Staples

History is everywhere

This very influential figure in French history played a pivotal role in bringing pizza to the Parisians in 1515. Later in life he also became known for helping Father Christmas with his big night.

Art & Bar Huitre

Our good friend Bernhard from Rome came to visit. After a day at the d'Orsay, we had to regain our strength with a giant platter of Fruits de Mer.

Night View

View from Pont Neuf.

Paris Digs

As unbelievable as it may seem, having crappy housing, even in a city like Paris, can be a real drag. So with a little Internet savvy and a few extra Euros to spend, we managed to secure ourselves a sweet pad overlooking the Seine.

Two marble fireplaces, big dining room, flat screen tv. Heck, this place is better than home. Did I mention the view of the Seine? The man who owns the place has impeccable taste. The décor is both attractive and comfortable with a couple bits of whimsy here and there to help you connect a personality with the collection of things. But, whimsy aside, the dude definitely likes his things.

I do not consider myself a snooper. When I go to someone’s house and use their bathroom, I do not look in their medicine cabinet. As an overnight guest, I never rummage through a closet or peak under the bed. I guess it’s because I just don’t care. Not that I don’t care about knowing people better. I guess I’d rather notice what they want me to see - their book collection, framed photos in the hallway, the art they’ve hung. Their box of sex toys or genital creams in the bathroom are not interesting to me. Barring the discovery of a dead corpse in the freezer, not that much shocks me, so I just don’t snoop. However, when you’re living in someone’s home for several weeks, you’re bound to come across a few things.

Because we had no Mac-friendly Internet access when we got here, we needed to find Internet access in order to set up internet access (comprennez-vous?). Yes, we could find an Internet depot or go to the wifi café directly below us, but wouldn’t it be easier to just use THIS guy’s computer? Since there’s only one closet in the place, we didn’t have to snoop too long. Sure enough, on top of a stack of neatly pressed shirts was a working laptop. Plugged it in and bingo - Internet at our fingertips. But wait…something about that closet. Something about it made me want to go back and take a second look.

It was a sea of Christian Dior suits. The neatly pressed shirts were all Dolce & Gabbana. A row of shoes – Gucci. I’d never seen so many designer clothes in one person’s closet. And it didn’t end there. Making dinner that night, I worked my way around the kitchen. More Dior – cups, plates, an ashtray. A Christofle champagne bucket…no, make that three Christofle champagne buckets. Even the espresso machine only accepted coffee from a haute couture shop. That night, after drying my face with a Lacoste towel, I snuggled into Calvin Klein sheets. I fell asleep staring at my second-hand-store dresses hanging in the closet. I dreamed the closet kept spitting them out and begging for more Versace. I had to go shopping in the morning.

Paris Arrival

We arrived in Paris on Saturday. I know your fingers must be sore from gripping the arms of your chair for six days, but I have good reason for the delay in posting. We hit a few snafus.

Although our flat came as promised with high-speed dsl connection, it wasn’t set up to work with Mac. This matching iBook couple was left with an AOL disc and instructions to download a driver. After some hair-pulling and surreptitious laptop borrowing (see Paris Digs), we found ourselves two days later in a computer store called FNAC.

The scene looked familiar, two floors, products grouped by type, entertainment and hardcore equipment. And then there’s the Mac section. All by itself, tucked into the back was the 15 x 15 foot space shelved with Mac-friendly stuff. In the center sat the ringmaster, a 22-year-old technophile, exactly like those working at the Apple store back home, only he doesn’t speak English. Jeff chose a router he thought suitable for our needs and we made our way over to the help guy. Although my French is slick enough for food ordering and pushing people out of the way on the train, I knew I was in over my head at the computer store. The conversation went something like this:

Me: (in French) Hello. I have a question but I’m sorry I don’t speak much French. Do you speak English?
Sales kid: (in French) I speak German and some Jawa, in the dialect presented in Star Wars episode IV. I also know Linux. Very little English.
Jeff: (in English, settling for only the most basic of all his questions) Will this work with Mac?
Sales kid: Mac? Yes.

Not entirely confident with our choice, we hovered around a bunch of other stuff we hoped might also get us online if our Mac router didn’t work. On display were a dozen different keyboards. Although the pictures on the boxes showed our familiar English keyboard setup, we quickly realized French keyboards were in most of the boxes. This time I approached another help guy intending on communicating in French. What usually happens when I’m under pressure and say something in French is it comes out a little garbled…just a little. This time was no different:

Me: (in French, holding a keyboard box) Is this an English keyboard?
Sales kid: (in French, pointing to picture on box) Yes, it shows an English keyboard.
Me: All the gifts have (made up Franglais word for pictures) with English keyboards.
Sales kid: (look of confusion)
Me: All the gifts show this (pointing to picture).
Sales kid: I’ll get someone who speaks English….you dumb weirdo.

Jeff and I gave up on finding an English keyboard and committed to making the router work. A few hours and phone calls to the UK router helpline later, Jeff had our wifi up and running. I can now lay on the chaise, overlooking the Seine, while communicating with the entire internet world. La vie est bon.