Getting Straight

And so, after a fair bit of moving around we are finally settling into our new apartment. I'll try and describe it for you:
It is located in the 15eme arrondissement close to Montparnasse. The building is old-sadly not cute old, but sad seventies old-but the apartment itself is great: huge, bright rooms with a fantastic view from the 11th floor. We both had to adjust to living at this height; at first, Greg would only skirt the edge of the balconey, and I was having nightmares about falling off the building during an earthquake!
We have a complete bathroom (unusual in Paris-most toilets are separate from the shower) with pretty pink and grey tile. The kitchen is a long galley style which gives me lots of exercise while I make dinner; but the landlord installed all brand new appliances before we moved in, which is a real bonus as we expected to have to buy our own. In fact, it would not have been unusual for us to have had to actually install kitchen cabinetry as most people take their cabinets with them when they move. Why you ask? We have no idea. Its just one of those many mysteries of life in a different country. (Our kitchen came with cabinets:)
We also have a cozy separate bedroom for guests, with a comfy Queen sized bed (yes, we want you to come and visit:)
Best of all, we can lay in our own comfy Queen sized bed and watch the Eiffel Tower sparkle at night...it's really something.
Of course, there are a few drawbacks as with any home. There is only one closet-a good sized closet, but still, only one. There is a mysterious drip under the kitchen sink, and the wiring is too delicate for us to install proper light fixtures (instead we have student-like paper shades over all the naked lightbulbs!). We're finding that we are a good distance from our social club in the 16eme arrondissement....its a good 45 mins away by Metro. However, when we are laying back in bed looking at the Eiffel Tower, its all worth it!
The neighborhood is really nice. As a friend who used to live in Paris told me 'it's where the real people live' (Phew! what a relief to be real! Puts me in mind of the Toy Horse from 'The Velveteen Rabbit"). There is a daycare in the lower floor of our building where darling babies wave from the window; there is also an elementary school directly below the apartment, so I hear the children play during the day. These children also do a geat deal of chanting, so I've labelled them 'the Little Revolutionaries" who are possibly in training for the next big public uprising! There is also a very modern looking church nearby, and we love listening to the bell toll. We're getting to know our local shopkeepers who are very patient with my stumbling French. Once I can speak a little better I want to do my daily shopping at the market held on nearby rue Convention twice per week. There we can buy rugs and clothes and seafood (oh my!) to name just a few of the available items.
And so, as my British friend says we are 'getting straight' ie. settling in, getting organized (not getting off drugs as I originally thought when I heard this expression:) It's good to be home.

Poo on my Shoe

When you first come to Paris, you look up (say it with me: "Wayyyyyy up!"). The Tour Eiffel, Notre Dame, La Concorde, the Haussmanian apartments and various other beautiful buildings draw your attention up....but looking down is just as important, as you soon realize.

For some reason, in what is otherwise a glorious city, poop n' scooping is not de rigeur. Garbage is picked up bi-weekly; streets are cleaned daily but poop is simply left by the doggy owners for the uninitated to step in. And there are lots of little doggies: the image of a Frenchman (or woman) carrying a baguette and keeping a frou frou dog is vraiment-too true. But cleaning up after said dogs is simply not done (I saw it done only once in the 3 weeks I have been here). Why is this? The French are supposedly very proud of their city, and rightly so, in every respect but this (I feel a bit like Rick Mercer on a rant here!). Those in the know say it is coming, that a crack down on the offenders - 4 legged and 2- is bound to come, and I can only offer a fervent 'I hope so!', while wiping off my feet.

In the meantime, should you come to Paris (and we hope you do) enjoy looking up....but check down once in awhile too!

When in Doubt, Dance

And so, apartment found, Kate left for Russia and Greg left for work, leaving me to my new full time job of tourist. I gave it a pretty good go in my first few weeks seeing Montmartre, Shakespeare and Co, the Opera House, the d'Orsay, as well as Galleries Layfayette and Les Printemps, amongst other things.

A highlight was on our second weekend, when my Aunt and her beloved came to visit. Linda moved to London a few years ago and was coming with Phillipe to Paris for a Valentine's weekend. It was so lovely to see familiar faces....and to speak English! (I'd been challenging myself to go out daily and complete an everyday task -bank, grocery store, post office- in French). Phillipe took us outside of Paris to Champtigny where a Valentines dinner dance was being held. He explained that these places evolved when poor country people could not afford to go into Paris for weekend entertainment; instead they entertained themselves with their friends, cheap food and drink, rowing and dancing along the river on lazy weekends. Traditionally, music was supplied by an accordion and we were not dissapointed in this regard (although we avoided the rowing due to the -7 C temperature!). The room was decorated with colored lights, the tables with checked clothes; the food was plentiful and the crowd lively. I've never seen such enthusiastic dancing, without regard for who was watching, or how one looked. Everything was enjoyed: the bonhomie emanating from the room warmed the cold night. Linda and Phillipe performed the java, a complicated traditional dance and we just tried to keep up! It was a lovely, warm introduction to French life.

Getting Settled

The first order of business was to find a place to live...and this is no small task in Paris. With a vacancy rate of less than 1%, and rents that make you reconsider the need to eat, finding an apartment is no small task. The standard suggestion for expats is to hire a relocation specialist, someone who knows the ins and outs of the market and can help you narrow down what it is you want (Old/new? City/country?Stairs/elevator?) However, they cost 700-1600 Euros to hire, in addition to the 1600 or so Euros you need to pay a rental agent (just like a realtor) and the first months rent etc.....mucho deneros.

Our Greg was not paying that if he could help it and thank God he did the legwork to avoid it: we saved so much. Greg found a website for "prochaine a prochaine" meaning renter to rentee, no agents, everyone saves. He lined up 4 apartments for the first weekend: one in the 16eme, our desired neighborhood, 2 in Boulange-Billancourt near his work and a one-off in the 15th. Mumsy came with us, excited to see 'real' Parisian apartments.

The first one, in the 16eme, was in a delightful neighborhood: old Haussmanian style with its typical elegance, hardwood floors, big bright windows and French doors, surprisingly nice bathroom, dismal kitchen. The next one, in Boulange, new, modern and clean (the 2nd in Boulange not worth mentioning!). And finally, the one-off in the 15eme that none of us thought would work but turned out to be large and bright with a walk in closet, full bath and view of the Eiffel Tower....oooh, suddenly we had a competition!

After a sleepless night (do we go for the neighborhood we want or a great apartment? New or old?) we (mostly I) picked the big apartment in the 15th. I loved the layout and could see how we would live, where things would go. And who can resist looking at the Eiffel Tower every day? We made sure Greg could get to work each day without too much hassle and we were in: the 15th it was! Our new landlord, M. Boffa, was delighted to have 'two nice young Canadians' coming to live in his apartment. A week later, we signed the lease and got the keys; to bad our furniture won't arrive until mid March! Oh well, another temporary place it will be....the gypsy life continues for now.

Getting there....

I'm so lucky. Katie/Mom (Greg's Mom) had (finangled?) a business trip to Paris the same week I was flying out. So I had a friend on the farewell flight. Even better, Mom got us upgraded to business class!

I sat in the business lounge, wine glass in hand, and reflected how, even in the loss of so much, I felt liberated. All of a sudden I had nothing to care for, no-one who needed a call back, no garbage to put out nor garden to weed......how many people get an opportunity to put 'real' life on hold and go to Paris for 3 years? It would just be me, G, and Paris.

The flight over was great: the seats laid right back-not that I slept but watched almost 3 movies! (Bright Star, Whip It and An Education). I had one of the best beef tenderloins ever (yes, airplane food can be good! Who knew?) and all the wine I could drink (which is a bit as you all know!). We caught a cab in to the city from Charles de Gaulle (known only as Roissy to locals-same place, don't be fooled) and between Mom and I, I knew the most French, so I got to give directions to the apartment. It gave me a lift of confidence: maybe I will be able to communicate here! And then we arrived at our wee abode with its blue door and red couch, and my sweet husband's face, so happy to see us both.

Let the adventure begin....after a nap!!!

Moving

Is there a worse word in the English language than moving????
Thankfully the house sold fast, and Greg didn't have to report to the NEA until mid Jan 2010. We enjoyed Christmas, then Greg worked like a Trojan to organize the move (cancelling utilities, adjusting insurance, dealing with CRA etc etc etc) until he had to go, leaving me at the helm (I worked until he left).
Nothing prepared me for an international move. Military moves have nothing on an international move, especially since the military gives you a great deal of structure. We had to interview and book our own moving company, arrange for a place for Greg to stay in France until we could look for an apartment, figure out what to do with our vehicles and cottage, go through each and every article in the house and decide if it was for shipping or storing (or Sally Anne!), and say good bye to so many precious people. The night before the packers came to the house, I did not go to bed....at all! It was exhausting, heart-breaking and completely overwhelming.
But we had wonderful people helping out, putting me up, taking stuff to VV Boutique, making me meals, helping to pack, sort, carry away.....thank you all, we cold not have done it without you!
So, even though I didn't want to leave, compared to the stress of the move I was looking forward to Paris! And seeing my beloved Greg again.

In the beginning......

Well, you see, we were a little bored.......we'd each finished a degree, then renovated the house, bought a cottage, had great friends and family, secured the good government jobs. A pretty great life, all tolled, but as my Dad aptly observed, maybe we'd peaked early?
So when Greg came home one day and said there were two international positions up for competition, and should he apply, I said sure! What were the chances of him actually getting the job? It was a fictitious situation, the impossible dream.
I underestimated my husband's complete awesomeness. He charmed the pants off the group from the National Energy Agency in France, a subsidary of the Organization for Economic Co-operation and Development; of course he got the job!
OMG! When faced with the reality of saying goodbye to our fabulous house, fabulous family and friends (that's a lotta f's), fabulous cottage and fabulous (?) job could I really do it?
As it turns out you just don't say no to Paris.
So, we sold the fabulous house, rented the fabulous cottage, put the fabulous job on hold and the fabulous freinds on Facebook....and departed for France!
Oh F%^&!!