Mucking About

“J’ai pas un kopeck,” is a French expression for, “I haven’t got a dime.”
“J’ai même pas un roupie (rupee),” would be even worse, as in, “I haven’t got a penny,” or, “I’m really bloody broke.” That is until today, now that even India is rejecting the dollar and demanding that all tourists pay entry to sites such as the Taj Mahal in rupees because they were losing money in the exchange. How embarrassing. Olivier is laughing, teasing me saying he’s gonna hang a sign around my neck, “For Sale. Cheap.” And the French will soon be saying, “J’ai pas un dollar.”
Sniff. Oh where oh where can it be?

The above items are:
a) Pottery tools
b) Meat tenderizers
c) Hot irons
d) Instruments of torture
e) None of the above

If you chose “b”, you are correct!

Following Bob’s wise advice, I got organized and got myself over to the gigantic BHV at Hôtel de Ville, despite the post-Christmas crowds. I wasn’t quite sure what to ask for, so when I flagged down a salesperson I started out, “I’m looking for one of those things, you know, for flattening meat..?” Fearing that she was going to frown and send me down to the hardware section, I was pleasantly surprised when, after a brief moment’s reflection, she brought me straight to the item I was looking for. It was a classic square metal mallet with big pyramid shaped teeth on one of the flat sides, and smaller ones on the other. Joy! But it was bigger than what I wanted, and the sales lady picked up on my hesitation and said that I could probably find a more “designer” collection with the German brand WMF in another section of the store.

I had never seen anything like them, not even at my grandmother’s house, she who had at least one of every cooking utensil ever invented for every possible purpose.

A dainty, designer version of the classic mallet. Whereas the first mallet I had seen was too big, this one was a tad too small, and at 35 Euros, simply couldn’t be justified.

This one felt like a big, awkward spatula in my hand. The salesperson said it could also be used to whack your mother-in-law on the head.

Here is the beauty I finally settled on, my new kitchen toy. Fitting snuggly into my hand it immediately gave me the urge to pound meat. The box indicates that it should also be used for smashing peppercorns (but of course). Or, again following the salesperson’s suggestion, could be used as a CD holder. Why not.

If you’ll excuse me now, I have some meat to beat.

Oh, and in case you were wondering, “meat tenderizer” in French is, “attendrisseur à viande”.

*****
The crappy nature of these photos is due to them being taken with my outdated and slowly dying Nokia cell phone. Scuses.

Go down the street and hang a right this time…rue Vaugirard. On the corner, at the foot of this gorgeous building, our favorite local restaurant, Au Tour De…Run by a Frenchman and his South African partner, we can never resist their oven-baked escargot with blue cheese and herbs. Served with a glass of Viognier, mmmmm.

Quick stop at the pharmacy. Soon, we may be able to buy non-prescription drugs off the shelf, but for now even aspirin is kept behind the counter.

Cross the street, heading down rue de la Croix-Nivert. New construction going up, that terrace apartment has got to have a gorgeous view. I have no idea what they’re going for, but most are sold before construction is completed.

Ho ho ho.

Christmas is afoot.

Paris architecture can be as hideous as it is beautiful. In real life this building on the left is just aweful, but in the photo doesn’t look half bad.

There are a surprising number of closed storefronts and abandoned buildings in Paris.

Then you’ve got all these odd shops that make you wonder how they stay afloat (no pun intended).

Finally arrived at Bernard’s shop, running a little late since I stopped every couple of minutes to take pictures. Usually it’s a fifteen minute walk from where I live. After my hour and a half session, Bernard treats me to a coffee at the café down the street.

Sunday we take off to Rochefort for the holidays…I’ve decided to leave the computer at home. When I get back I’ll continue this photo journal with a trip to the grocery store, and the joys of cooking in a kitchen that is only 4 m2 and where the top of the mini-fridge doubles as a counter top.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Christelle, our concierge, got gungho with the Christmas decorations.

Leaving the building…gonna get coiffed.

Hang a left at the pizza place at the bottom of our street…the smiley face was a bonus that I only saw afterwards as I was preparing these pictures to publish. Halfway down the block is our local Franprix where we do most of our grocery shopping. Decent produce and reasonable prices.

At Porte de Versaille we have a choice between the #12 metro line, the brand new tramway, and a few buses. I rarely take buses for no particular reason. Across the street is the convention center, where they constantly hold all kinds of tradeshows, and the Palais des Sports where we went to see the play, “N’ayez pas peur,” about the life of Jean Paul II.

Billboard in the metro: “Mistreated”, “Women beaten”, “Will she reach her next birthday”, “Look sickness in the eye”…real uplifting stuff.

Much more inspiring if you ask me, and pure sheep! Too kitsch, gotta love it.

In some places, the metro runs above ground. The Bastille station is one of the oldest, and my favorite because of its gorgeous view of the river Seine*.

Look at the famous monument at the Bastille, it’s..it’s the FNAC! And finally arrived at my hairdresser’s, Alternative, on the rue du Faubourg St. Martin. As long as I am in France, I will never go anywhere else.

A little color before the cut, David uses this brilliant clay-based product he buys from the States. It looks hilarious because it’s bright blue and yellow, but it is very gentle and gives the best results I’ve ever seen. If he moves to Berlin I will be heartbroken. Virginie introduced me to Carol, and I am forever grateful. No one understands hair better than Carol. They both basically rock.

Oh, and I almost forgot, I love to treat myself to a little Starbucks before going in for my two hour session. On the way out I always stop at the Gap across the street (no pics, sorry). I am a Gap poster child – the collections in Europe are much different than Gap USA. I often come out empty-handed, but scored a sweater, a dress and a knit hat this time around. The guy at the cash register asked if they were gifts (to give me boxes I guess), when I said no, they’re for me, he says, “Vous n’avez pas honte ? (You’re not ashamed? As in to be buying myself gifts before the holidays)” “No,” I replied cooly. “Vous avez raison (You’re right),” he says. Damn straight.

Tomorrow I go to see Bernard.

******
Thanks to Bob who has corrected me in saying that what you see from the Bastille metro stop is actually the Port de Plaisance de Paris Arsenal.

Back in January, my friend Ellie in Los Angeles sent me an email saying, “Send me pictures of your daily life in France so I can fantasize that I live there.”

I never did answer (bad me), but the question stayed in the back of my mind and has been nagging at me lately. I don’t think of myself as having a life worth fantasizing over. It is far from glamorous. I don’t spend my days in museums and cafés or taking historical tours of the city. Because I live here, well, I work, I do laundry, I go grocery shopping – everyday stuff. Except, yeah, I do have a view of the Eiffel Tower while I’m doing it. And yes, I can go to the Louvre on the weekend, but I don’t, just like I didn’t go to the MOMA on the weekends when I lived in San Francisco. Call me crazy, I’m just not that into museums.

I’ve been meeting a lot of new people lately, people from all over and from different walks of life. I love to get a peek into people’s lives, to share stories and experiences. Sometimes it’s the smallest detail or most unexpected answer that’s the most rewarding, like where to buy a meat tenderizer, or sympathizing about how hard it can be to get a visa, or learning why andouillette became a specialty in Lyon (a story for another time). It occurred to me that you never know what detail it will be, until you discover it. I was reluctant to answer Ellie’s request because I couldn’t give her the picture-perfect cliché I figure most people are after when they think of Paris. So what? What I do have to offer is way better, and much more authentic. What I have to offer is a peek into my life – the details, banalities, quirks, challenges, bonuses, differences, and the rest.

For Ellie.

PART I: 25 m2

Olivier and I live in 25m2. That’s around 270 square feet. No it’s not big, and because I also work at home, as does Olivier, we both spend a lot of time here. Our studio apartment is the central point from which all daily life stems. To live well in such a small space, you have to be a little creative, and a lot patient. Of course we’ve thought about finding a bigger apartment in Paris, and have even consulted rental agencies, prospected with private landlords and visited a number of apartments. The problem isn’t only the prices, which are expensive. We could afford the average price of around 850 Euros for a one bedroom in a decent neighborhood.

The big problem with renting an apartment, and especially in Paris, is all that is required to do so. Renters are highly protected in France, to the point where a landlord could spend a year trying to evict someone who wasn’t paying rent. So to rent you have to show that you can pay at least 3 times the price of rent, for starters. The best candidates are employees who can show pay stubs and a couple years worth of tax declarations. If you’re revenue isn’t sufficient, it is common practice to have someone “vouch” for you, usually a family member. That means that they prove their financial status (pay stubs, tax receipts), and that they write a letter committing themselves to pay in your stead should you miss a payment. If you work for yourself as I do, and therefore don’t have pay stubs, you have to show three years worth of accounting that prove a stable income. Of course, a freelancer’s income is rarely stable. And if you don’t have someone to vouch for you to make up the difference, the only other choice is a bank caution, which means blocking a year’s worth of rent in an account as a guarantee. Who has that kinda cash laying around?

As I write this there is a news documentary on T.V. about the rental crisis in France. They just showed several cases of people living in hotels, often roach infested, in not much more than 8-10 m2 with shared toilet in the hall and mildew on the ceilings, and these people were paying between 350-380 Euros per month. It’s a sad state of affairs. We’re living large compared to many. Our building is clean and secure with an elevator and a concierge. We have central heating and a bathtub. We have a washing machine, gas stove & oven, and wireless Internet. We have a beautiful panoramic view of the city. Best of all, we pay only 350 Euros per month. Unheard of.

Our super-duper couch-bed. Every night we put wood planks under the mattress to make it more comfortable, then stow them behind a door during the day.

The key to small space? Shelves galore!

My office.

Nice, eh?

For 500 Euros more, we could expect maybe 20 m2 more space, but the building wouldn’t necessarily be as nice, we surely wouldn’t have the same view, and could probably count on electric heat. Lots of reasons to stay put, stay creative and stay patient.

Christmas corner, kitchen corner.

We don’t use half these cups.

Hers and his closets.

We could use a few more shelves though…

…especially in the bathroom.