Yesterday, I threw together a hasty stack of documents (it's France, so don't leave home without them) and set out in search of some comic book action. It was an incredible pain in the ass to find the museum the first time, but a combination of my insufficient map (the one in the bus guide) and the Bauer Wander Method eventually landed me in the right place.
Unfortunately for me, the girl at the front desk had either a weird accent or a speech impediment, I couldn't exactly tell which, so she was really hard to understand. This will come into play later, so keep this in mind. I asked her for a yearly pass to the museum, which for 15€ gives you unlimited access to the museum, and also serves as a library card that lets you take out 10 comics at a time from their library. She gave me a form to fill out. "OK, I need some ID and proof of housing." I showed her several forms of ID, and produced a letter my bank had sent me. An official, stamped letter, in it's original envelope, with my name and address both on the letter itself and the envelope. (I'll take a moment to point out that this would be more than sufficient in the US.) "Non," she said, "it has to be a bill." "I don't get bills," I replied, "I'm living with someone. This is official. Isn't it enough?" "Non," she repeated, "it has to be a bill. You can bring one of your landlady's bills with an attestation de logement." I gathered up my paperwork, thanked her (politely, although "thanks for nothing" is what I wanted to say), and headed home.
Today I went back for round 2. I still had the attestation de logement Marie wrote me for the bank, and I borrowed a bill from her. I brought a bunch more documents along just in case. The lady at the museum recognized me. Bad sign. "OK," I said, "I think I have everything now." I handed over all my documents and this time, she accepted them. She made my card then asked me for a photo. A photo? "MINCE!" (equivalent of "shoot" or "darn") I exclaimed, which actually got a smile out of her. I peeled the photo out of my ISIC card, since I have more at home and I can just replace it later. There was shiny stuff all over it from the way it had been laminated. I gave it to her anyway. "Will this work? It's kind of sparkly." She said it would be fine. She put the card together, gave me my document folder back, and asked for payment. I produced my official French bank card. She looked at me askance. "Can I pay with my card?" I asked, hopefully, wondering if my French was good enough to have a hissy fit if the answer was, again, non. I mean, I know a lot of smaller places (like bakeries, market stalls, etc) don't take cards, but this is like the top tourist destination in Angoulême. She produced a card machine (ha! they do have one!), glanced at me, then said "um...hold on." She picked up the phone and called what I assume was a colleague. "I have a lady here who wants to pay with a card, what should I do?" she said, in the kind of shocked and confused tone I would use if somebody tried to pay me in wampum. "You have to go to *something unintelligible* across the street," she told me, "and pay there. Take your application with you and give it to them." (at this point, you may recall, her funny accent or whatever had come into play, as I had absolutely no idea where she was telling me to go.) "Wait...where?" I asked. She responded with some kind of gobbledegook, and pointed across the street.
I walked across the street until I saw another sign that said "musée de papier" (paper museum). I tried there. "Hello," I said, "did someone call over for me? I think I'm supposed to pay here." I showed my registration form. The lady looked absolutely mystified. "I want an annual pass to the comic book museum...but I couldn't pay there." "Ah, you want the comic book museum. It's across the street," the lady said, pointing back the way I came. "No, no, I came from there, but I couldn't pay there. Can I pay here?" The lady switched to English. "You...want...ze comics?" "NO," I continued in French, because damned if I was gonna give up at this point, "I came from there! She told me to come across the street!" "Ah bon," the lady said, "you came from the library. You need to go across the bridge. The comic book museum is there." Finally, an answer! (Basically, the comic book museum and the library are separate buildings. I had been in the library.) So I headed to the museum, and found where they had hidden the friendly, knowledgeable woman, with the clear, easy to understand French. "For some reason, I couldn't use my bank card at the library," I said, determined to get to the bottom of this rediculous issue. "The girl who works there is a stagiaire," she replied. (Like a trainee, kind of.) "She doesn't have the authority to deal with cards." Yeah, that makes a lot of sense. Let's leave the girl who doesn't have the authority to use the card machine in charge of taking all the payments.
But in the end, it all worked out, the card went through, and I got my shiny new library card. "Ça y est!" the lady and I exclaimed almost in unison (at least she was on my side).
I headed back to the library, where after selecting my books, I presented my card...and still had to show all my documents again. "I showed them downstairs, to get the card." "Well, you need to show them here too, so I can double check your address." Double check? From five minutes ago? Come on guys, this is a comic book library, not the Pentagon. Oh well. C'est la France!
The museum was in a gorgeous location by the Charente river. I took advantage of my wandering around to take some pictures.
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| A view looking up at Angoulême. |
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| Fall colors! |
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| It's worth getting lost to get some nice views! |
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| The infamous library. |
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