5 January, 2007 | Leave a Comment
…or…
The Third Time’s the Charm
I found out at 11:00 p.m. on Sunday – New Year’s Eve – that I was being evicted from my apartment after only living there for one day. The guy who owns the apartment, the fashion model, henceforth referred to as Model Boy, left a long rambling message on my mobile phone, suggesting that I go move into a “cheap” hotel.
Happy 2007!
And then on the 2nd, I had to officially “check out” of my former apartment, the one owned by the great-great-granddaughter of Dr. Jekyll. She showed up with an independent member of the judiciary (or some such) and she informed me they were going over “every inch” of the apartment. To make a long story short, the judicial guy completed his inspection of every spoon, every towel and every crevice and declared, “C’est parfait!” [“It’s perfect!”] Everything was there in perfect condition, the apartment was spotless. It was a beautiful moment. I wanted to turn to my landlady and say the French equivalent of “Suck on it,” but my vocabulary isn’t that good.
I should point out that for every evil person I’ve had to deal with this week, I’ve encountered even more people who are decent, kind and thoughtful. And not only that, but the comments you’ve left on my blog and the e-mails I have received and the offers of help have meant so much to me. Thank you. Very sincerely, thank you.
The kindness of so many people prevented me from sinking into “I hate the world” mode. Case in point: Model Boy’s best friend, a nightclub singer my age, was to be my contact in Paris while he was working in New York. After this whole arrangement to sublet the apartment blew up, she vociferously came to my defense. She and her boyfriend have had numerous heated exchanges with Model Boy regarding his treatment of me. They are both appalled that he would conduct himself this way. To help me out, this woman arranged for me to leave many of my belongings – boxes of books, extra luggage, a chair – in the storage room of her apartment building. There was no point moving it into the sublet. [And I can leave my extra stuff there for as long as I want!] Such space in any apartment building is at a premium, yet she arranged this for me, doing something most people wouldn’t even do for a friend. I’m astounded by her kindness. [So is Model Boy. He accused her of taking my side and wondered if we were having a “relationship.” Yes, that’s his mentality.] This woman has taken me out for tea, given me hugs, offered to let me sleep on her sofa. [And she confided in me that after my confrontation with Model Boy on New Year’s Day, during which I told him off in delicious fashion, he came back to her place and cried for two hours. Bwahahahaha! He whined, “She was so rude to me! She said I’m a horrible person!” Boo hoo hoo I want my maman!] This woman has done so much for me and she doesn’t even know me, not really. As a result of all this, I have a lot of karmic debts to repay.
So after all this drama and upheaval, I still needed to find a place to call home. I wasn’t afraid that I would literally become homeless – and that’s not something to even joke about. But I was afraid. I didn’t know what would happen. I knew I could crash with people I know here if needed [although most of them barely have enough room for themselves], or I could find temporary accommodation, but I wanted my own home. I wanted a place to call mine, a fixed address. The thought of being a complete vagabond for weeks on end was not something I thought I could handle after what I’ve been through over the past few months. I could have done it, but it wouldn’t have been easy. And I feared that if I did find something, it would be a dump and that I’d have French mice for roommates.
Despite this anxiety – or perhaps because of it – I wasn’t making much of an effort to find a new place. I was in denial about my situation, I think. I spent a lot of time sitting on the sofa, staring into space. I looked on Craigslist mostly, because I wanted to rent from someone who spoke English and liked Americans (and anyone advertising on Craigslist probably fits this description). I did look on some French websites, but the few people I called sounded irritated when I asked them to repeat things or speak more slowly. So I lost my confidence.
And then on Wednesday an ad appeared on Craigslist that looked good – studio apartment, nice neighborhood, great price. And it had an actual phone number, not just an e-mail address, so I called. And I spoke to a very nice guy who said I could come over and look at the apartment if I wanted to. I learned my apartment-seeking skills in New York, where finding an apartment is a blood sport. And I knew from all the apartment-looking I did in the Apple that you gotta get there first. So I hopped right over, fell in love with the apartment and that was it. Within an hour, I had a new home. (Things can often be done very informally in this city. In New York I would have needed references, a credit check…an application.) I moved in the next day, dragging my tattered and worn suitcases behind me. And they had a pot of fresh flowers waiting for me in the apartment. How sweet!
I really love this apartment. I’m not settling for it because I’m desperate, not at all. It suits me in so many ways. I can stay here until I return to London (Model Boy’s place was only until April). And I have a legal contract this time. I feel in my gut that this is where I should be, that this is supposed to be my Paris apartment, that I finally landed in the right place. I could be wrong, but this is what my instincts tell me. I have no idea how I got so lucky as to find a nice apartment within mere days. A lot of luck, I guess, and good wishes from so many people. And this apartment is so much nicer than the sublet I got kicked out of. And its 40€ less a month to boot. When I last saw Model Boy, I wanted to give him a big hug for being such a grand prick. Because his jerkiness ended up benefiting me in the long run, there’s no doubt.
I’ll write more about the apartment and my new neighborhood in my next post. But I’m not finished telling you about this crazy week yet, no. It ended with a bang. This morning I had to be examined by a government doctor as the last step in the process to get my permanent carte de séjour (residence permit). There were mobs of [irritated] people there going through the same process. I had to be weighed and measured and have my eyes checked. A giant needle was jabbed into my middle finger and drops of blood were literally squeezed out so they could check my blood sugar. I had to have a chest x-ray, which involved walking around topless in front of a roomful of technicians. I’ve heard that you can’t be shy at a French doctor and now I know that’s true. After all these tests, I went into the doctor’s office and sat at a chair next to her desk. She demanded that I take my shirt off! So I sat there in a bra talking with her. It was very strange, bordering on humiliating. [I remember last winter in London, I had a nasty chest cold and went to the doctor. He examined me without making me take anything off – not even my coat!] And for the pleasure of this whole process, I got to pay 55€. But at the end, I got a certificate stating that I meet the health and sanitary requirements for living in France. Whew. So I get my permanent carte, but not too “permanent” – it expires in March, at which time I’ll have to apply again.
Sigh.
You know, I thought living in New York was tough. Frank Sinatra sang about New York, “If I can make it there, I’ll make it anywhere.” I used to believe that was true, but then I moved to Paris.
Anglofille said @ 4:22 pm | paris life |
- Comments RSS | TrackBack URI
-
itsLillie Says:
January 5th, 2007 at 5:07 pmCongratulations on finding the perfect flat! Sorry to hear about the turmoil you experienced before getting there! Would love to hear more about your new flat, and see some photos if possible! (and of the lovely flowers too)
Welcome Home, Anglofille!
-
Aloha Pineapple Says:
January 5th, 2007 at 5:55 pmYAY! I’m glad everything worked out for you
-
Ooooh! See! Good karma!
Glad to hear you sounding much better
-
Yeah! I’m glad it all worked out–
-
I kinda love that he cried.
-
What a great posting! I laughed so hard when I read it! You should find out how to say “suck on it” in French so that next time you can actually say it instead of just thinking it!
And just the thought of you being paraded around a room topless— priceless!
I can see your life in Paris being a comedy for HBO- much like Sex in the City!
Is anyone in Hollywood reading this blog? Hint-hint!
-
Cool and the Gang!! I’m really chuffed for you!!
-
OUF! bravo!
-
Anita Says:
January 6th, 2007 at 6:49 pmAhh… Relief.
-
Amazing! Congratulations on your new French home! I’m glad you have finally found a place to call your own…post pictures when you can
-
rebecca Says:
January 7th, 2007 at 7:37 amWOOHOO! I’m so very glad that you found a better place!!!
Anglofille = 1
Model Boy = 0As for your new apartment, I also can’t wait to see pictures once you’ve settled. I’m always fascinated by living arrangements in different places. I think it tells a lot about a city when you can see what the housing looks like. Character!
Glad to see your new year has had a much happier beginning than previously!
-
Aw - I’m so glad this worked out for the best. And I’m glad that every fool you encounter (modelboy) is offset by some amazingly supportive and friendly soul (friend of modelboy).
-
I’m so happy that everything worked out for the best.
-
You are all just the greatest! Thanks for your comments of support — and thanks for making me laugh too. Pictures coming soon!
