first day: Monday, February 2

February 2, 2009

Paris greeted me last Monday morning with a fresh coat of snow. I shared a taxicab with a girl from Los Angeles who was meeting her sister and mother for a weeklong Parisian vacation. Imagine her delight as she encountered both Paris, and snow, for the first time. The Champs-Elysees was frosted a luminous shimmering white, as if it had known and readied itself for my re-arrival almost three years later. I was ready, or so I thought: in a place where cultivating one's image has been transformed into almost an art form, I had the "de rigueur" flat, leather boots (chic but good for navigating Paris' cobblestones) and multitude of patterned scarves with which Parisian women accessorize their monochromatic outfits. I had learned from almost 7 months here that Parisian women wear out one or two beautiful, high-quality basics - leather boots, well-tailored coat, expensive bag - instead of splurging on a plethora of lower-quality items.

I had initially asked to be dropped off at a studio in the 16th arrondissement - a residential, bourgeois neighborhood in the west of Paris (think Upper East Side or Grosse Pointe - families and old ladies with pooches and brooches). The studio was a former "chambre de bonne" - maid's quarters with a separate entrance - common to the stately Haussmanian mansions that populate the 16th and 8th arrondissements. I had arranged a rendez-vous with the American owner for 9 am that morning, but the snow made it impossible to arrive on time, and the Spanish "guardienne" of the building ("guardian" or "superintendent") gave me my keys instead. The studio had a beautiful view of the Paris rooftops and Eiffel Tower, but somehow felt as if it had been abandoned for quite some time. I couldn't exactly say why I didn't feel at home there - perhaps it was that I felt a bit empty arriving in an apartment where no one was expecting me. I learned something about myself that day: I had initially thought living alone in a studio would be exciting and exhilarating, but it turned out that in a city where I no longer knew anyone, I needed *someone* - even a stranger - to await my arrival. Thus, I called an Italian couple with whom I had been exchanging emails prior to my arrival to ask if they still had an extra bedroom, and after tediously re-packing my belongings, had the Spanish guardienne hail me a cab to the Italian couple's duplex in "Le Marais," an artsy and eclectic neighborhood crammed with fashionistas, creative types, and vintage boutiques. . . . 

(View outside 16th arrondissement studio, at the top)