Of Paris and Panic

At this point, it was time for me to déménager (move). I wanted to look as Parisian, and as little like what I was, as possible, so I managed to fit everything, including my purse and the food I had bought in anticipating of having to cook my own meals, into my suitcase and my carry-on bag. I have decided since, though, that there is no way to make sixty-five to seventy pounds’ worth of stuff easy to move on the metro. It was not designed with déménageurs in mind. From the barriers that were too narrow for my suitcase (causing me to enlist the help of a passing Parisian in hefting it over the turnstile), to the endless flights of airs, to the swiftly-closing train doors, it was a muscle-forming experience. As well as being the cheapest way to get around the city, it was also my first opportunity to use my new Passe Navigo, the picture-IDed metro card that allows me unlimited rides for a month (and only at the low, low price of 53,50 euros [yes, those are commas; the French use them instead of decimal points, and decimal points instead of commas in long numbers]!). The card really is a good deal, considering that each ride otherwise is 1,50 euros; plus it is really fun to swipe it on the turnstile and feel like a regular resident.

I finally ended up at La Vigie, though, around four o’clock in the afternoon. It is a foyer (like a hostel) for young female students and interns. At 600 euro a month, located in the heart (and I do mean HEART) of Paris on the Île St-Louis, with breakfast and dinner during the work week, and free wireless (when it works), it really is a good deal. Plus, it is a good way to meet other people my age.

When I arrived at La Vigie, however, the good things were not at the front of my mind. The girl who I was replacing, I was told, had not yet moved out of her room and was completely unreachable. The people at the acceuil weren’t sure what to do; they couldn’t even give me a key to the room, since the girl still had it. This meant that I also was beholden to the presence of people at the acceuil to even let me into the foyer. They let me drop off my suitcase at the room, though. This ended up being rather disheartening, however, for by all appearances the girl whose room I was to take had no intention of leaving that night. Her suitcase was still vide (empty) on top of the wardrobe, her clothes were hung in the closet, and personal items were strewn across the floor. In other words, the room was a typical being-lived-in-by-a-college-age-student scenario. Nevertheless, I dropped my suitcase off, removed my purse and other essential articles, and offered to pass the time in faire une randonnée (taking a walk). I had to be at church by 7 anyway, so I figured I would explore this part of the city, keeping an eye out for low-cost grocery stores, hair salons, etc.

It was a couple of hours later that I started to panic. I realized that I had to begin work the next day, but I had no idea at what time, as it was in an email my employer sent me, and I had forgotten to bring an alarm clock with me! I began a desperate search for anything with an internal clock and a buzzer, but, as I said in my previous post, everything is closed on Sundays except for restaurants and museums. Stores with barred windows seemed to mock me as I walked by and saw beautiful digital alarm clocks through the glass. It was getting close to the time when I had to meet the Ramos’ at church, and I had yet to find anything. Finally, my desperate pleas to God for help (which were many, I assure you) were answered, as I had a burst of inspiration. What is the one type of store in Paris that is just about ALWAYS open? Of course, a tourist trap! I headed over to the area around the Louvre, hoping to find one of those stores that sell anything that sits still long enough to be engraved with “Paris”. Success! I am now the proud (if somewhat retrogressive) owner of a pink and purple Tweety Bird alarm clock for only 15 euros. I would have paid just about any price, though.

At 15 minutes before 7, I arrived at St. Michael’s Church (Anglican), one of the few Protestant churches in Paris. It was the English-language service, which means that I was surrounded by people with (GLORIOUS!) British accents. It was very similar to a non-denominational evangelical church; some of the songs were even familiar. The sermon was the last of a pastor who was moving to an English parish, so it focused on Jesus being the only one worthy of our reverence and worship as the perfect shepherd.

In the midst of the service, though, I remembered that I thought I had read that the acceuil at La Vigie closed at 2000h (8 pm). This meant that if I arrived after that time, I would be unable to get in! Even if the girl had moved out of my room, I may not even be able to access any of my stuff! The Ramos’ offered to let me stay with them for the night, but I didn’t have any extra clothes or toiletries with me, of course (this is starting to sound a bit familiar, isn’t it?). And I still didn’t know what time I was supposed to arrive at work! As soon as the service was over, I swiped my Passe Navigo and hurried back to La Vigie.

My prayers were answered yet again when the same man who had helped me earlier was still there at the desk (it closes at 10, not 8). He gave me the key to my room, but on studying the number, I realized that it was a different room than the one in which I had put my things! Again, momentary panic—until I opened the door to find a beautifully-empty room with my carry-on and suitcase waiting for me. Not only did it have a nice desk, sink, closet, bed, huge window, and multiple shelves, but it was also just about as big as my double last year at Princeton!

After I unpacked all my stuff, however, I realized that there were no sheets, blanket, or pillow for the bed. I tried to remember if the literature said they were provided or not (sometimes hostels don’t automatically do so), but the question was moot, because the acceuil was already closed.

At this point, I should probably tell you that Paris is in the midst of a cold spell. While New Jersey, Minnesota, and what seems like the rest of the world is experiencing summer weather, France is experiencing what the girls who have lived at La Vigie for several months call a throwback to winter—upper 50s, lower 60s. I had not packed for such weather; as far as coats are concerned, I had only brought some light cardigans and a jean jacket. Without any sort of bed linens, therefore, I bundled up in everything I had, and spent a restless night waking up every hour or so on account of the cold, as well as fear that I would be betrayed by yet-to-be-proven Tweety.

Sorry these posts are so long. Stay tuned (if I haven’t yet lost you) for the next edition of life à la française.