Paris, it all started with a tampon.
So the caretaker didn’t speak any English and it didn’t help that I didn’t speak any French.
“Erm, Parlez-vous anglais?” I said once I finally managed to enter the building with all my luggage.
“Non.” she replied with a shrug.
Problème numéro un of renting privately instead of staying in a hotel abroad is that it is very likely that no one will understand you.
After a few moments of shared confusion a young boy came out of the caretakers door and stood by her side. He spoke “a little” English and with what he did know he told me that I was the first to arrive for the apartment on the top floor. Great! I though, I get first pick of the bed and some time to settle in before the girls arrive.
He handed me a large brass key and ushered me to another doorway framed by two red columns. I let out a little squeal, a red carpet how fancy! He walked ahead of me not bothering to hold the door open while I dragged my luggage in behind me. Dick.
“Leave your case here, I’ll show you first.” he said pointing up the stairs.
I wasn’t completely comfortable with leaving all my luggage but since they were so heavy and double locked I figured that no one would bother stealing them.
It didn’t dawn on me that there was no elevator option until the 8th flight of stairs. The boy remained quiet and moved at a steady pace as we both continued to climb what seemed like an endless amount of floors. By the time we reached the top I was exhausted like I’d just done an hour long crossfit session (I’ve never actually done crossfit but I’d imagine this is what it would feel like).
“How many stairs?” I asked trying not to sound completely out of breath and like I was about to keel over at any moment.
“Ah umm.” he said searching for the English translation as I tried to search for my legs which had now gone numb.
“142.” he stated. I looked down the middle and couldn’t even see the red carpet that lined the first five floors. I’d officially pasted chic Parisian and entered the servant’s quarters.
After he showed me how to open the door to the apartment he disappeared. I thought the chances of him going back down to collect my very heavy luggage and bring it up to my room was slim to nil. That didn’t stop me from praying he would anyway.
This prayer included half a bottle of wine on my new French balcony! Yep just make like the Europeans and drink all your problems away.
The problem with drinking is that sooner or later you need to use the ‘facilities’.
Hmm, strange grinding noise followed by hollow gurgling noise, I may not be French but I do know that this is not the sort of sound that a toilet should make.
But that’s not my problem for I am in Paris for 10 blissful days and nothing can rain on my fabulous French parade.
And with that I downed the rest of my glass of wine, rolled up my sleeves and dragged my suitcases up every one of those damn steps.
As you know, cross fit of any kind, is hard work and soon I was ravenous! There was only one thing on my mind after that. Cafe au lait and croissants…
After wandering a block away from the apartment I was tempted by a stunning assortments of cakes and croissants in the window of a popular patisserie, Maison Pradier. The deal was 1 cafe, and 1 croissant ou pain au chocolat for 2,50 so naturally I got two…
As I approached the bottom of the never-ending staircase with my groceries, I decided to look at the positives instead of the negatives.
1. If I will be eating this much bread and cheese it is only fair that I work it off somehow
2. I’m less likely to run down and buy midnight snacks in fear that I won’t make it back up again
3. The more steps you have to take to your room the better the view hey?