Let’s be clear, phones have been available in France for about a century. However, for reasons unknown to me, possibly having to do with cost, many French people resisted having phones installed in their homes. This meant that prior to the advent of the cellular phone (see Bill’s ‘blog on that portion of our Adventure), the corner payphones got lots and lots of use. Even in my first solo trips to France in ’87 and ’88 I noticed a great deal of payphone usage, with people standing in line to use phones on the street.
Our apartment, however, came with a phone already installed; it was one of the features listed on the website and of course would be desirable, if not downright important, for us to have. When Mme Chevaillier (known to Meredith as “Madame” or “the dame”) informed us that the phone was cut off, she quickly explained that it was due to a miscommunication with France Telecom, the Ma Bell of France. Apparently, when she requested that the phone bill be forwarded to her in Nice, where she lives, they got the address wrong and the bills were returned as undeliverable, leading the nice people at France Telecom to disconnect the phone. She said she’d take care of it as soon as she returned to Nice, but she gave us the phone number attached to the line so that we’d be ready when the service was restored.
Days passed, still no phone. I called Madame from NYU to ask about the status, and she said it should be working. On Saturday, when getting help on our cell phones from Bernard in the France Telecom store (again, see Bill’s ‘blog on the portable issues), we asked for help with the land line as well (that’s la ligne fixe in French). Bernard wasn’t supposed to be taking such steps for us without our proper proof of address (a phone bill? Yeah right!), but since Meredith was with us, he made an exception – something the French do all the time, if they have a reason to do so – and checked in his system. After verifying our address and Madame’s full name, he indicated that there was indeed phone service in the apartment, but the phone number was different from the one Madame had given us (Bernard could also see that the old line had been shut off.).
Back at home, Bill did a thorough check of the apartment for phone jacks. He found one in Meredith’s room, which was dead, and one upstairs in our room, that had a dial tone!
Whoopee! In the mean time, I had called France Telecom directly on our gardienne’s phone (a gardienne is something between a superintendent and a busybody, more on that at some later point), and arranged to have a technician come to the house. Shockingly, our appointment was for Monday morning! Now that’s service!
And indeed, our friendly technicien arrived early during the designated time frame, verified that the downstairs lines were dead, followed all of the lines as far as he could from the apartment out to the central box, and determined that the downstairs line had been cut. He made sure to tell us that we could have France Telecom drop the working line downstairs, if we were willing to pay for it. When she heard of this, Madame justly said that the building fund (this is a co-op) or managing company (known as the syndic) would be footing that bill, since their workmen undoubtedly cut the line in error. This has little to do with us, of course, but it’s interesting to see how things work around here.
The dilemma that faced us had to do with the fact that the only phone in the house was corded and would not extend down the stairs and through Meredith’s room so that we might have access to it while she sleeps. So we went to the BHV (stands for Boutiques de l’Hôtel de Ville) and purchased a cordless phone, so we could plug the base in upstairs and use the phone downstairs. Madame kindly offered to split the cost of this phone with us. This arrangement quickly began to be a pain, so Bill bought some cable and dropped a line himself through the existing holes in the floor, ceiling, and walls, then rewired the jack downstairs with the new line. Works like a charm. We’ll uninstall it upon move-out, or in the event that Madame gets someone to pay for the official extension of the line. And so, the resolution of our ligne fixe issues becomes a loving tribute not only to my husband, but to his father, a career employee of the phone company, who taught Bill a thing or two about telephones.
Unfortunately, the phone is still in Madame’s name. This presents other problems that shall be written up on some other day. Yes, the saga continues…
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