Paris in November

I’ve made it to Paris, and even in the cold November rain, it’s amazing. Paris is divided into 20 neighborhoods called arrondissements. The first arrondissement starts in the center by the Louvre, and the rest spiral clockwise from there crossing over the river 3 times. The bohemian, intellectual center of the city lies in the 5th 6th and 7th on the left bank, while tourism and business flourish in the 1st-4th on the right bank. Although I should say that is just a stereotype. There is plenty of tourism on the Left Bank and there really doesn’t appear to be much business going on in the Right. The banks are named by the flow of the Seine so if you are facing downstream the Left Bank is on the left. The logic is actually kind of shocking for Europe.

Everyone who is anyone, or at least anyone I know who has an opinion, says you must stay on the Left Bank. Although I probably tend toward tourist, I would like to be a bohemian intellectual so I agreed. Last week, I set up an apartment via the internet in the lower 5th arrondissement. Due to the late planning, which is the only way I travel, I had to spend my first night in Paris at Hôtel du Globe on rue de Quatre-Vents (four winds). It's cute and cheap in the center of the Left bank scene so I recommend it, even though my room only had a bathtub, no shower. They acted like it was a luxury. I agree, a bath is a luxury, if there is also a shower. And a hand held nozzle with no shower curtain doesn’t count.

I woke up early Tuesday morning to stroll past the apartment in the 5th before meeting Vincent to sign the contract and fork over the cash. And all I can say is No. No. No. Rue de la Clef (Key Street), was almost below ground. Modern, nondescript buildings surrounded my little flat. It was not a charming neighborhood, but a sterile suburban island in the middle of historic Paris. I let Vincent know that I would not be staying in the flat, rented my hotel room for another night and began a new search in earnest.

I found 29, rue de la Huchette. (I have no idea what the English translation is.) The apartment is a shoebox on the top floor of a building in the center of everything. The couch is really an ottoman, and the toilet doesn’t exactly work, but I love it. It faces a courtyard so it is shockingly quite, and has internet, phone, and a washer. There is a broken down sweetness that I adore and everyone else I know hates. OK, the toilet doesn’t work very well, but the shower is heaven compared to Florence. It stays hot the entire time. This is luxury. I buy my croissants and baguettes at the charming boulangerie (bread shop) right next door, and a café with excellent people watching and café créme (coffee with steamed milk) is just two doors down. I can see the spire of St. Severin (http://www.saint-severin.com/) from my dining room window. The apartment is definitely quirky, but exactly what I wanted. There is even a couple downstairs that fights all the time. I mean, how French is that?

I know you are all wondering about the future of my butt. Have no fear. This apartment is six floors up so the Italian booty project will continue through Paris. These stairs are wooden and not as steep as my Florence apartment, but they are definitely authentic Parisian, with narrow and uneven circular treads and an iron railing. There is an elevator that I used once when I arrived with my luggage. It starts and stops at the half floor so you must unload onto a stair tread and continue up. Seriously, it’s so ridiculous that I love it.

I rented the apartment from Naomi. She is a New Yorker married to a Romanian that flips apartments in Paris. She has a wild hippy chic (chic not chick) vibe with a bit of scatter brain mixed in for fun. Naomi strikes me as the kind of person that is always late, but is so completely unaware that you forgive her. I asked her if the apartment had a hairdryer and she said she hadn’t dried her hair in years. I get that I’m vain, but really, it’s cold here and walking around with a wet head just isn’t smart. I’m hoping to pick her brain about the apartment thing. Who knows what might happen.

The fountain outside my apartment.