I spent Wednesday and Thursday right outside of Caen, Normandy, at a private archive in a converted 15th-century monastery. The setting was gorgeous, the archive, fruitful, the food, plentiful. I spent the night on the grounds of the archive, in a comfortable, sleekly-appointed room in the former farinier (grainery?). The experience was so pleasant that I think I'll go back for the entire duration of the time it takes to write my dissertation.
Actually, that'd get expensive - lunch and dinner are 12 euros a piece and a night's stay is 20 euros, which is all very competitive by Paris prices, but unsustainable over the long term. But the archive was really wonderful, and in two days I think I found enough relevant documents to write an entire chapter, or at least a journal article or conference paper. And that's two days of good work. Plus, even if I didn't find anything at all, just spending two days in the Abbatiale, or former-chapel-become-reading-room-and-open-stacks, would have made the experience worthwhile.
So everything went swimmingly for two days, the only catch being that I had to leave slightly earlier than planned on Thursday due to a rail strike. I checked out, got in the taxi to the train station (I tried to tell the administrator who arranges such things that I could just as easily take the bus, but she wouldn't hear of it), and that was the end of the experience, at least until next time. On our way past the main entrance, I tried to snap one more picture of the incredibly photogenic compound.
This moment was when things went terribly wrong. What I didn't realize was that in taking out the camera to snap a terrible, worthless photograph, I knocked my passport out of my backpack, onto the floor of the taxicab. I didn't even notice that my passport was missing until well after I got home, and at that point I had no way of knowing whether it had fallen out of my bag in the taxi, or on the train back.
I went to Gare St. Lazare to check their lost-and-found, but no one had picked up anything. First thing this morning, I called the archive to try to figure out what taxi I had been in; they promised to work on it. I didn't wait to see whether it would turn up, because we're leaving Saturday for Florida, and if I had to replace my passport, I figured I should give myself a two-day head-start rather than waiting until Friday morning.
So I biked/ran to the US Embassy, American Citizen Services section, where I nervously presented my case and hoped I would be granted my new passport in time to leave. It turned out that this kind of thing happens all the time, and they're well prepared for my scenario. That's why this morning ended up being the most pleasant bureaucratic experience of my life. I was in and out in under 2 hours with a new (temporary) passport in hand and a bounce in my step. Of course, I'd had my cell phone taken away while I was in the Embassy, so as soon as I got out I found out that right at the moment my new passport was placed in my hand, my old passport had been found - in the taxi, in Caen.
All's well that ends well, I guess. As much as I would have liked to have continued collecting stamps and visas and French green cards in my old passport, I think I probably did the right thing by being proactive. And at least I still get to keep the old passport as a souvenir, just like I'd always planned.
Florida, here we come!
I went to Gare St. Lazare to check their lost-and-found, but no one had picked up anything. First thing this morning, I called the archive to try to figure out what taxi I had been in; they promised to work on it. I didn't wait to see whether it would turn up, because we're leaving Saturday for Florida, and if I had to replace my passport, I figured I should give myself a two-day head-start rather than waiting until Friday morning.
All's well that ends well, I guess. As much as I would have liked to have continued collecting stamps and visas and French green cards in my old passport, I think I probably did the right thing by being proactive. And at least I still get to keep the old passport as a souvenir, just like I'd always planned.
Florida, here we come!

