check those off our pre-planning list.
But we had never traveled with our dogs, except for one brief flight to Missouri when we had only Gravy.
Contrary to what many people still think, dogs coming from the U.S. into most countries in Europe no longer have to be quarantined for several weeks upon arrival. For certain, not in France. England is one exception. So I’d like to set the record straight on that.
However, your dogs do need to have their own paperwork. So in September I worked with our veterinarian to get Gravy’s and Salsa’s “passports.” Long story short, they each had 9 pages of official documentation from our state’s capital in Albany, NY attesting to their health, ownership, breed, etc. They asked for these papers at JFK airport in NYC as well as at CDG airport in Paris. Of course, the bureaucrats at both airports never looked closely at the papers. Just flipped through them. Duh, what a surprise.
We toted our dogs in little carriers that we put under the seats in front of us. Honestly, I don’t think most people on the planes even knew we had dogs with us—including the flight attendants. Our pups we very well behaved. Oddly, apparently dogs are not allowed in first class or business class. How stupid is that? In the past few years we have flown to France business-bed class so that we could spread out and even try to sleep. But since we couldn't do that with our dogs, we had to fly premium economy this time. What we did do, however, was to purchase a third seat. So we had three seats for the four of us, with no one else sitting in our little row.
The only other planning we did was to read up a bit on Dijon. We both tend to be spontaneous travelers. We never have an agenda. I mean, like what if it is raining the day you decided in advance to go to the beach? The only thing we have ever planned in advance are tickets to a concert or a play that we did not want to take a chance on missing—e.g., the late Johnny Hallyday.
Arrival
We spent our first two days in Paris. We wanted to give the dogs (and us) some time to recover from jet lag before traveling on to Dijon. While in Paris we happened into a nice boutique pet store. We bought a fancy bed that would accommodate both dogs. Of course, that meant one more item to schlep around.
There was no way that we were going to get back on a plane to travel to Dijon. As you might imagine, the in-country planes are much smaller. So we had previously decided to travel from Paris to Dijon by car. The trip is about 3:15 hours. We found a wonderful car service named AbiTransport. Abi himself met us at our hotel in Paris. He showed up in a black Mercedes mini-van with leather seats—and WiFi. We kept the dogs in their carriers so that the seats wouldn’t get scratched by their nails. Abi speaks English, so he also turned out to be sort of a tour guide as well—pointing out sights along the way. If you ever need any kind of car service in Paris I can heartily recommend AbiTransport.
When we were about thirty minutes away from Dijon I sent a text message to Alexia who was going meet us at our apartment. She was right there when we arrived—mid-afternoon, if I recall correctly. BTW, our host was a lovely woman named Viviane. We never actually met her because she was living in another country at the time. But she was readily available by email, and Alexia was very helpful to us the entire time we were in Dijon.
It took us about a week to completely unpack.
The Bonjour Effect
Now we get to the good stuff—living day to day.
No, we don’t really speak French. I had one year of French in college and Pam had about four years in high school and college. I have tried some self-study computer-based courses, but I never really found them to be very helpful. More honestly, I would loose interest and just couldn’t stick with them.
That said, I can get by with my “pub French”—a term that a friend of mine recently introduced me to. One thing we learned years ago is that you always want to start a conversation with “Bonjour.” It’s simply considered good manners, whether you are talking to a salesperson in a department store or asking someone for directions on the street. I once saw a couple of young men in a department store fail to do this and the salesperson barely gave them the time of day. Then when he was finished with the boys, I approached him with the usual “Bonjour.” He couldn’t have been more helpful and polite to us.
After Bonjour, you might want to throw in some “How’s it going?” just to get the ball rolling. But I almost always get right to the point that I don’t speak French and I ask the other person (in my pub French) if they speak “Anglais.” If the other person does, then you are off to the races. If not, it becomes more of a challenge, but it’s usually fun and a learning experience.
Also, necessity is still the mother of invention—or of learning. When you run out of toilet paper, for example, you quickly learn the French word, “papier toilette.”
Daily Eating and Grocery Shopping
You’ve probably heard that the French and Italians basically buy food for the table every day—and in their local neighborhoods. That seems to still be true. You’ve got your local butcher, your baker, your cheese place, your veggie place, etc. So the locals tend to go out and buy stuff for each day’s requirements. That baguette, for example, will be stale by tomorrow, so you keep buying food every, single, day.
I found this to be a drag. While it is true that Dijon and other cities do have some super markets, they are few and far between—even though some of them are truly amazing. There was a Monoprix store a few blocks from our apartment that had a decent-sized grocery store. But in New York we are accustomed to only shopping for groceries once a week—five to seven bags—and having them delivered to us a few minutes later. I got really, really tired of buying only what would fit in my “granny cart” and schlepping it home several blocks every two or three days. Just sayin.’
Doctors
I’ve had back pain ever since I left my job. I don’t know if that is psychologically relevant, or if it is just a coincidence. But for a moment or two, I thought I might have to cancel our trip. But then I realized that I can be in pain anywhere in the world. So let’s go!
I did see a doctor in Dijon—twice. He wasn’t much help (gave me some pills), but he spoke English and was very nice. But what I was most amazed by was what it cost me. Here in New York you are lucky to get out of a private doctor’s office for less than $250 for a ten-minute “exam.” The Dijon doctor charged me—are you ready for this?—30 euros, about $34 for each visit. Full discloser, when I returned home I got x-rays of my back. Nothing conclusive. My doctor advised me to walk a mile every day to strengthen my back. Been there, done that, dude! Well, I won’t get started here on the sorry state of our American healthcare system.
Haircuts and Manicures
I get a haircut every six weeks. So I knew that at some point I would need to get a haircut while in Dijon. I did, and I found a really nice salon that charged only about one-third of what I pay here in New York for a haircut.
That made me a little nervous at first. How good can such a cheap haircut be, I wondered? But it was apparently a high-end salon for Dijon. And my haircut was just as good as what I get in New York. Pam, on the other hand, refuses to get her hair cut by anyone other than her guy in NYC. But she did join me at my salon and had a manicure and pedicure while I got my hair cut. So this was another experience that we would not have had if we were only visiting for a week or two.
Transportation
This was disappointing to us. As New Yorkers living next door to the Gramercy Park Hotel, I suppose we are spoiled. There is almost always a taxi available at our front door. But even in other European cities there are usually plenty of taxis, even if you have to search out a taxi stand.
As far as I could tell, there are very few taxis in Dijon. There must be a few at the train station. But how do you get to the train station with all your stuff? By taxi! I think we only saw two taxis on the streets during our entire two months in Dijon.
Then you have Uber. Give me a break, Uber. Even though you are supposedly in Dijon, not once did my Uber app show any cars available. What a joke.
They do have a tram system in Dijon. It doesn't cover all of the city, but if you need to get out to the edges of the city it works well. We took the tram to a pet supply supermarket once.
There are no subways in Dijon.
Laundry and Dry Cleaning
Let me be clear. I HATE doing laundry. Well, of course, who does like doing laundry? But I hadn’t been to a laundromat since I was in college. We send all of our laundry out. I leave our laundry with our doorman, then give Alan a call and ask for a pick-up. Laundry comes back the same day—all nicely folded. Dry cleaning comes back in about two days.
My apartment building does have a laundry room, and I use it once every two weeks—only to wash (in cold water) some items that Pam prefers not to send out.
Our apartment in Dijon did have a small washing machine in its bathroom. But no dryer—just some sort of folding rack contraption to hang wet clothes on. Hello? This seems to be quite common in France. I just don’t get it. We never used the washing machine. I don’t want to have laundry constantly hanging around and drying in my apartment. This seems like a no-brainer to me, but what do I know, I’m just a stupid American.
Miscellaneous and Final Thoughts
Time and space here don’t permit me to go on forever about Dijon. I didn’t mention the wonderful museums, some excellent restaurants (Yes, we did eat out occasionally.), a theatre we went to, watching French television, and a few other things. There are many pictures of Dijon with descriptions right here on A Rock In My Shoe.
Our apartment was perfectly adequate and was about the same size as our apartment in New York. Excellent WiFi. Pam was able to continue her HR consulting remotely with no problems whatsoever. And I was able to easily write blogs and take pictures and make uploads to my website.
Plenty of hot water and a shower that didn’t take an instruction manual to figure out how to operate. Also, the shower was designed in such a way that its water didn’t get all over the floor—such a common problem with hotel showers in Europe. The only minor complaint about our apartment was that it did not have a gas stove—it was electric. Pam is a gourmet cook and no chef uses an electric stove because they are slow to heat up and you don’t have as much control—like if you want to go from high heat to low heat instantly. But apparently electric stoves are common in France. Maybe they have a gas shortage.
We found Dijon to be a lovely city. However, Pam and I both agree that we would not want to move there permanently. It’s just a little too small for us. Since we are both extroverts we tend to “charge our batteries” by being around lots of activity, people—and, yes, noise. And Dijon does not have a river running through it, something we really missed. On the other hand, if you use a lot of mustard, Dijon is the place to be.
I want to say this about Dijon. We found it to be one of the friendliest cities we’ve ever visited. It was easy to strike up brief conversations with people. And when we went back to a restaurant for the second—or third, or fourth, time—we were always warmly greeted.
Pam and I have always loved Indian food. There was one Indian restaurant in Dijon that we went to four or five times—Shalimar. This was a nice restaurant—not the typical “Curry in a Hurry,” so popular here in New York. The owner had spent some time in New York and would always come by our table and chat with us. After our third or fourth visit he asked us why we didn’t bring our dogs with us. Really, we said? “Yes, of course!” So the next week Gravy and Salsa joined us at Shalimar. They sat quietly under our table. They really are such good kids.
Finally, I want to say that we made some new friends in Dijon that I hope we will be able to stay in touch with and see again. I’ve already mentioned Viviane and Alexia. But I haven’t mentioned Bruce and Pierrette. I met Bruce while walking Gravy and Salsa and Bruce was walking their own small dog.
Dog butt-sniffs can lead to friendships. When I asked Bruce—again in my pub French--if he spoke English, he said, Oh yes, I’m Canadian! How cool is that? But he has lived in France for many years.
A week later I was walking our dogs again when all of a sudden a car pulls over to me, stops, and rolls down its window. OMG, my immediate thought was that I was doing something wrong—like jaywalking with my dogs—and that I was going to get a ticket.
It was Bruce again, this time with his wife Pierrette. Bruce handed me his business card and over the next few days we corresponded by email. We both enjoyed each other’s websites. Long story short, Bruce and his wife are musicians—with very impressive degrees and teaching credentials. We went to see a delightful musical comedy—set in the 1930s in Marseille--for which Bruce was the musical director and conducted the orchestra while also occasionally playing the piano. This was in an impressive theatre that reminded me somewhat of NYC’s Lincoln Center Theatre.
Bruce and Pierrette also invited us to dinner at their home. What a delightful evening. They have a baby grand piano and their dog loves to sing when Pierrette plays it. He was a little shy with his new audience, but we got the idea.
I loved our time in Dijon.
Mission accomplished!
Many of you have asked us about our experience living in France, even though it was only for two months. So I’m hoping this might also be helpful to those of you who may be thinking of moving to a foreign country. Please feel free to contact me directly with any questions you may have if I don’t answer them here.
The Mission Statement
If you’ve worked in the corporate world you know that you can’t begin any project without first pulling together a cross-functional team and crafting a mission statement. Better yet, also draw up a vision statement. And to really drive home your point, put everything into a PowerPoint presentation.
Pam and I have each been to France over 20 times. So we didn’t “Need no Stinkin’ Mission,” to paraphrase that famous line from the movie, The Treasure of Sierra Madre.
Simply put, we like it in France--and in recent years have talked seriously about making it our home. But everything we’ve read about becoming “expats” in France (or any country, for that matter) has told us that while it is one thing to visit your favorite city or country—it is an entirely different thing to actually live there. Always do a test drive for two or three months, we were advised.
Therefore, our “mission,” if you will, was to actually reside in France for two months--to live as much as possible like regular residents. No hotels. No dependence on restaurants and/or room service for every meal. And to do all this with our two adorable and spoiled little dogs, Gravy and Salsa.
Originally, we wanted to go to Lyon for our two months. Second choice was Bordeaux and third choice was Strasbourg. We had been to each of those cities at least once—for no less than a week each time. We had made three trips to Lyon in recent years. (We decided to eliminate Paris because the cost of living in Paris is about the same as New York City and we wanted to scale back on expenses should we decide to make a permanent move.)
Background Information
I grew up in Missouri in an area outside of Kansas City that at the time was almost rural. But at about age eleven I knew I wanted to live in New York City. That eventually happened, of course. And my wife, Pamela, is a native New Yorker—one of the few actually born in Manhattan where we live today. But she went to college in Austin, Texas. So, in addition to our love of New York City, we also share a fondness for barbeque and country music. Well, not so much with the country music for Pam—but she can still finger-pick a folk song on her guitar better than I could ever hope to.
Anyway, I’ve got the New York City living thing pretty much down by now.
Get to the point, Richard!
My point is that I live—and love living in—what many may call a hyperactive environment. For example, our apartment building adjoins one of the most famous, smaller, and most exclusive hotels in NYC—the Gramercy Park Hotel. I can’t count how many rock stars and celebrities I’ve seen standing on the sidewalk outside the hotel over the years I’ve lived here. And even our short block has its share of celebrity inhabitants. Restaurateur Danny Meyer lives across the street (our dogs have sniffed butts), Uma Thurman keeps an apartment in the same building, Julia Roberts used to live around the corner. And in earlier days I used to frequently say hello to Margaret Hamilton, The Wizard of Oz’s Wicked Witch of the West.
More to the point of this missive is that my experience living in Manhattan is so different from that of those living in a smaller city. I know, I know--many, if not most senior Americans, prefer to retire to someplace smaller and quieter. In other words, move to God’s Waiting Room in Florida.
Not me.
For almost 40 years I’ve lived in a building with 166 families. We have ten full-time building staff members, including five doormen who keep us protected 24-hours a day.
In my younger days I was politically active as a building organizer. Before our building converted to a co-op, I was the president of the then tenants’ association.
What I like about where I live is the energy I get from always being around other people. I share so many laughs, for example, with our main daytime doorman, Dowen, who started working in our building the same month I moved in.
So, as much as I find French/European “charm” appealing, for the longer term it gets old real fast. Just sayin’.
Planning the Trip
Let me be clear. The Bradley’s never travel lightly. On our honeymoon to London and Paris (a two-week trip) we left New York City with eight pieces of luggage. We returned home with ten. We’ve gotten better over the years, but we still both like to have “options” when it comes to clothing, jewelry, and shoes, when we are traveling.
I quit my job—retired, that is, for the second time--on August 31, 2018. Our plan was to travel to France on or about October 1, and stay there through October and November and then get back to NYC in time for the holidays. So that gave us September to get ready for the trip. Some things, of course, had to be done long before September--like booking our flights and finding a place to live.
Surprise, surprise! We couldn’t find an apartment in Lyon that we could rent for only two months—and that would allow our dogs. Same for Bordeaux and same for Strasbourg. Forget about Airbnb and their competitors. Useless for our needs.
But at almost the last minute, Pam found us a great apartment in a city that we hadn’t considered—Dijon. Not only could we rent it for just two months, but the owner agreed to make an exception and allow Gravy and Salsa as well.
Neither of us had ever been to Dijon, so this was a bit of a crapshoot. On the other hand, our “mission” was to experience living in France like locals. In that regard, the city didn’t really matter quite so much as we originally thought it might. We decided to roll the dice and go to Dijon.
We had passports, of course. And a couple of years ago we went through the process of becoming Trusted Travelers. So we could check those off our pre-planning list.
But we had never traveled with our dogs, except for one brief flight to Missouri when we had only Gravy.
Contrary to what many people still think, dogs coming from the U.S. into most countries in Europe no longer have to be quarantined for several weeks upon arrival. For certain, not in France. England is one exception. So I’d like to set the record straight on that.
However, your dogs do need to have their own paperwork. So in September I worked with our veterinarian to get Gravy’s and Salsa’s “passports.” Long story short, they each had 9 pages of official documentation from our state’s capital in Albany, NY attesting to their health, ownership, breed, etc. They asked for these papers at JFK airport in NYC as well as at CDG airport in Paris. Of course, the bureaucrats at both airports never looked closely at the papers. Just flipped through them. Duh, what a surprise.
We toted our dogs in little carriers that we put under the seats in front of us. Honestly, I don’t think most people on the planes even knew we had dogs with us—including the flight attendants. Our pups we very well behaved. Oddly, apparently dogs are not allowed in first class or business class. How stupid is that? In the past few years we have flown to France business-bed class so that we could spread out and even try to sleep. But since we couldn't do that with our dogs, we had to fly premium economy this time. What we did do, however, was to purchase a third seat. So we had three seats for the four of us, with no one else sitting in our little row.
The only other planning we did was to read up a bit on Dijon. We both tend to be spontaneous travelers. We never have an agenda. I mean, like what if it is raining the day you decided in advance to go to the beach? The only thing we have ever planned in advance are tickets to a concert or a play that we did not want to take a chance on missing—e.g., the late Johnny Hallyday.
Arrival
We spent our first two days in Paris. We wanted to give the dogs (and us) some time to recover from jet lag before traveling on to Dijon. While in Paris we happened into a nice boutique pet store. We bought a fancy bed that would accommodate both dogs. Of course, that meant one more item to schlep around.
There was no way that we were going to get back on a plane to travel to Dijon. As you might imagine, the in-country planes are much smaller. So we had previously decided to travel from Paris to Dijon by car. The trip is about 3:15 hours. We found a wonderful car service named AbiTransport. Abi himself met us at our hotel in Paris. He showed up in a black Mercedes mini-van with leather seats—and WiFi. We kept the dogs in their carriers so that the seats wouldn’t get scratched by their nails. Abi speaks English, so he also turned out to be sort of a tour guide as well—pointing out sights along the way. If you ever need any kind of car service in Paris I can heartily recommend AbiTransport.
When we were about thirty minutes away from Dijon I sent a text message to Alexia who was going meet us at our apartment. She was right there when we arrived—mid-afternoon, if I recall correctly. BTW, our host was a lovely woman named Viviane. We never actually met her because she was living in another country at the time. But she was readily available by email, and Alexia was very helpful to us the entire time we were in Dijon.
It took us about a week to completely unpack.
The Bonjour Effect
Now we get to the good stuff—living day to day.
No, we don’t really speak French. I had one year of French in college and Pam had about four years in high school and college. I have tried some self-study computer-based courses, but I never really found them to be very helpful. More honestly, I would loose interest and just couldn’t stick with them.
That said, I can get by with my “pub French”—a term that a friend of mine recently introduced me to. One thing we learned years ago is that you always want to start a conversation with “Bonjour.” It’s simply considered good manners, whether you are talking to a salesperson in a department store or asking someone for directions on the street. I once saw a couple of young men in a department store fail to do this and the salesperson barely gave them the time of day. Then when he was finished with the boys, I approached him with the usual “Bonjour.” He couldn’t have been more helpful and polite to us.
After Bonjour, you might want to throw in some “How’s it going?” just to get the ball rolling. But I almost always get right to the point that I don’t speak French and I ask the other person (in my pub French) if they speak “Anglais.” If the other person does, then you are off to the races. If not, it becomes more of a challenge, but it’s usually fun and a learning experience.
Also, necessity is still the mother of invention—or of learning. When you run out of toilet paper, for example, you quickly learn the French word, “papier toilette.”
Daily Eating and Grocery Shopping
You’ve probably heard that the French and Italians basically buy food for the table every day—and in their local neighborhoods. That seems to still be true. You’ve got your local butcher, your baker, your cheese place, your veggie place, etc. So the locals tend to go out and buy stuff for each day’s requirements. That baguette, for example, will be stale by tomorrow, so you keep buying food every, single, day.
I found this to be a drag. While it is true that Dijon and other cities do have some super markets, they are few and far between—even though some of them are truly amazing. There was a Monoprix store a few blocks from our apartment that had a decent-sized grocery store. But in New York we are accustomed to only shopping for groceries once a week—five to seven bags—and having them delivered to us a few minutes later. I got really, really tired of buying only what would fit in my “granny cart” and schlepping it home several blocks every two or three days. Just sayin.’
Doctors
I’ve had back pain ever since I left my job. I don’t know if that is psychologically relevant, or if it is just a coincidence. But for a moment or two, I thought I might have to cancel our trip. But then I realized that I can be in pain anywhere in the world. So let’s go!
I did see a doctor in Dijon—twice. He wasn’t much help (gave me some pills), but he spoke English and was very nice. But what I was most amazed by was what it cost me. Here in New York you are lucky to get out of a private doctor’s office for less than $250 for a ten-minute “exam.” The Dijon doctor charged me—are you ready for this?—30 euros, about $34 for each visit. Full discloser, when I returned home I got x-rays of my back. Nothing conclusive. My doctor advised me to walk a mile every day to strengthen my back. Been there, done that, dude! Well, I won’t get started here on the sorry state of our American healthcare system.
Haircuts and Manicures
I get a haircut every six weeks. So I knew that at some point I would need to get a haircut while in Dijon. I did, and I found a really nice salon that charged only about one-third of what I pay here in New York for a haircut.
That made me a little nervous at first. How good can such a cheap haircut be, I wondered? But it was apparently a high-end salon for Dijon. And my haircut was just as good as what I get in New York. Pam, on the other hand, refuses to get her hair cut by anyone other than her guy in NYC. But she did join me at my salon and had a manicure and pedicure while I got my hair cut. So this was another experience that we would not have had if we were only visiting for a week or two.
Transportation
This was disappointing to us. As New Yorkers living next door to the Gramercy Park Hotel, I suppose we are spoiled. There is almost always a taxi available at our front door. But even in other European cities there are usually plenty of taxis, even if you have to search out a taxi stand.
As far as I could tell, there are very few taxis in Dijon. There must be a few at the train station. But how do you get to the train station with all your stuff? By taxi! I think we only saw two taxis on the streets during our entire two months in Dijon.
Then you have Uber. Give me a break, Uber. Even though you are supposedly in Dijon, not once did my Uber app show any cars available. What a joke.
They do have a tram system in Dijon. It doesn't cover all of the city, but if you need to get out to the edges of the city it works well. We took the tram to a pet supply supermarket once.
There are no subways in Dijon.
Laundry and Dry Cleaning
Let me be clear. I HATE doing laundry. Well, of course, who does like doing laundry? But I hadn’t been to a laundromat since I was in college. We send all of our laundry out. I leave our laundry with our doorman, then give Alan a call and ask for a pick-up. Laundry comes back the same day—all nicely folded. Dry cleaning comes back in about two days.
My apartment building does have a laundry room, and I use it once every two weeks—only to wash (in cold water) some items that Pam prefers not to send out.
Our apartment in Dijon did have a small washing machine in its bathroom. But no dryer—just some sort of folding rack contraption to hang wet clothes on. Hello? This seems to be quite common in France. I just don’t get it. We never used the washing machine. I don’t want to have laundry constantly hanging around and drying in my apartment. This seems like a no-brainer to me, but what do I know, I’m just a stupid American.
Miscellaneous and Final Thoughts
Time and space here don’t permit me to go on forever about Dijon. I didn’t mention the wonderful museums, some excellent restaurants (Yes, we did eat out occasionally.), a theatre we went to, watching French television, and a few other things. There are many pictures of Dijon with descriptions right here on A Rock In My Shoe.
Our apartment was perfectly adequate and was about the same size as our apartment in New York. Excellent WiFi. Pam was able to continue her HR consulting remotely with no problems whatsoever. And I was able to easily write blogs and take pictures and make uploads to my website.
Plenty of hot water and a shower that didn’t take an instruction manual to figure out how to operate. Also, the shower was designed in such a way that its water didn’t get all over the floor—such a common problem with hotel showers in Europe. The only minor complaint about our apartment was that it did not have a gas stove—it was electric. Pam is a gourmet cook and no chef uses an electric stove because they are slow to heat up and you don’t have as much control—like if you want to go from high heat to low heat instantly. But apparently electric stoves are common in France. Maybe they have a gas shortage.
We found Dijon to be a lovely city. However, Pam and I both agree that we would not want to move there permanently. It’s just a little too small for us. Since we are both extroverts we tend to “charge our batteries” by being around lots of activity, people—and, yes, noise. And Dijon does not have a river running through it, something we really missed. On the other hand, if you use a lot of mustard, Dijon is the place to be.
I want to say this about Dijon. We found it to be one of the friendliest cities we’ve ever visited. It was easy to strike up brief conversations with people. And when we went back to a restaurant for the second—or third, or fourth, time—we were always warmly greeted.
Pam and I have always loved Indian food. There was one Indian restaurant in Dijon that we went to four or five times—Shalimar. This was a nice restaurant—not the typical “Curry in a Hurry,” so popular here in New York. The owner had spent some time in New York and would always come by our table and chat with us. After our third or fourth visit he asked us why we didn’t bring our dogs with us. Really, we said? “Yes, of course!” So the next week Gravy and Salsa joined us at Shalimar. They sat quietly under our table. They really are such good kids.
Finally, I want to say that we made some new friends in Dijon that I hope we will be able to stay in touch with and see again. I’ve already mentioned Viviane and Alexia. But I haven’t mentioned Bruce and Pierrette. I met Bruce while walking Gravy and Salsa and Bruce was walking their own small dog.
Dog butt-sniffs can lead to friendships. When I asked Bruce—again in my pub French--if he spoke English, he said, Oh yes, I’m Canadian! How cool is that? But he has lived in France for many years.
A week later I was walking our dogs again when all of a sudden a car pulls over to me, stops, and rolls down its window. OMG, my immediate thought was that I was doing something wrong—like jaywalking with my dogs—and that I was going to get a ticket.
It was Bruce again, this time with his wife Pierrette. Bruce handed me his business card and over the next few days we corresponded by email. We both enjoyed each other’s websites. Long story short, Bruce and his wife are musicians—with very impressive degrees and teaching credentials. We went to see a delightful musical comedy—set in the 1930s in Marseille--for which Bruce was the musical director and conducted the orchestra while also occasionally playing the piano. This was in an impressive theatre that reminded me somewhat of NYC’s Lincoln Center Theatre.
Bruce and Pierrette also invited us to dinner at their home. What a delightful evening. They have a baby grand piano and their dog loves to sing when Pierrette plays it. He was a little shy with his new audience, but we got the idea.
I loved our time in Dijon.
Mission accomplished!
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