This morning while doing some laundry, I’ll answer some of your questions. (Each of these combination washer/dryer machines are a little different so I had to pore over the directions before beginning. How badly can I screw up towels, though…?)
Yes, I am having a great time; and I really like the apartment. It's bright and one of the two heaters seems to be enough to keep me warm. Since the three double windows look down into a courtyard, I don’t hear any traffic noise; and the neighbors, if any, are quiet. I’m thinking now that the unit above me is another rental and some Americans checked in yesterday afternoon. How do I know they’re Americans? Because they made a lot of noise lugging stuff up the stairs (60 steps for them to the fourth floor) and I heard a distinctively American feminine accent lament, “I brought too much stuff…” Definitely Americans.
No, I have not started a morning café routine at this time. I have stumbled across three Starbucks stores, which makes five that I’m aware of and I have not stopped in any of those. (In fact, I have not returned to the Café au Marche where I met the young man on my first day—don’t know what came over me—must’ve been jet lag.) Because I seem to be staying up so late and since the sun currently does not rise until 8:42, I have had trouble getting out of bed. Additionally, I’m trying to be a good neighbor (to the lady living below) by not hopping in the shower so early. That must change, however; I want to watch my neighborhood wake up—I think there’s a market in the mornings.
Yes, I’m feeling better although my throat is still a little sore. Despite that, last night while the housekeeper was here (every Saturday from 6-8 PM), I walked many miles around the city. I love walking at night because buildings that you would never notice during the day are lit up and so, so very fancy. One couple stopped me along the Seine to ask a question while pointing at one of these beautiful monuments. As they started to speak, I explained (en francais) that I don’t speak French very well—they were actually Italian, and didn’t speak French or English! But I was able to explain that the beautiful golden dome glowing in the distance was Invalides, Napoleon’s tomb. The lady thought I mean Napoleon’s house (villa? she said) and I had a very tough time trying to explain that it was his tomb—not his house nor the place he died. This after I pretended to slash my throat and die. After all our charades, I don’t think I ever got it across to them; but they were sweet, we laughed a lot, and it was a great unplanned moment. Finally, we all gave up and continued on our ways. (Picture is of my favorite bridge, Pont Alexandre III with Hotel des Invalides in the background.)
No, French people are not rude. Anytime I say that I’m going to France, most people make that comment--even the guy at my post office in Houston when I told him on December 30th that I would be gone for 10 weeks. When I explained to him that French people are not nearly as outgoing as we are—in fact, many Europeans actually consider our friendliness and chattiness phony, which is many cases it is—he concurred that, being from Chicago, he’s often put off by Houstonians asking him how he is when he knows they really don't care. We laughed about being Yankees, which many of the people I’ve met in the South consider the ultimate insult.
So when in Rome….I mean, Paris… Typically, you don’t smile or speak to strangers on the street or chat up the service people as we do in parts of the US. You don’t expect to learn all about their family, their jobs, their home, etc. within the first minutes of speaking to them and you also don’t give them a run-down on your life as we tend to do in Houston. In fact, they may think you’re senile when walking down the street smiling and nodding at everyone!
However, I have never had a problem (so far). Everyone is pleasant to me and when I speak their language, they are patient. I let them take the lead—if they catch my eye and smile or say, “Bonjour,” then I do the same. However, the other night when cutting through one of my local parks, an older gentleman sitting on a bench smiled and said “Bonsoir” (good evening) before I had hardly glanced at him. I, of course, taken off guard and distracted by the various conversations going on among the Parisians around me thought he said “Ca va?” (familiar {versus formal} how are you?—which really made no sense at all, knowing what I just explained to you above) and I replied, not missing a pace in my brisk stroll, “Ca va” (familiar I am OK). I hope his hearing was as bad as mine…
Yes, I am having a great time; and I really like the apartment. It's bright and one of the two heaters seems to be enough to keep me warm. Since the three double windows look down into a courtyard, I don’t hear any traffic noise; and the neighbors, if any, are quiet. I’m thinking now that the unit above me is another rental and some Americans checked in yesterday afternoon. How do I know they’re Americans? Because they made a lot of noise lugging stuff up the stairs (60 steps for them to the fourth floor) and I heard a distinctively American feminine accent lament, “I brought too much stuff…” Definitely Americans.
No, I have not started a morning café routine at this time. I have stumbled across three Starbucks stores, which makes five that I’m aware of and I have not stopped in any of those. (In fact, I have not returned to the Café au Marche where I met the young man on my first day—don’t know what came over me—must’ve been jet lag.) Because I seem to be staying up so late and since the sun currently does not rise until 8:42, I have had trouble getting out of bed. Additionally, I’m trying to be a good neighbor (to the lady living below) by not hopping in the shower so early. That must change, however; I want to watch my neighborhood wake up—I think there’s a market in the mornings.
Yes, I’m feeling better although my throat is still a little sore. Despite that, last night while the housekeeper was here (every Saturday from 6-8 PM), I walked many miles around the city. I love walking at night because buildings that you would never notice during the day are lit up and so, so very fancy. One couple stopped me along the Seine to ask a question while pointing at one of these beautiful monuments. As they started to speak, I explained (en francais) that I don’t speak French very well—they were actually Italian, and didn’t speak French or English! But I was able to explain that the beautiful golden dome glowing in the distance was Invalides, Napoleon’s tomb. The lady thought I mean Napoleon’s house (villa? she said) and I had a very tough time trying to explain that it was his tomb—not his house nor the place he died. This after I pretended to slash my throat and die. After all our charades, I don’t think I ever got it across to them; but they were sweet, we laughed a lot, and it was a great unplanned moment. Finally, we all gave up and continued on our ways. (Picture is of my favorite bridge, Pont Alexandre III with Hotel des Invalides in the background.)
No, French people are not rude. Anytime I say that I’m going to France, most people make that comment--even the guy at my post office in Houston when I told him on December 30th that I would be gone for 10 weeks. When I explained to him that French people are not nearly as outgoing as we are—in fact, many Europeans actually consider our friendliness and chattiness phony, which is many cases it is—he concurred that, being from Chicago, he’s often put off by Houstonians asking him how he is when he knows they really don't care. We laughed about being Yankees, which many of the people I’ve met in the South consider the ultimate insult.So when in Rome….I mean, Paris… Typically, you don’t smile or speak to strangers on the street or chat up the service people as we do in parts of the US. You don’t expect to learn all about their family, their jobs, their home, etc. within the first minutes of speaking to them and you also don’t give them a run-down on your life as we tend to do in Houston. In fact, they may think you’re senile when walking down the street smiling and nodding at everyone!
However, I have never had a problem (so far). Everyone is pleasant to me and when I speak their language, they are patient. I let them take the lead—if they catch my eye and smile or say, “Bonjour,” then I do the same. However, the other night when cutting through one of my local parks, an older gentleman sitting on a bench smiled and said “Bonsoir” (good evening) before I had hardly glanced at him. I, of course, taken off guard and distracted by the various conversations going on among the Parisians around me thought he said “Ca va?” (familiar {versus formal} how are you?—which really made no sense at all, knowing what I just explained to you above) and I replied, not missing a pace in my brisk stroll, “Ca va” (familiar I am OK). I hope his hearing was as bad as mine…
