Long overdue: photos of my Parisian digs

This is the main portion of my apt.  One room.  Behind me (and the camera) is the door leading out of the apt.  I am standing in the far corner of the same wall that the table is against.  To my left is a portion of wall of equal width to the wall with the window in it.  Behind that green chair on the left there is a small closet (though larger than the closet I have in Boston.  The door leading to the kitchen is on the other side of the table from where I stand.

This is the kitchen.  Yep.  that's the whole thing.  I am standing in the door that seperates it from the rest of my apt.  If you look closely you can see the two burners that I cook on.  No oven.  Instead, refrigerator.  Tiny, but sufficient for one lone person.  Ok.... so that's really all to be said of that.
This is my bathroom.  My shower.  My sink.  My toilet.  After all the apts I saw with the toilet down the hall, I cannot describe to you how happy it makes me that this is all mine, mine, mine, mine.  

mine. mine mine mine. mine. mine mine mine mine mine mine mine.  

Yeah, it's tiny but incase you haven't caught on, it's *all* mine.  I have never spent more than a few short months living by myself and I have to admit, as much as I have some great friends that came out of roommates, I really am loving living alone.  I mean really, how can you beat the joys of doing dishes in your undies?  =)

Italy: Subject to change without notice

DATELINE: 12.03.03 PARIS, FRANCE

Since my return from a 10 day foray to Rome to visit Aaron, I have been thinking that my impressions of Italy (specifically Rome) and Paris could be summed up as follows:

Italy - Subject to change without notice.  

Paris - Watch your step.

In Rome, and my short trips outside the city to smaller cities/towns, I found that all of the hours and costs of things described in the tourist information on the web or in guide books was wrong. The hours were different by at least an hour in either direction - opening later than info said and closing later, and the cost of entrance was greater than was written.  In some cases, things that were described as free admission had entrance fees.  Train schedules were different when you bought the ticket at the station then they were when we looked online.  Buses that dropped you off at one stop would not necessarily pick you up at that same stop.  The weather in one neighborhood was dramatically different in another.  

In Paris, it amazes me that the image people have of the French is of a people walking with their noses in the air, because if you take your eyes off the sidewalk you are going to step in a pile of dog poo of a color so bizarre you will be forced to ask: What are earth are they feeding that dog??  But, the Parisians seem to have developed some sort of internal radar because most people are not walking around looking at the sidewalk.  Maybe that is a technique for sorting out the tourists and the new kids in town.  

Italy is clearly a country holding stedfast to an anarchic character.  Ignoring the rules seems to an unwritten rule unto itself.  So many people in Rome are jumping the fair on the city buses that it's all over the news. Taxis drive on the tram tracks and into oncoming traffic if it suits them.  They all claim there is a protest blocking whichever street you are trying to get to, that they can't get you there in time and that it will cost you an extra 25€ (until you press them and then miraculously the protest has ended).  In France, you have to present your working papers just to babysit someone's kid 3hrs/day 2x/wk.  No one will hire you for freelance work unless you present your special certification that you are registered as a Freelance worker.  You cannot have a metro pass without having an address.  People jump the fares here too, but those who get busted get slammed with a fine that is higher than a years worth of metro passes. There are rules and the French follow them.  

Which leads me to today's woe: finding work.  I had an interview this afternoon at a place called Konversando.  It is a self-described language "club", offering groups where people come to practice speaking the language they are trying to learn.  The interview seemed to go alright, until I was asked about my certification.  I don't recall what the abbreviation for this thing is, but it's a card, essentially, proving that I have registered myself as a freelance service provider, so that the taxes can be taken out and submitted to the French gov't.  (oops, speaking of taxes, i gotta get on those).  Well, I don't have this card.  Sigh.  I'd been feeling very good about things until then, when things seemed to go downhill and upon the end of the "interview", which lasted approximately 10 minutes, I put out my hand for a handshake as I said: "It was nice to meet you", expecting something akin to a profession post-interview good-bye.  Not only was my hand denied but my interviewer (the club's director) simply said: "Ok. Bye", turned and walked away.  And that was that.

I've been fairly wound all day since then.  This wasn't helped any when I arrived in class to find that, having not checked my school email account this morning, I missed the notice that we would be given our midterm exam in class today (which was supposed to be next week according to the syllabus) and should bring with us all course texts.  Ah, what fun.

I'm off to climb into bed with some abnormal psych texts and a little self-pitty. Harumpf.

a la prochaine fois mes amis.

The Honeymoon is Over

DATELINE: 11.03.09 PARIS, FRANCE

Well kids, it's finally here. I have finally hit what can only be called the first twinges of homesickness. I guess two months is about how long the honeymoon lasts. Now, back from my Italy vacation, I am faced with all the day to day realities again. Mid-term exams. Research papers. Lack of money (I have an interview to maybe teach English at this place called Konversando which is a short walk from my apt. wish me luck). Home on Wednesday night thinking about the people I would otherwise be seeing tonight. Wishing I could make something like WND happen in Paris. I haven't given up yet, don't worry. But most of my friends here, as well as yours truly, are far too poor for that. Missing (just a bit) trudging through the snow, and the possibility of perching myself in front of Mom's wood stove to cook my front and then my back. Missing living off the state. Missing Art Group. Missing that sense of familiarity, and waking in the morning to find myself curled around my cat. Oh, I do miss the good ol' days.

But at the very same moment, as I procrastinate my course reading (oh, how skilled I am in the art of procrastination) by indulging my sentimentality, outside my window, so close I can almost touch it, is a glowing white full moon. It's stunning. I swear to you I see her face (yes, people the moon is female) and she is looking straight at me, and it is amazing. No, i haven't gone bonkers, but the moon is so clear that the plays of dark and light across the surface create an unmistakeable face smiling gently upon a sleeping city.

This is particularly amazing as it means finally, for the first time since I have been in Paris, the night sky is clear. Few if any clouds, no rain. And it happens to also be a night of a full moon.

I tried to take a photograph - with both of my cameras - to share with you. But neither was sufficient to capture it right. I need one of those monster lenses that requires not just one of it's own tripods, but two. A lens that is as tall as I am. Hmm... I suppose that would be a telescope.

So acknowledging the twinges of homesickness I am no less still just thrilled to be here. Realizing I am here to witness the famous Parisian spring. That despite my woes (all involving money - it might not buy happiness, but not having to worry about it certainly helps) I have been granted an amazing experience. And every day I learn something new (like today: I learned that the meat/butcher-shop at the bottom of my hill sells the delicious rotisserie chickens for much less than the guy next to my house, and the produce vendor across the street from my house is from Tangiers, but his produce sucks. Sorry guy. It's not personal.) and meet someone new.

And every day I find yet another way to procrastinate my classwork. Ah, will wonders never cease? =)

So despite the failure of my camera to get a good pic of the moon, I am including this bright and blurry one, just for reference. Now, long past when I should be sleeping, say: Good night Moon. And I bid you all: fait de bonne reve.

oops, i mean "grazie"

DATELINE: 26.02.09 ROME, ITALY

Early this morning I arrived in Rome to spend 10 days soaking up some sun and visiting my brother. I admit, it feels very cool to say 'oh just popping off to Rome for a spell to visit my brother.' =) hot.

Thinking it would be a good way to maximize my visit, and given the option of two tickets costing the same, I chose the flight that left Paris at 7am and arrived in Rome at 9am. I stand by my original thinking that this was a good idea, but man I am hella-tired. I'm so far beyond tired that I actually feel hyper.

In order to get to the airport in time for check-in and to make it through security and to my gate on time, I had to be en route by 5am, to arrive at Aeroport d'Orly by 6am. In order for this all to actually be successful, I left my apartment at 4:45am. Which meant I had to wake up by 3:45am so that there was time eat, get my head on straight, and to make sure everything was in order, that I was not forgetting anything, that all the burners and lights were off, etc.

It is now noon and I have been awake since 3:40am this morning. My brain somehow manages to continue functioning, but my body is asleep. I was so anxious about getting up on time and getting to the airport, etc, that I hardly slept at all last night. To boot, I made potatoes for dinner last night and thus everything in my apartment smelled liked potatoes all night long, making me both unable to sleep and hungry - at some point I did manage to catch a little sleep, to the lullaby of my grumbling stomach. Today, still for the entire flight all I smelled was potatoes. Damed potatoes.

And now, with the phantom smell of potatoes still clogging my nose, I am off to take a nap of sorts on the sun drenched terrace. brilliant. Terraces should be required on all apartments everywhere.

a kilo of dates

DATELINE: 20.02.09 PARIS, FRANCE

Newsflash! Small pasty-white girl braves Barbes market, spends €13 and comes home with more than she can carry. Kicks self in arse upon return home when reminded that it all has to be hauled up 6 flights of stairs. Feels guilty that she can only name the origin of the oranges she purchased, has no idea where the rest of it came from.

Is said to be doling out dates (the dried fruit variety) to anyone who will accept them after having realized that a kilo of dates is A LOT of dates (but for €2, who could resist!).
----
The Barbes market, which is the outdoor market not far from where I now live, is the Haymarket of Paris's outdoor markets. Things are super cheap, but it's SUPER crowded, muddy, and the food doesn't look quite as good. So, I am unlikely to make Barbes my regular market. The markets in general are cheaper than the grocery stores, and the other ones seem to have more of the good food, local food.

I'm off to Rome in a few days for spring break. I'm really excited. WOOOO spring break! I should have planned ahead more though, because this is not a cheap ticket. But it's less than it would cost me from the states, so whatever. There is going to be a festival, and some playing at "the country house", and maybe a day trip to where they filmed Passion of the Christ (could care less about the movie, but the place it was filmed is supposedly really cool). On my to-do list: bring home a bottle of Limoncello. Maybe two. =)

Alright, time to head back to my tiny little pad and get some lunch.

Photos to come soon, I promise!

A la prochaine fois!

Home, Sweet home.

DATELINE: 16.02.09 PARIS, FRANCE

All moved into the new pad and so happy. It of course has it's short comings but they are all part of the character. =) I'll post the pictures soon. I took some this morning but forgot to load them onto my computer before leaving the house. I don't have internet at home yet - so these may be a little slow in coming.

I will note, though, that as my studio faces the courtyard in the center of the building I am oblivious to what happens over night on the street. This morning I left the apt to find that the shop a few doors down was all shot up - the window was peppered with what look to me like bullet holes. The neighborhood is, by all means, safe. But I must have missed something big last night. Or maybe it's been like that for a while and I just hadn't noticed.

At the moment I am sitting back at Le Cactus. It is way out of my way, but I like the guys here and like to visit. Today seems to be not a good day for visiting... or maybe it is just because I am clamming up feeling shy today. Damned shy gene!

a la procheine (not sure i spelled that right...) mes amies!

Looking up & the hippy-jiggy-boogy (it's a long one...)

DATELINE: 14.02.09 PARIS, FRANCE

I'm free! I'M FREE!!! Yes freeeeeeeedom has beeeeeeeecome a reality!!

I'm done with the crazy lady. I moved out this morning. The departure was ugly. She is a nasty nasty lady. I'm so glad to not be living there anymore. I'm trying to tap into my yoga peace loving self and resist the urge to do something vindictive and nasty to her.

I had thought telling her I was moving out had gone fairly well and would be fairly amicable. But then suddenly she got nasty nasty nasty. She decided I'd lied to her about money (to be fair, as I may have said before, I had avoided paying her the rent when I first moved in because she wasn't delivering on the things she had said were part of the rent... ie: a bed, and internet). Then she somehow decided that I was going to steal her house while she wasn't looking.

I woke up on Friday morning to find a note asking me to leave on Saturday morning (today) - while I had paid her for two weeks and she had already agreed to my leaving on Sunday late afternoon. I can't move into the new place until tomorrow afternoon, otherwise I gladly would have left sooner. I was out last night at a concert (more about that in a moment) and didn't get back to the apt until 10:30 this morning.

I arrived to find all of my food taken out of the refrigerator and put in a trash bag in the hall. Nasty nasty witchy lady. I packed up all my belongings. She stood by the door as I headed out and when she requested the key, I requested the two days of rent back - since she was kicking me out two days early. She started shouting that I had lied to her about money, that she had paid for the internet, and that in the states you pay on the first day of the month. I retorted that we are not in the states and that she had lied about what was included in the rent. I threw the keys into the apt and stormed out (yeah, it was not one of my most shining moments, but I was angry). I wish i'd left an egg to rot under the bed. Maybe I'll pull that old college trick of filling the ziplock baggy with some stinky substance and exploding it under the door. ha.

Maybe I'll just indulge in the fantasy of it, because I believe in karma and don't want karma to bite me in the arse. As Gary said: karma and fate are two sisters you don't mess with, because they will cut you!

But I am so relieved to be done with her and so excited to move into my new pad. I've been told that my new landlord actually _thanked_ the friend who referred me to her for referring me. Can you believe the difference? Amazing. Anne, my friend who lives two floors below my new home, has already been amazingly hospitable. And her teenage daughter so kind, and seems also fairly enthusiastic about me moving in upstairs. It'll be a bit like having a little sister. =) I can dig it.

Things are really looking up.

So let's talk about the hippy-jiggy-boogy. You know the hippy-jiggy-boogy. It's what happens when there is a band jamming out with some funky good grooves and you just can't help but get up out of your seat and shake your butt and then next thing you know your arms are going and your feet are going and you have to smile. You have to because your whole body is smiling and you are just happy and loving every minute of it. And who cares what you look like because at first maybe you are the only one brave enough to get up and get your groove on but you quickly notice that all the sudden there are tons of people around you doing the same thing. You know they were just itching to do it but needed someone to give them permission. You are having a great time, the music is great, you're shakin' yo' thang, and loving that you could be the person to give them the permission to break out and shake it! That's the hippy-jiggy-boogy. But I don't know how to say that in French...

Last night I went to a concert with Dené & Jacob in one of the burbs of Paris, an area called Cretiel. The venue is called the Maison des Arts. The venue was really cool, really attractive with a large stone plaza in front (kind of like the Met in NYC has - but larger). The area around the venue, really awful. It's concrete everywhere. It feels like an industrial wasteland - that is, what we saw between the metro and the venue. The entire distance between the two can be traversed without ever touching ground. You pass through the second level of a large shopping mall. It leaves you feeling rather gross.

The concert was Saul Williams, opening band was Anthony Joseph & the Spasm Band (from Trinidad). It was a great show. I was kicking myself much of the time because I had left my camera at home, assuming that like concerts in the States we would be frisked before going in and without a bag to stash my camera in (didn't want to bring my bag) they wouldn't let me in or it would get confiscated - something like that. That may have been a slightly irrational assumption, but in any case I thought it best to simply not bring it.

I also didn't imagine that I would get close enough to take any worth while pics. Well... as it turned out they don't frisk you or even seem to check bags, and I spent the whole show shakin' my butt right at the edge of the stage, front and center! I could have kissed Saul Williams' feet, many many times over. I could have pulled his pants down if I were taller. I could have groped his crotch if I actually felt like getting kicked in the head. The spot where we were was unbelievable. I haven't had a spot that good since I shot for PFC in Denver. Everyone on either side of me was shooting and filming, and by that point security had utterly abandoned any hope of stopping them so wasn't even bothering them. Sigh...

It was a fantastic show and was *just* what the doctor ordered. Thanks, Dené, for putting the idea in my head and inviting me!!