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One of the biggest concerns with new FSOs reporting to A-100 is where to live. As long as you’re coming from more than 50 miles from DC, the State Department offers a generous (at first) sliding scale per diem to let you find your own apartment. The other option is to move into one of the Oakwood corporate apartments. I’ve seen a lot of debate on message boards about which one is best, which one is most convenient and which one is most suitable for different families.

Well, I can’t help with all of that.

But, I can give an honest review of Oakwood – Rosslyn.

Cons:

  • It feels like a hotel, complete with generic artwork and fake plants.
  • The kitchen equipment they give you is adequate, but not great.
  • Our floors have carpet and we have a dog – enough said.
  • Rosslyn is not the most exciting neighborhood – you could certainly find something hipper in Foggy Bottom, Georgetown or a number of other neighborhoods in DC proper.
  • The building is one of the older corporate apartments in the area and in no way feels modern.
  • It’s not as nice as some other buildings. Nothing major is wrong, but we’ve had a lot of minor difficulties since we moved in – some plugs don’t work, lack of lighting in the living room, cigarette butts all over the balcony when we arrived.

Pros:

  • It’s easy – no apartment hunting, no per diem reimbursements, no leases to worry about.
  • There is a pool and there are grills.
  • The housekeeper comes once a week to keep the place looking its best.
  • While Rosslyn may not be hip, there is a grocery store and some restaurants – it could really be much worse. When I lived in Michigan I would have loved a neighborhood so walkable.
  • The staff has been very helpful.
  • Washer and dryer and dishwasher in every unit.
  • We have a balcony, complete with plastic furniture.
  • No utility bills to think about.
  • Super-convenient to get to FSI – there are shuttles leaving very often in the morning and the stop is about three blocks away. Other Oakwoods have shuttles, but I think this is the only one within walking distance of a shuttle that leaves every 5-10 minutes.
  • Occasionally there will be free dinner, like pizza, tacos, nachos and s’mores (yep, nachos and s’mores are dinner).
  • Free, but kind of crummy, breakfast every morning.
  • There is a common room with a huge TV and pool table.
  • The biggest selling point, though, is that at least a dozen of Alex’s classmates live here in the building too. It gives you an instant social circle. One night, even though Alex wasn’t able to join me, I had dinner with three other people who live here – I wouldn’t have been able to do that if we lived in an awesome loft in Georgetown.

All in all, we’re happy here. Sure, sometimes we look longingly at the amazing lofts across the street and realize we could have afforded something like that in DC. And yes, sometimes we get a little tired of the dreary tan carpet which has clearly seen better days. Oh and I’ll admit that living in Rosslyn makes me feel a little bit like I’d imagine someone in New Jersey must feel when they look out at Manhattan every morning. But the convenience more than makes up for it. Although you can bet that the next time we live in Washington we’ll be strongly considering the Residence Inn down the street. I heard they have free breakfast and lunch.

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enough is enough

So after a hard day of French class and language lab, what do two French students do when they get home? Well, speak more French, of course.

It’s been a big advantage that both of us can speak to each other while we’re at home. It probably doubles the amount of time I spend actually speaking French each day. The drawback, though, is that sometimes enough is enough. My language consultant made it a point to tell me that one or two hours after class was sufficient. If I worked any harder, he said, my brain would explode. Ok, he used words like “inefficient” and “overuse” but you get the idea.

Alex didn’t.

And so we invented a game. It’s one in which we take a short break after class, then we only speak French for an hour. Then we take another break followed by our final hour of French for the day. Since she wasn’t sticking to the rules, I implemented a new one – every time she accidentally broke into French during our designated English time, we delayed French time by five minutes. On Friday I got out of a solid 15 minutes of French because she couldn’t stop herself from saying “merci” or “avez-vous les cles?” or “ou est Abbey?”

As tough as it is to come home and speak French, I’m glad we have the opportunity. It’s been invaluable. Of course the fact that sometimes we can’t help but to speak French is also a sign of just how intense this program can be, and how important taking a break can be.

After all, the last thing we want around here is for any brains to explode. I mean, to be inefficient with our studies.

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Since we started French, we’ve heard a great deal about Académie Française. (Our instructor gets a dreamy look in his eye whenever he finds a way to work it in to the conversation.) From what I’ve gathered, it’s some sort of academic body of French-language scholars who essentially determine what is and isn’t correct French.

If I didn’t like something about the language, well, blame the Académie. If I didn’t like a pronunciation rule, blame the Académie. Abbey was barking at a squirrel the other day and I’m pretty sure I blamed the Académie for that too.

I was curious to learn a little more about Académie Française, so I did some research. (Thanks Wikipedia.)

Some interesting facts:

  • The Académie is made up for 40 members known as Immortels.
  • New members must eulogize the member they replace before taking their seat (meaning sometimes people  turn down prestigious invitations to join simply to avoid having to say something nice about an enemy).
  • The Académie was officially established in 1635.
  • Of the 719 Immortels, only six have been women.
  • One of the Académie’s responsibilities is to issue official dictionaries.
  • They have issued eight dictionaries so far, with the last being released in 1934.
  • They are still working on the ninth edition, but they’re totally almost done, they swear. They just got really busy and then, you know, the holidays were here so no one could work on it. Now it’s been so long and the internet happened, and that’s a lot of new words, so they kind of wanted to start over. But they really thought they sent you a draft. Maybe check your spam filter.

Looking at the list of past Immortels, I’m disappointed not to see any former FSI students. But fear not: I have a plan! I’ve decided that a 3/3 on my exam is no longer enough. I’m gunning for Immortel-dom. Unattainable? Maybe. But remember that few people beyond dreamy-eyed French instructors really seem to care about the Académie Française these days. It may not be too long before they’re begging pseudo-proficient Americans for membership.

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give me five

So far, French has had its ups and downs. There have been sessions where I thought I was really getting the hang of things. Then there were others where I couldn’t understand the homework at all. And by that I don’t mean the homework was difficult, I mean I literally could not understand the French my teacher was using to tell us what the homework assignment was.

Today, though, was a first. I wish I could say it was the first time that I found myself thinking in French instead of translating, or that it was the first time I made it through a class without any pronunciation problems. But it wasn’t either of those things. Today was the first time my teacher gave me – gave anyone – a high five for excellent French.

Why did I get the high five, you ask? Well, during an exercise when we were practicing ways to tell someone that you did not understand them, I found myself unable to figure out a way to rephrase my question in another way. So instead I simply told my speaking partner (in French, of course) that I would repeat myself, but more slowly. And then I began to repeat myself, more slowly.

Alex thinks I got the high five because the teacher was impressed with me. I think it’s because I finally said something right and he was throwing me a bone.

Either way, I think a high five should be worth at least half a point on the final exam. I hope I can cash it in.

ouch, my knee

I finished my second triathlon over the weekend.

Congrats! You came in #1792!

It’s strange to think that by next year I’ll be far away in Benin and couldn’t participate in the NYC Tri even if I wanted to. Not that I want to. My old man knees are crying out for retirement.

Alex and I are eyeing the Marathon de Paris, however. It would be a great way to see the city, although I think my knee just gave me a dirty look.

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I started French this week. Yep, there was room for me. Thank goodness! I was getting pretty tired of hanging out with Abbey.

We had Monday off of course, and because this is the government we spent all day Tuesday doing administrative stuff. So I’ve really only had three days of French, but I can already see how it’s possible to go from nilch to proficiency in six months.

  • Sheer time — You spend four hours every day in class and four hours every day doing homework or in the language lab. (Yes, it’s as tiring as it sounds.)
  • Immersion – In addition to what we learn, we pick up stuff from our teacher who speaks to us mostly in French. I hear that soon she’ll drop the English completely so we’ll be forced to pick up even more.
  • Even more serious immersion — Word on the street is that at month four or five you have the opportunity to go on a several-week immersion trip to somewhere like Martinique or the south of France or Montreal. They haven’t mentioned this to us yet, and it seems in poor form to ask while I’m still working on saying that my name is Andy and I’m not a diplomat, but you better believe I’ll be taking advantage of this opportunity if rumors are true. (Don’t worry — it’s not on your dime. I’ll have to pay for it, and Alex will too, but she’ll still get her salary and not have to use vacation time while we’re away.)
  • Resources — The language lab has so many tools it’s unbelievable. Certainly no high school and probably no university language department has this much stuff at their disposal. And while you’re using the programs an instructor is listening to you and pipes in your headphone from time to time to help. Weird, but cool.
  • Technique — In high school and college I studied vocab lists and took written tests. I could read German alright, but speak it? Not so much. Here it’s different. We spent a ton of time on pronunciation and pay much more attention to speaking than writing and reading. We’re getting a good amount of speaking practice now when we’re in a a 15-person class, and after next week we’ll break down permanently into smaller classes of only 4-5, so we’ll be talking in French all the time.

Also worth noting is that Alex and I aren’t in the same class. There are a few other couples starting French too, and they’re all together. Curious. Alex promises she didn’t request that we be in different classes. Despite what she thinks, I didn’t either — I would have had no idea who to talk to. But I think it actually worked out for the best. We learn slightly different things and it’s great to compare notes when we get home. Plus, since she has the later class she has to walk the dog in the morning.

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Much to my chagrin I found myself spending most of Saturday hunting for a 4×4 that we will eventually take to Benin. Here are some things that happened:

1. We arrived via our Zipcar at the first dealership — the one with our #1 choice car — to find a sign on the door that said, “Happy Fourth! I’ll be back Tuesday.”

2. On the road again, I had the following conversation with my wife:

Her: Why is the flag at Bob Evans at half mast?
Me: I’m not sure.
Her: Oh, is it because Jimmy Dean died? Jimmy Dean was the Bob Evans guy, right?
Me: Um, no. Bob Evans was the Bob Evans guy.

It was then that I realized this was going to be a long day.

3. We found a seemingly great car with good mileage and a low price. It was still under the original warranty too. But we had a bad feeling about it; we couldn’t figure out why.

When we asked the dealer if we could take it around the corner to get it checked by a mechanic, he stammered and made excuses. It was his busiest day. (We were the only customers the entire 30 minutes we were there.) The mechanic was probably booked. (He wasn’t; we called.)

When he finally reluctantly agreed, we asked to see the carfax report first. He disappeared into the back for quite some time before emerging with the report. Reading carefully, we noticed that it listed the car as black when it was actually silver. He couldn’t explain why.

We had driven nearly an hour to get there, but we walked out.

4. A few cars and a few hours later, we went back to look at the first car we saw that day and negotiated (diplomatically, of course) a deal. $2,400 down from the ask price — not to shabby, if I do say so myself.  However, when we were signing the paperwork I realized that instead of bringing our checkbook, I brought a book of deposit slips. Oops. Fortunately we were able to combine debit cards from our new and old bank accounts to take care of the bill. At least we’ll get rewards points for our trouble.

5. We got home in time to use our newfound mobility to take Abbey to a dog park with a creek (thanks David!) next to it. Abbey was less enthusiastic about it than we were. I’m sure she’ll have a blog post about it later.

6. Alex spent today using the car to run a variety of errands that she claims would have been nearly impossible on the bus. I’m not so sure Loehmann’s and Marshalls are exactly necessities, and I grimace thinking about all the miles she’ll be racking up “running errands” these next nine months. However, I plan to drive it to the running trail daily. Those miles don’t count.

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officially official

Step forward if your passport says “DIPLOMATIC” on the cover. Whoa there. Not so fast almost everyone but me.

My name's inside one of these.

Alex tells me that a diplomatic passport doesn’t mean automatic diplomatic immunity, but I’m planning to double park everywhere all the time anyway.

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Today we had a nice picnic lunch with several other people who will be in Benin while we are there. One will be arriving there next month while another won’t be there until after us, if you can believe it. We all talked about a lot of questions and issues such as what kind of car to get, the best way to ship boxes of wine and how to con Peace Corps volunteers into pet-sitting for you. It is good to know that when we finally, finally get to Cotonou, there will be some familiar faces.

When I got home I was cleaning and found a notebook that had some of my initial notes from the days after we got our bid list. With the benefit of hindsight, it was interesting to see what I was thinking about when we began the process that will eventually lead us to a city on the mouth of the river of death.

For example, some of the things that seemed important to us when creating our bid list were the speed of internet, number of R&Rs and housing. How did we end up doing? Well, the internet is slow, we only get one R&R and, unlike most Africa posts, we don’t get a pool.

But Cotonou stacks up well in the categories we decided really matter (and even in those we didn’t think about that probably matter a lot – like high morale) so we can’t complain. Although when it comes time to bid on a second tour, we might research the swimming pool situation a little more carefully.

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pied-à-terre

With all of our recent interest in real estate in the DC area, one of us did end up with a brand new home. Yes, due to some recent behavior missteps (which I should mention to potential dog-sitters out there seemed to have cleared up), Abbey is now the proud owner of an eight square foot cage. In New York City they’d have called it a pied-à-terre and charged her $450,000.

Make it $550,000 because it's an elevator building.

Even though we bought it this week to help with Abbey’s recent anxiety (again, totally fine now, she’s great, please watch our dog for us), the real reason we needed this cage is that in ten months we’re going to use it to transport her to Africa. So while a lot of people we know have been getting travel orders and plane tickets and diplomatic passports, we finally took our own first step towards moving abroad. Now we just have to convince Abbey that her cage is a safe place before they load her into the belly of a jumbo jet and ship her across the Atlantic.

Wait, what?

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