chez moi, chez moi!

Too much happens in a city too quickly. Unless one has a notebook at hand 24/7, it’s easy to forget that one is forgetting by not writing things down. I’ve been in Paris for a little over a week and it feels like it’s gone by in two days – but then again it seems like I’ve done three weeks worth of sight-seeing and navigating the cite as well (pictures of said places are scattered throughout this post).

I’m finally out of the FIAP, the Foyer International d’Accueil de Paris (a.k.a. international-dorm/hostel-thing-with-loud-old-people-and-louder-young-people). As much as I enjoyed the dorm-like cafeteria meals and the wine that came out of an orange-juice dispenser, I’m pretty ecstatic about eating drinkable yogurt on the way to class and having my host-mom cook traditional French meals for me twice a week. I never did experience the full-on dorm life in college, but I’m pretty sure a week at the FIAP gave me a good idea of how a freshman dorm would have been, and I’m confident now more than I’ve ever been in my choice of living with a crazy person in Chicago my freshman year (for those of you who don’t know that story, she really needed that padded room, for serious).

I taxied my way to my host family’s apartment on Sunday with butterflies in my stomach and sweaty little palms. I called my host mom before the taxi came (her name is Madame Renée Filatre), and she said she was working, so her son was going to meet me at her apartment instead. She sounded absolutely delightful.

I climbed out of the taxi with a line of little euro-cars behind me, honking for my yellow cab to get out of the way. I felt bad for a split second that I was making them wait as I helped the driver yank my oversized suitcase and guitar out of the trunk, but then I remembered it was their own fault for living in a place with such tight roads. They should be used to it. Patience is a virtue, is it not?

I pressed 33 AP on the intercom and a man’s voice said, “oui oui, je descends” (I’m coming down), and that was the moment that Paris really began.

I was taken by a twenty-something young man (maybe early thirty-something actually) named Jean-Francois to his mother’s apartment on the 6th floor of a very tall building. The halls smelled of musty France(a fine mix of cologne and B.O.), but it was inviting enough. I was steered to the very end of the hallway, to a forest green door with a thatched mat in front. Jean-Francois wiggled a key around in the lock, and immediately upon opening, a tiny little curly-haired grey dog came leaping at my hands with his tongue searching for a taste. His name is Norbert.

The apartment is a cute little 4 piece with a balcony that looks over a peaceful courtyard in the center of the mass of buildings on this block. It’s absolutely covered with pots and flowerboxes full of soil and almost-living plants. I can’t wait to see what the little terrace looks like when the ground thaws completely and the flowers start to bloom! How romantic in Paris, being surrounded by flowers.

The kitchen is modern with appliances and heavy cook-ware tucked into the cleverest of places. People really know how to make good use of their space here in Europe. The living room has wooden floors, two couches and a rocking chair, lots of books and CD’s to match, and a 4-place table for dinning at. Just a few steps around the corner down the hall is where my darling space is situated. My room has a double or maybe full sized bed (I can never tell the difference, I just know it’s big and comfy and I can pretend to make snow angels on it without hanging my limbs off the sides). There is a nightstand to each side of the bed, one is used to hold some of my belongings while the other is a mini desk where I sit and write blog entries. There’s a computer console in the right side of the closet, and space on the left for me to put whatever I can shove in there. Out my window I can see other tall buildings, and almost half of the Eiffel Tower! The lights on it at night are ever-so-glamorous ;)

I had lunch with Jean-Francois, and spent the afternoon reading and writing a bit. When I finally met Mme Filatre, I couldn’t have been more pleased. She is an absolutely adorable lady. She’s très chic (I think she works in retail, fashion perhaps), she’s got the cutest sea-foam green glasses with square frames, and the bubbliest of bubbly personalities. She seems genuinely happy that I’m here to stay for a while, which is so wonderful to be on the receiving end of. She's made this apartment a wonderful home for vagabond students such as myself, and for that I’m sure all of those who have came here before me and all those who come after are more than grateful.