L’appartementParis French Studies, Fall 2011

The longer leg of my journey to Paris consisted of a nine and a half hour plane ride, which threatened me with deep vein thrombosis, or at least kicked up my hypochondria.  Mostly I played puzzles with the large man next to me and read on my mom’s Kindle (now, I’m no paper traitor but this little doohickey is particularly useful on travels because it can hold a ton of books without a ton of weight. Also, you can upload foreign language dictionaries and travel guides and read them in public without looking like a tourist GOOBER.) Finally I arrived in Paris and soon thereafter to my apartment. Here I was fondly reminded of the days of yore and my first arrival to a previous residence in Paris, in summer 2009: my friends and I were ready to hibernate after the long trip there and you can imagine our amusement when one of our beds collapsed the instant we sat our bags on it (see pictures below). Next thing we knew, this Frenchwoman with a severe middle part was banging on our door and yelling at us in severe French, because apparently there was also a problem with our pipes, and every time one of us showered, the water leaked into her boutique downstairs. We spent the first week hauling our bathwater out of the tub in buckets and taking turns sleeping on the floor with the roaches and other creepy-crawlies of the night. This new apartment is better. It’s in a solid residential neighborhood. You know that means beaucoup groceries (there’s actually one downstairs) and people with babies. I am serious. Strollers galore. There’s also a generous green slice of courtyard outside with honeysuckle and high security. I’ve got a kitchenette and an individual bathroom and things don’t fall apart at my every poke. Whutta relief! [gallery link="file" order="DESC" columns="3" orderby="rand"]
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1 Comment

  1. Nora! Your neighborhood looks very nice, and safe! I’m glad to know you have working pipes, sans complaining boutique owner. The picture of “whats cookin’” looks like a scene from Ratatouille. I demand you prepare that meal for me as a midnight snack upon my arrival to France. Pinky up, my friend. xx

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