Cuisine

n. – kitchen
Aménagée
adj. – with built-ins
Equipée
adj. – with appliances
Américaine
adj. – American, open or modern

Unfortunately, we didn’t end up having the good luck we hoped for in finding an apartment. The one we chose at the 11th hour with “scissors to our throats” as my husband says has not turned out to be what we hoped for despite the fact that we visited it on three separate occasions before moving in.

On first, second and third view, it didn’t look so bad and in fact, isn’t so bad, but there are things we’re not able to get past. The most important is the noise from the upstairs neighbors. Two small children running back and forth – all the time – across the creaky parquet doesn't make for a relaxing environment. If they’re not running, they might be on their scooters – yes, scooters and parquet, not an ideal marriage.

The kitchen is not that well thought out now that we’re there and actually using it. Don’t get me started again on the odor under the sink since I’ve convinced myself that it’s mould after numerous visits to google. The master bath is generously sized, but as such is too cold to actually use so we’ve resorted to using the small guest bath. Despite it’s small size, the ceilings are high and I’m convinced the shower there was designed for a giant. While it has the shower attachable to the wall as I crave, it’s placed so high up that we have to position ourselves almost flat against the wall just below it in order to benefit from the water cascading directly down.

I already dedicated an entry to the topic of water itself, but I don’t know if I went into the quality of the water. Paris has some of the hardest water anywhere and I have to research further why that is. There are endless products to help protect dishwashers and washing machines from the “calcaire” or calcium deposits, yet very few products to protect my skin or my hair. Vinegar and lemon juice supposedly help as a final rinse, but since I would rather emerge from the shower smelling like something other than a salad, I’ve just taken to bringing the Britta pitcher in with me for a final douse.

Anyway, we’ve decided it’s already time to move on and see if we can find something that’s a bit more functional. Ever the wiser now, we know what questions to ask and one important one is to ascertain the condition of the kitchen. As I’ve mentioned before, “vide” is empty and a cuisine vide is just that. If you’re lucky, it will have the sink, but that’s it. No closets, cupboards or counter tops. So at the very minimum, we’re setting our sights on something that is “aménagée,” which means that there is at least something to put your dishes in and something to surround the installation of your appliances. “Equipée” is even better since it includes all the appliances (sort of like we’re used to). And “Americaine” is the ultimate since this usually means not just any old appliance like the small refrigerators that still need de-frosting, but full-size frost free fridges and washing machines with dryers. Heaven!

I’m up to 30 apartments viewed so far, but I think my favorite was the one we saw yesterday. It was close to perfection – on the top floor with a 250 square foot terrace and views from all windows onto the Eiffel Tower. Bathed in light, it had a small, but adequately sized bedroom and was fully furnished, kitchen included on top of which we could choose anything we wanted to stay and remove anything we didn’t need. Located in one of my favorite neighborhoods, it was still well within our price range and because it was owner direct, we wouldn’t even have to pay an agency commission.

What on earth, you’re asking, is wrong with it? Nothing apart from the fact that someone had already put down a deposit on it! The owner just thought we might still want to see it and when she asked me what I thought, I wrestled with the appropriate response. “Well, I love it really and I'm sure the other people will be very happy here.” Or perhaps, “It’s nice, but I was really hoping for something with a cuisine Américaine.”

Femme de ménage

n. – cleaning lady or housekeeper…
…or in my case, life-saver and I don’t mean because she cleans like a maniac (see previous blog), but rather because she is like a giant ray of sun (despite her petite size) in these otherwise gray winter days of our first months here.

Because my husband was intent on renting a much larger apartment than we’re used to and one that can accommodate guests since we’re now living far from family and US friends, I found myself a bit overwhelmed by the space. And as I wrote previously, the still unidentifiable odor from under the kitchen sink still perplexes me to a point of near obsession.

So he was kind enough to inquire through friends about a housekeeper, which I never had in New York, but have fond memories of when I lived in LA. During that time, it was Maria – someone above and beyond a housekeeper, but someone who came to the house I lived in with my parents and who became a member of our family.

Maria was with me as I grew into my own first few apartments – tiny and gentle as a lamb, but at the same time strong and proud as a lion. She was a constant in my life in LA and I looked forward to her visits, not so much for the fact that she would help me clean and do the laundry, but for the fact that I truly enjoyed her company.

I never had any luck in New York finding someone with the same characteristics and since the apartment was smaller than any I had in LA and now here, had no issue taking care of it myself. But here I have had the good fortune of meeting someone like Maria – someone I instantly connected with and someone I have grown to not only respect, but in fact be inspired by in only three visits so far.

I remember the first – it was an instant connection as I heard her voice over the intercom and then saw her standing in my doorway. Like Maria, she is petite and feminine, but at the same time, fierce and unafraid. She took the time to chat with me – time she insisted was not to be included in the time we paid her for and then set about attacking the apartment without fear or reservation.

She came equipped with her arsenal – clean rags, sponges, rubber gloves and an outfit to change into because she always arrives meticulously dressed. She helped me navigate the washer/dryer – and while you may laugh, trust me until you’ve used a French version of the 2 in 1, it’s not as easy as you may think! She has tried to defeat the odor under the sink – unafraid to check the pipes herself with even ungloved hands.

But what has impressed me beyond just watching someone fastidiously accomplish her job is her story and her strength. Arriving here over 15 years ago from South America via Spain to help her ailing sister who eventually succumbed to cancer, she found herself in need of work. Since her sister had been in the employ of the parents of our friend, she asked if she could stay on to replace her. I’m not sure at what point it was exactly, but by then she was already in love with a Frenchman.

This is someone who was a legal secretary in Spain, but who couldn’t find the same type of work here because she wasn’t fluent in French. It was the mother of our friend who not only hired her, but insisted that she learn the language and continued to tutor her and correct her with each visit to their home. Her story touched me because she tells it with pride, but not arrogance. While grateful and loyal to our friend’s mother, it was though her own perseverance that she conquered the language and built a life here.

While I feel like a wounded bird here right now, I can only imagine what she must have felt like when she first arrived. And while I feel miserable from time to time, it doesn’t hold a candle to someone who came to help a dying sister and then tried to find a place for herself in a land that doesn’t embrace foreigners easily and especially those who don’t speak the language.

I recognize the symbol she represents at this point in my life. Little by little, she has helped me dig out of the darkness by being the objective voice of reason – “Why are you holding on to this box, that can of paint?” and so on. And by doing that each week has cleared the apartment of stuff that doesn’t belong, making it feel more and more like home each time she leaves.

But the thing that has given me the greatest comfort after each time I see her is verifying that she has left behind her little cleaning outfit. This way, I know she’s coming back and above all else during the week, I look forward to her visits and with them, the giant ray of sun they bring.

Nettoyer

v. – to clean
Poussier
n. – dust
Droguerie
n. – hardware store
Pharmacie
n. – pharmacy

In French, if you’re somewhat extreme in any way, you will be labeled a “maniac,” which has the same connotation in English. I have become this with regards to cleaning although I never considered myself as such before the move.

I’m not like the Howards as in Hughes or Mandel, who have complete germ phobias. In fact, truth be told, as long as I can wipe it off, I would just as soon sit down on a toilet seat than hover over it. It’s the hoverers that I’m convinced make them a mess in the first place.

Here, my obsession is with dust or more accurately, soot. Bathrooms often have windows, which if not sealed properly as is often the case, allow a powder of black soot to settle – everywhere and all the time.

Because our new apartment had been re-painted, albeit not with the highest quality materials as far as I can tell, it’s covered in dust and still smells like paint after several weeks. We have many windows to open in order to air it out, but then there’s that pesky soot problem on top of the fact that it’s bone-chillingly cold.

So I started exploring ways to mask the odors (and there are many of them - ways and odors). There’s a product that’s famous here called Papier D’Armenie. They make candles, but I think the initial concept was a matchbook-sized holder with little tabs of paper that you burn in an ashtray and that serves as incense. I’ve discovered that I hate the smell of it even more of any of the smells I’m trying to mask so I’ve continued to look for other solutions.

This has led me to the droguerie, or hardware store, that’s right next door. I always thought that a droguerie should sell drugs, but that’s called a pharmacie. The droguerie, like most hardware stores I suppose, is a fascinating place filled with every household product imaginable.

I’ve now spent hundreds of euros there (partially because I think there’s a huge mark-up) on products to dust, disinfect and deodorize. I’ve purchased products with sulfuric acid, one to remove stains from standing water in the toilets and one to unblock the shower drain. I’ve almost died from using them, but they’ve been fairly efficient.

I’ve had to let go of my aversion to toilet brushes. The concept of re-using something that cleans your toilet and then allowing it to rest in a holder in the meantime is what finally made me realize why so many apartments here put the toilet in a separate room. The lady at the droguerie thought I was very funny when I asked if they had anything that was disposable to clean the toilets. Of course not, but she did talk me into a very attractive stainless steel brush and holder for 38 euros – just add it to my bill.