The Grand Tour

I've been promising pictures of the apartment I live in, and now I can finally deliver. I was waiting for a nice sunny day so I could have natural light. Silly me. It's Paris, and it's winter. We have had cold, wet, rainy days, which I actually enjoy quite a bit. The sun has come out a couple of times, which was cause for much rejoicing; blue sky is so much more beautiful if you've been without it for a couple of weeks.



Now for the tour: we live on Blvd Richard Lenoir just up the street from the Brégeut-Sabin station on line 5 of the métro. François Richard-Lenoir (according to wikipedia.fr) was an 18th-19th century investor who brought the cotton industry to Paris.



That may not be terribly thrilling, but the fact that we can see the former site of the Bastille from our front door is pretty cool. Our building was built in 1850, which Madame said was not very old. That first night I didn't believe her, but after a couple of weeks in Paris I agree.



There are codes to get into the door from the street, then we climb into a tiny elevator (seriously, three adults can be squished in and that's it) and climb up to the 4me étage, or the 5th floor.



My roommate Angela and I each have our own room. I love my little room! It is very little, but after living in college apartments and dorm rooms for the last 3 years, having my own room no matter the size is a luxury I enjoy. It's actually very
cozy; I have a desk, two dressers, and a wardrobe (I haven't made it into Narnia yet, but any day now...); the wardrobe and a dresser have to opened with an old skeleton key.



I have a window that opens and that looks out onto the street.



Did I mention I love my room?

We share an American style bathroom just down the hall. That's right folks, the toilet is in the same room as the sink and shower. Crazy sauce. What's funny is that right next to our salle de douche (since we have a shower, not a bathtub) is a little water closet with a toilet that Madame uses, and across the hall is Madame's bathroom (salle de bain, since she has a bathtub). She is very accommodating for the American students who live with her, but remains ever and always very French herself.

The kitchen, where we eat breakfast, is absolutely adorable.



From the kitchen window we can see into an artist's apartment downstairs and across the courtyard. He or she paints large canvases Jackson Pollock style; even the drapes are covered in paint of all colors.



We can also look out across the rooftops and chimneys to a very nice sunrise, if we wake up in time.



I don't spend much time in the living room, but I really should. I'm hoping, fingers crossed, that Madame Des Mazery will want to watch the Olympic games as much as I do. She has a piano in there too, which I enjoy playing every now and then.



We eat dinner with Madame three nights a week in the dining room. It's a bit more formal then I'm used to, but she's very patient and tolerant of our funny ways. I think she sometimes gets a kick out watching us wonder how to eat a new cheese,
or hearing us say yes when she asks how our day was.



In the evenings when I'm at my computer it's surprisingly and dangerously easy to forget where I am. I've gotten used to the routine of breakfast, going out, and coming back here. Thankfully something happens everyday to remind to keep soaking up everything I can. Yesterday I was trying to find a grocery store, and all of a sudden there was the Eiffel Tower all lit up. Today I stood in a church where Cardinal Richelieu said mass, ran into (literally) a Jesuit (I'm still geeking out about that one), and walked down the street where Henri IV was assassinated. So even though in the daily habits I sometimes forget where I am, it still blows my mind. I'm in Paris.