Caution bancaire

n. – a year’s worth of rent, at least, that you need to lock on a bank account that you can’t touch just to reassure a landlord that you’re serious about your commitment to enter a lease agreement
Chiant
adj. – annoying

I think the second word and explanation pretty much sum up what I have to say about the first one. In any case, we have an apartment finally in the 16th arrondissement. It’s very spacious, on the interior courtyard so very quiet and on the fourth floor so high enough to have light. Five stories here is the norm among the older buildings just to put things in perspective. And in fact many of the fifth floor apartments are what used to be the “chambres de bonne” or maid’s quarters so they can be either quite small and quite cold in the winter or hot in the summer since they’re directly under the roof.

Our building has a beautiful entry and a lovely courtyard with plants and trees. The guardian couple lives just off the courtyard and they seem friendly and welcoming. Many of our neighbors seem to be families with children as evidenced by the multiple strollers located under the stairs. There is also an elevator, which is not always a given and in some cases not even large enough for more than two people at a time. Ours can hold about three.

The part that fascinated me the most was the “cave” or cellar/storage room. It is literally a cave in the truest sense of the word. Located in a sort of labyrinth within the basement, it’s a small room with no light inside and a floor of earth and dirt. It’s really for things you have absolutely no room for in the apartment, but even if I can think of something I care for so little that I would relegate it to a dank grave beneath the building, I was too traumatized by the visit to be willing to ever go back!

So you will find me up on the fourth floor enjoying the view of the garden below and the rooftops above – chez moi.

Accueil

n. – welcome
Dejeuner
n. or v. – lunch or to lunch
Café
n. – coffee
Apéro
n. – cocktail time
Durée
n. – duration

One thing I am very fortunate for is the gracious warmth and hospitality of all our good friends here. Everyone we know has reached out regularly since we arrived with offers of support and help with everything.

Parisians like New Yorkers can suffer a bad reputation of being cold or unfriendly. In fact, I find the opposite true of both cultures. Perhaps the formality of the former can be misconstrued at times, but once you get to know them and they consider you their friend, they are genuine and loyal.

There is a true appreciation of spending time together here that we may rush a bit more in the US. A lunch or even getting together for coffee can span an entire afternoon. We were invited to an “apéro” (see above) not long ago that started at 7:30 and ended at 11:30! Luckily there were heavy hors d’oeuvres, but I was so wrapped up in the conversation, I hadn’t noticed the time fly by.

The people we know here are interested in many things – politics, business, travel, culture. They have a real appreciation for the US and were as involved in this last election as I was. So I guess I just wanted to take a moment and pay tribute to our friends and the people of Paris. Because even if I’m having some trouble adjusting to the city itself, I am thankful for those we know living in it.

Merci mes amis pour tout!

Respirer

v. – to breathe
Inspirer
v. – breathe in
Expirer
v. – breathe out

I’ve just started to explore yoga options in Paris. I had a regular practice in the Vinyasa style (movement linked to breath) in New York and even taught this last year following the completion of a teacher training program. So my exploration has been two-fold – to find a studio where I can practice and even possibly teach on a part-time basis.

Prices for classes range dramatically and while the places I’ve been allow you to take a trial class, they require that you sign up for a series almost like a gym membership. One also required a note from my doctor stating I’m in good health – something that I understand is fairly common practice and fairly easy to acquire. A simple listen to your heart and check of your blood pressure seem to be all they do from what I understand. So I’m relieved I don’t have to have a full-blown physical since I have an aversion to knowing exactly what my state of health really is!

The classes I’ve taken are taught in a mix of English, French and Sanskrit. The teachers have ranged from Indian to British with heavy accents making it hard to understand sometimes any of the languages they’re speaking. One teacher opened the class with a series of Om’s, but so quietly as if in a whisper. It was very strange and very challenging. Another ended the class in Svasana or final relaxation where you lie on your back and do just that. In English, he was telling us to relax our hearts, relax our kidneys, relax our livers (not sure how to do that exactly unless he meant stop drinking). And then he told us to relax our genital organs at which point I became completely distracted wondering if my genitals were actually organs. Reproductive organs, I understand, but genitals?

So my exploration will continue and it’s research I’m happy to do given my love of yoga. I’ve even come up with what would be my sign off if I ever had the chance to teach here - Bonne journee et namaste ☺

Queue

n. – line

The French have their own system for forming lines. They don’t. When coming back from the holidays by train, the taxi line at Montparnasse was very long, albeit formed, as there is actually a barricade that doesn’t allow for much leeway. I noticed that there was a second line to the side with nobody in it that led directly to the head of the first line that we were all standing in. The sign made it clear that this second line was for people who needed special assistance or were handicapped in some way. There were symbols of wheelchairs, crutches, seeing-eye dogs, what looked like a symbol for someone who may be hard of hearing and a symbol for a very pregnant woman.

Little by little, I noticed parents with young children either in strollers or being carried, marching right down the empty line and heading in front of all of us. One after the other – some of the children were small and not of walking age, others looked ambulatory despite the fact that the parents were lugging them over their hips. I didn’t see any symbols on the sign for strollers or children and there were people in our line with both who looked confused.

The French are very polite though so nobody made any waves. But finally when a young, healthy looking couple strolled down the empty line, someone in our line shouted out. The young man replied that his wife was pregnant. While it may have been on the sign, there was certainly no sign of that on her that any of us could see! Luckily for us, it was finally our turn so even if our long wait had been further lengthened by all the people cutting the queue, at least it was finally over.

Eau

n. – water

P.S. I went back to the salon and had my color corrected ever so slightly. A friend visiting from New York came along for support and a wash and blow dry. We maneuvered our way around the Parisian grand dames, their small dogs and large Hermes bags. I had to wait at one point for one said bag to be removed from a chair before being seated. I realize now why they have little tables for your handbags in the ultra elite restaurants. If you’ve spent the equivalent of a down payment for a house on your purse, you don’t want to put it on the floor.

My favorite part of getting my hair done is having it washed, which brings me to a topic I’ve become a little obsessed with here. Bathing is something I took for granted in the US as a relatively simple task and one I enjoyed immensely. I like both baths and showers – sometimes one after the other, which I know isn’t very green. Here there is no concern for my over-indulging in this ritual, though since the act of washing myself has become a complicated chore.

Because the small loft we have is located over the kitchen and bathroom, the ceilings in both these rooms are quite low. Even if the shower head were attached to the wall, it would be impossible to stand and get our hands over our heads. The whole concept of showering as we’re used to is practically non-existent here. Out of the two dozen apartments we’ve seen (and no we still haven’t found one) only one or two have the shower attached to the wall. The shower head in cradle concept that forces you to crouch down and use only one hand at a time is baffling to me.

I read somewhere that the French have a complicated relationship with water. This doesn’t surprise me. It dates back to the middle ages when the church actually frowned on bathing since it was considered a form of birth control. Again, it was the middle ages. But while we may now find ourselves in the 21st century, traditions, superstitions and really anything of the past are much harder to let go of in a culture that’s so much older.

If I could afford to go to the salon every time I needed to wash my hair, that would be lovely, but I don’t think they’re set up to wash any other parts of me, regardless of cost.

Coiffeur

n. – hairdresser
Beau
Adj. – handsome or good-looking
Cheveux
n. - hair
Foncé
Adj. – dark
Clair
Adj. – light
Lourd
Adj. – heavy

Friday marked my first visit to a French hairdresser. I needed a little re-blonding and because I was afraid to go just anywhere, chose probably one of, if not, the most expensive salons in Paris.

It was grand and luxurious, the colorist tall, good-looking and sporting long, fair-haired dreadlocks. I’m not really sure of everything we discussed, but I hoped that I made myself clear enough since I was putting my delicate strands in his hands.

He introduced me to the person who would take over after his work was done – another equally good-looking and fair-haired young man who I also didn’t understand entirely. At one point the second one said to the first, “elle ne comprend pas” (she doesn’t understand) to which the first responded, “non, elle ne comprend pas” to which I chimed in meekly, “peut etre c’est mieux!” (maybe it’s better!)

There was another young Japanese man who was there to apply balm on my scalp so that it wouldn’t become irritated by the color and also to rinse the color off and give me probably the best shampooing and head massage of my life. There was even someone who gave me little plastic sleeves to protect the sides of my glasses from my wet hair.

After my shampoo, I was whisked over to good-looking coiffeur #2 for a “coupe de cheveux” and “brushing” (hair cut and blow dry). I think it was the latter that confused me initially because when he asked me if I did that, I thought to myself, well of course I brush my hair, but in fact he meant do I blow dry, which in fact, I do not.

He explained he was going to give me a cut like his, which scared me a little since the front of his hair basically covered almost half of his face – think Carine Roitfeld, the editor of French Vogue. But since he was so good-looking, I decided he could cut it however he wanted. In this case I use the word “it” for hair rather than hair-cut, but in French, the word for hair is actually plural – “les cheveux.” So whenever anyone, my husband included, refers to hair, they call “it” “them,” which is actually more logical for a change, but still amusing.

There was another good-looking, dark haired apprentice whose job was to hold one part of my hair(s) while the other finished blow-drying the rest. When it was all over, I felt like I needed a cigarette, but I don’t smoke any more. They did a fabulous job. The color was a little darker than I’m used to, but I’m convinced that either I didn’t explain what I wanted well enough or good-looking coiffeur #1 simply decided it would be better this way, in which case again, who am I to argue.

But after a few days of getting used to it and after a conversation I had today with French friends at lunch, something occurred to me. I like being a blonde - I was born a blonde and I’ll “dye” a blonde (to coin the expression of another blonde I know). Being blonde makes me happy, but here it seems like suffering is a more prevalent state of consciousness. The word I came up with at lunch that everyone agreed on to describe the general sentiment I’ve encountered was “lourd” or heavy. And I realize that my blondeness may just have been a bit too light for the comfort of my fair-haired, but still Parisian, coiffeurs.

Agent immobilier

n. – real estate agent
Formalité
n. – formality
Armoire or Placard
n. – closet
Volailles
n. – poultry
Volets
n. – shutters

I think I could revolutionize the real estate business here – at least on the rental side. It’s been a while since I rented an apartment, but I remember being catered to a bit more as a renter and know that I catered to the tenant who is now renting my place in New York.

It’s not that the brokers here aren’t polite – they’re rather formal in fact. The first one I met who looked to be barely in his twenties introduced himself as Monsieur So and So, rather than by his first name. I was addressed as Madame Dawn (I think my first name confuses them and then the fact that I don’t use my husband’s name just complicates matters even more).

He showed me a lovely apartment in the 17th in a Haussmannian building with a “gardien” – not exactly a doorman, but definitely not to be called a concierge. It was “vide” or empty, which in France means completely empty so no stove, no refrigerator, no kitchen appliances whatsoever. And while he was proud to show me a sliding door behind which I thought there may be a closet, it was in fact simply the storage for the “ballon d’eau” or hot water balloon.

Built-in closets or "placards" are not easily found in French homes. Instead, you are free to purchase giant armoires, but given all the clothes we have, they would probably take up the entire second bedroom, which sort of defeats the purpose.

So despite its generous size, beautiful parquet floors and traditional fireplace, for the price, the barren kitchen and lack of closets offset the advantages. More than that though, it had too much “vis a vis” or not enough view. Since it was on the interior of the building, it was quiet, but looked directly into other apartments. I explained that I didn’t want to have to live behind the “volailles” which is in fact the word for poultry when I meant to use the word “volets” which is the word for shutters. I think the broker understood me, but at the same time was left traumatized by all my concerns and promptly cancelled our visit to the next apartment explaining that it would probably be too “sombre” dark or somber, if you will, for my tastes. We haven’t heard back from him since.

The remaining apartments we’ve seen with the exception of one have gone from bad to worse. We’ve had two no-shows – one by a broker, one by the owner himself and have seen a fair share of wrecks. One broker showed up late, smoking his cigarette and explained he wasn’t really familiar with the neighborhood or even the apartment itself. As such, we arrived to find it full of people – friends or relatives of the owner. So we had to navigate the visit around their drying laundry and unmade beds, which didn’t really help with our overall impression.

Another one we looked at right here on the Ile St. Louis honestly needed to be demolished in my opinion, but the owner was holding steady to the exorbitant rent because, after all, it’s on the Ile St. Louis. We’ve looked at places that need anywhere from a minimum to a maximum amount of work, but here it’s up to the renter to fix whatever is broken rather than the owner.

I was completely ruined for the search after spending New Year’s Eve at the apartment of a friend. It was on the top floor of a gated building with gardien in the 16th. Almost 2,000 square feet with a wraparound terrace and views of almost all of Paris including of course the Eiffel Tower. Now that’s what I’m talking about! Let’s see if Monsieur So and So can come up with something like that.