Saturday, August 4, 2007

BLOGGER IS IN FRENCH!!

Uh, yeah, good thing I have all the buttons memorized, although I am pretty good with the tech French, as I switched my cell phone over to French a couple of months ago. It was pretty funny except it did not help with my days of the week knowledge, because ever since I did that, my phone keeps resetting the year to 2048. Luckily I don't count on my phone for the days of the week, usually. OK, that was a bit too long of an aside, since I may have mentioned, I AM IN PARIS. And Blogger is in French, how does it know? Right now I am in the "creer" heading. There is and accent acute over than first e, but I don't know how to type in French yet, though Miles has promised to set my keyboard to French tomorrow, so sticklers will have to wait for that. OK that just extended that aside.

I decided to start a new entry for a new day which is Friday. OK, we left off at our adorable cobbled street, where we find #4 Rue de Chateaubriand.

we punch in the passcode, get in, and run into the Concierge, an adorable woman in a full cotton apron running an old hose vac on the stairs, I thought I might be in a BBC drama for a minute, and expected Judi Dench to come down the stairs after her. (another aside, I must have jetlag), and we got another crash course in French pantomine as we described Aunt Cynthia, and established that she was "pas ici". We went up to the apartment on the 6th floor to see if she had left out a key. OK, the elevator is nuts. There is a spiral staircase that goes up all the way to the top, with an elevator that is about 2 feet in diameter and round.
We actually had to send the suitcases (the ones we have)up by themselves, and the kids up by themselves, because it is so small, only 2 Americans can fit in it at a time. Probably 3 French people, though. We got to the top, the elevator only goes to floor 5, you have to walk to 6 as it gets very narrow up there. The apartment is on the top floor, and when Aunt Cynthia and Richard bought it in 1957, it was 6 different rooms that were the maid's quarters on the top floor. They knocked down the walls, took out fireplaces and made it one giant apartment. I am ahead of myself here, because we are not yet in. We dump our stuff in the hall, determine that Cynthia is indeed "pas ici", and decide we are starving. We walk to the street, find a shop with a baguette on the sign and get some sandwiches and cold drinks. We saunter on down to the Champs-Elysses, and sit on a wall and eat them and watch, literally, the world go by. Every language imaginable is being spoken on that street. We cruise back to the house, go up and wait about 5 minutes and then Cynthia showed up!! We go in, drag in all our luggage, and the apartment is about 5 times the size I thought it would be. Nick and I have our own room, Cynthia has a room, Caroline has a room, and Miles is in the living room, but he may move into Caroline's room. There is a view of the Eiffel Tower top from my room, if you stand right in the "sweet spot".
Yep, there she is, The Iron Lady.

The apartment is shaped like a U so here is the other side:
That is Miles peeking out the other side. I do feel like the luckiest person on the planet with only one pair of underwear to her name. We get a bit oriented, loaf around a bit, and decided to cook dinner for ourselves tonight. We go down to the Monoprix, which we discover is a Parisian Fred Meyer!
We get food for dinner, underpants for all involved in luggage snafu, some shirts for the same ones, glassware for the apartment, which seems to have mostly been broken by previous tenants, and are pretty pleased with ourselves. We also go to cell phone store, since we cannot live without phones, apparently. We come home, cook spaghetti, have some wine, and Miles and I promptly pass out. I wake up for a few minutes to put kids to be at I think, around 8:30 or 9, I tried to read Caroline a book, but she fell asleep before I could get back with the book. The Eiffel Tower is lit up at night, BTW.

1 comment:

Geni said...

MON DIEU! so jealous... send a postcard, s'il vous plait! miss you