My new ride

After a very productive late Saturday afternoon in lab, I delivered results. Only this time, they weren't for work.

For those of you in the know, I was desperately fond of my incredibly sexy red Mustang bike. Yes, the model was actually a Mustang! After having already taken her on one international move from Denmark to the UK, I was rather heartbroken to have to say goodbye as I headed off to America. I knew it wouldn't be easy replacing this beauty.

My beautiful Danish Mustang

That said, given the intense hours I work, the time I could save by biking my commute instead of walking was clearly worth a pretty penny. There was no getting around a rapid replacement to my former love. But however could I find something suitable to take her place?

While nothing could really measure up, I found something on Craigslist in my price range with a charm uniquely its own. One test ride and I was ready to take it home and start accessorising. Basket: check. Bell: check. Lights: check, and check again after some idiot stole the first set off my bike one evening. But my favorite new feature? The matching fenders I splurged on from a vintage bike parts dealer/dumpster diver on ebay. Those last bits required a few hours of handiwork on my end, which I finally found this weekend. And now, behold my shiny new vintage Schwinn Breeze bicycle, resurrected from the 1970s to its modern-day hipster-certified glory.

Hello, my shiny vintage Schwinn Breeze. You'll do.

97 days

I broke out my best moves to squeeze in those final glances across the customs line and up the escalator: one last wave, a kiss goodbye blown across travellers' heads. This time, I mostly held back the tears as Nicolas and I said goodbye. We both know this sucks, and there's no point in losing our last few minutes in sad thoughts. There will be plenty of time for that.

Goodbye again? So soon?!

So much had happened since I'd last seen Nicolas on January 5: we'd both landed jobs, and pretty good ones at that! The green card application process was officially begun. We'd finally put together papers to make our marriage France-official. And I'd moved across my country to call a new city home. Had it really only been 97 days? And am I really writing "only" 97??

"Only" is right when bracing for a round with the USCIS. These people deal in months and years, not the minutes, hours, and days felt so keenly by those applicants whose families have been torn apart. Nicolas and I are now beginning what is set to be our longest stretch of 2018 apart: 116 days from our last goodbye to our next hello. I've even made a little countdown website with pink bears to try to add some joy to the wait.

Can't wait! 💕

A year ago, as we celebrated finally getting our marriage certificate in hand, we couldn't have imagined this. But here we are.

Remember when we thought that that marriage certificate was the end of our fears of forcible separation by immigration services?

Hopping across a continent and an ocean for a long weekend is easier said than done. Nonetheless, I braved the jet lag for our first wedding anniversary. And for the first time this year, we got three whole days to pretend we were a normal couple, not fearful of uncertain futures, just walking hand-in-hand down the streets of the Marais on a sunny afternoon, eating meals face-to-face, with bedtimes that aren't separated by nine or more hours. It surprised me how incredibly normal it all felt.

On Saturday, Nicolas indulged me with a trip to Beaune, my favorite French village. You've got your open-air market in the town square, your bike trails snaking through vineyards, and Pierre of the Cave de l'Ange Gardien, the world's most stereotypical French wine tasting guide, who is oh-so-knowledgeable and oh-so-French. (This was my sixth visit to Pierre's wine tasting performance, as it can only be described.) As usual, Pierre taught us the art of wine appreciation and French superiority, from how to smell the floral notes with the right nostril and the fruity notes with the left to how to never forget that Americans think that old wines are the worst because no one wanted to buy them when they were young. (But of course.)

Getting my Beaune fix in. That marks my 7th visit, with many more to come. 🍇🍷🍾

For our actual wedding anniversary, on Sunday, Nicolas treated me to a particularly meaningful visit, back to La Fine Mousse, the bar where we'd had our first date nearly four years ago.

But first, pastries!

As if the bar knew we were coming for a special visit, they'd paired with a couple of massage therapists who offered us their services. Belgian triples plus massages plus a husband across a table instead of an ocean? Yes, please!

Ceci n'est pas un bar parisien. Meanwhile, Nicolas's employer believed him to be spending the weekend in England, a safeguard to ensure he couldn't get called in for a last-minute shift.

And then came the fun of my return trip. Unlike the rest of my journeys booked for later this year, this trip was planned with less than two months' notice, hardly enough time to land a deal that was both reasonably priced and comfortable. And so I was treated to a 25-hour journey from the time I left Nicolas's home until I stepped foot in my own. As I said, fun!

Helloooo, San Francisco! And the countdown clock resets.

On a positive note, the goodbye was much less heavy this time. There was no flying into the unknown, and with three months under our belts, the prospect of so much time and so much distance is no longer so scary, just shitty. Only 111 days to go until I see my husband again! "Only."

Missing all of this. 😘😘😭

5560 miles

At the moment when my professional life has never been moving more full steam ahead, my personal life has never felt so stalled. 5,560 miles. 1 continent. 1 ocean. 9 time zones. Nicolas and I have been separated by a seemingly unbeatable bureaucratic monster which may or may not slowly amble towards my application to sponsor his green card, in between all the hateful anti-immigrant noise spewed from the highest levels of my nation's government. Sometimes I'm tempted to create a Twitter account just to rant or attempt to cajole my way to a quicker processing time with photos of my husband as a blond-haired blue-eyed child. We want more people who look like they come from Norway, right? But then the fact that these ugly thoughts even pass through my mind make me angry. Seriously, though, what does my government achieve through the forcible separation of spouses for more than a year? Why should my government, in a nation founded by immigrants, take the baseline assumption that any foreigner is probably a terrorist unless proven otherwise? And why don't I have more rights as a US citizen to introduce one new person into my country of 325 million? It's maddening. It's crushing. It's overwhelming.

The page which I refresh daily, taunting me in its unchanging status.

We signed our marriage contract nearly a year ago—not even a year? Sometimes it feels like a lifetime—and we meant what we said when we spoke those vows, for better or worse. We've been slowly growing into this new life, and finding little tricks to make it easier. For instance, my new habit of staking out a call room at work for a 10-15 minute "coffee break" after lunch means that hearing each other's voices is no longer a weekend-specific activity. Getting a few pay checks under the belt has also lightened the burden, as our freshly booked travel gives us real dates to hold on to, turning dreams and uncertainties into concrete plans on which we can focus our collective energies.

The travel bookings that are our life lines for 2018

When you know you'll have a total of 28 days together out 365 (but who's counting?), you have to make each count. So, to the extent our budget allows it, I'm trying to dream up fantastic adventures for us to share. In two weeks, when we celebrate our first wedding anniversary together, it'll probably mostly involve vegging out, with perhaps a quick trip down to my beloved Burgundian wine country. But then we're looking forward to August, when we'll have a week-long escapade across Bulgaria, a country we've needed to visit since Nicolas raved about his travels there on our first date and I told him how jealous I was, having spent years studying the language while dating a Bulgarian without ever having had the chance to see the place. You'd best believe I've put all my old Learn Bulgarian podcasts back into my phone. After that, I'm pretty sure that Thanksgiving weekend calls for a tasting menu in the Jules Verne, just the restaurant perched atop the Eiffel Tower. And then comes the undisclosed Christmas adventure. As of this past weekend, my trans-Atlantic is all set. (Can you believe it only cost me $520 for a direct flight from SF to Paris over the Christmas season?! That's what happens when you book your Christmas flight in March. I know, it's insane, but perhaps that's the insanity required to survive an intercontinental marriage.) We're just waiting on Nicolas's work to approve some dates before we can plan the onward journey from Paris. I'm thinking it's time for us to venture into sub-Saharan Africa... but let's leave that a surprise for now.

I'd love to close this post out with some neatly tied ends, but that's a luxury my government hasn't afforded me. I don't know when my life partner, the love of my life, my husband, will have the right to step foot inside my own country. And while we wait, multiple lawyers have advised us that he does not even have the right to enter the US as a tourist. It's a cruel and ugly side of my country that I didn't know existed. It makes me feel betrayed by the first place I ever called home. It sucks. Next time you hear anti-immigrant rhetoric spewed across the airwaves, think of us. And know that we are one of tens of thousands of couples stuck in limbo, wishing our government would respect us and our marriages just a little bit more, as green card wait times for spouses ever increase and our leaders rant against those evil foreigners.

Getting out in SF

The start-up life is not terribly conducive to blogging, or really having much of a life outside of work. (Yes, Captain Obvious here.) Don't get me wrong, my job is awesome, but it's also very intense. I get that a start-up is not the place to demand a work-life balance, but I'm sure I can achieve some happy medium between a 9-5 job and one that strips you of every waking moment. That balance is one that I'm continually working to perfect.

After about a month and a half on the job, I began reclaiming my weekends, which has been just so much healthier. And I'm trying to fill that free time with more than just naps. I've managed to eke out a bit of exploring in my new city and have even joined a new aerial studio.

While I'd hoped to give you a taste of my life outside of work for weeks now, my untapped mental energy only extends as far as uploading photo highlights. Let's see how much can be made of the caption space. Here are the highlights of my first two months (already!) in San Francisco.

Murals in the Mission! Highlights of a walking tour I took with an old friend (a high school penpal from the south of France!) who's now studying at Stanford.

The cheerful, cacophonous chaos of my first St. Paddy's Day Parade in San Francisco was a palpable reminder of the things I'd left behind while living abroad. In the midst of such a celebratory, quintessentially American atmosphere, the acuteness of Nicolas's absence here caught me off-guard. If current USCIS immigration time estimates stand, he'll just miss next year's parade, but maybe he'll get to experience it in 2020.

Cheese! Cheese! Cheese! My local supermarket, on the ground floor of the Twitter HQ building, is the greatest (except for its price tags). I was thrilled to pieces to get to use a camping trip with over twenty campers as an excuse to finally enjoy a proper cheese board, which I ensured even featured two different truffle-flavored cheeses. My wallet may hate it, but I love the Market!! It is literally the highlight of my Saturday lunch hour.

The 4th Annual Crabaganza! A weekend of camping, delicious cheeses, and fantastic fresh crab with more than 20 MIT alumni friends and their crew. The only downside was that I somehow managed to get a sunburn despite the complete cloud cover.

We may not be in France anymore, but my French friend and I did manage to find the wine country. Apparently in California, it's a thing to become a member of a winery that you particularly like, which commits you to getting a certain number of bottles per year and gives you access to exclusive winery events. I definitely could be down for that, though it will require a bit more homework first. I think Nicolas will have to help me out— such a commitment is not a one-person job. ;)

Closer to home, I've joined an aerial studio, Aerial Artique, just a few minutes' walk from my new home. I'm managing to make a regular routine out of weekend silks classes and Thursday evening acroyoga— my one work-out treat during the week. (Of course, it's back to work after class, but I love breaking up my Thursday evening that way!)

Just because I love the spirit of this city and the corner of it that I call home, here are some photos of the guerilla yarn bombing around the Civic Center.

"Give me chocolate." That's how I instructed the bar tender at 98 Turk, a highlight in my ongoing quest for the best bar in town. Here, you have to knock to get let in, and there are no menus. You're only limited by your and your bartender's imaginations, and perhaps the cost of the drinks.

This city is ripe for exploration, and I know just the woman for the job. Stay tuned.