BED BUGS AND SYNCHRONICITIES
PARIS IS (STILL) ALWAYS A GOOD IDEA
FAIRY TALES
Cue the villain…
I remembered this week that every fairytale is made captivating by way of introducing a villain or an unexpected conflict that must be overcome. And since I’ve been practicing a lot on this trip how to live in a fairytale (actually, I was getting pretty good at it) – it’s about time my conflict-to-overcome was written into the script. (Insert a fifth grader heavy eyeroll here with a side of CortiSédermyl Crème.)
10 days into my stay in The ummmmm ever inspiring making-me-permagrin-all-the-live -long-day City of Lights, my villain reared its ugly (itty bitty teeny weeny red spot-like) head and bit the hell out of me… twenty times no less! Mama got those bed bugs!
They hitched a ride with me from my first (gross) apartment in the 10th (that I definitely knew better than to stay at. It was the Lower East Side of Paris. Hey! Come on.. You all know there are a few gross do-not-stay, do-not-even-go-close-to those kind of LES blocks in NYC) to my gorgeous upgrade of a pied- à-terre in what I consider the Upper East Side of Paris in the 9th.
Mission Bed Bugs is what I’m calling it (Or, if I’m feeling moody about it — which is ALWAYS — Bed Bug Nightmares. BBN for short). After leaving my disaster in the 10th and moving to my dream in the 9th - I woke myself up by clawing at my skin trying to itch the bites away. I counted 20+ welts, found three specks of pepper on the sheets – that actually turned out to be the three villain bed bugs, photo documented everything, contacted my new host (this ordeal has made us bffs), worked with her to hire a fumigator (god! He was incredible!), paid fumigator ($1500 poorer), and yell-emailed, ooop I mean kindly kept-my-cool-emailed the previous host (spelling out that “the bed bugs will be our little secret if (he) handed over my full refund mother &%$#@$.” Oddly enough, he never read between the lines of my threat – ooop happened again – I mean my nice offer. Instead…) He rejected my four requests for a full refund and in return, I have written a bugged-out review on his page that should repel anyone from renting. (Yes, couldn’t resist the obvious puns here.)
Airbnb and I are still in litigation. Feels like that anyway. It’s been insane! I could (and may) write a book about it.
DEEP BREATHS now though, because 1. Jane tells me it’s chic to have a BBN. She promptly sent me this article to prove it. and 2. I am proud to say that I haven’t had a bite since the first night. I just handled it! And now, I’m the expert! If you’re ever in Paris and in need of an exterminator who literally will zap those little monsters to their death. You will need to first find a French speaking citizen who is not only not afraid, but is willing to come close to your bright red spotted bed-bug-bitten arms and legs to make the call for you to: Stop Aux Nuisibles. Then, have them ask for Luigi. He, in his white suit and gloves will, well, white- glove service it!
And if you need a good laverie automatique, and you will, to ruin — I mean wash — ALL your clothes in the HOTTEST of water and be scorched by the inferno dryers — I got you covered there too! Cleanest one in town was discovered (and used) by moi for the better part of two days where I took my travel companion: French for Dummies to study while my cycles spun.
FRENCH TWIST
To rewind before this BBN … I arrived at 7:16 pm on May 14th to a cloudy, buzzing city, and by 7:17pm I had already been hit on by a Frenchman. Pascal slipped me his card – accompanied by a very exasperated expression of dismay that I had declined his offer to join him in the snack car during our 7 hour ride from Milano for a coffee. He wasn’t giving up. He invited me for drinks or “at least to think about it.” Somehow, I (instantly!) lost his card. I had my own date to get to that night, Pascal – PARIS!
I got to my (ahem, not so ideal apartment as you’ve read) in the 10th Arrondissement, and decided to hunker down, unpack, settle in, and SLEEP (a week with Poppi late-night dinners, followed by early morning cooking classes, before my 27 hour jaunt to Milano all had me sleeeeepy). The next morning I walked over to Jardin du Luxembourg permagrinning my whole stroll through Saint Germain and then straight to Margaux: THE MOST precious little Parisian boodle there ever was. (Can’t believe there’s no photo proof. Will snap away next time!)
One of my best friends from NYC, Miranda, lives here with her husband Nico and brand spanken new smiley boopy Margaux. I got to spend the day in their neighborhood across the Seine – gabbing, eating, snuggling a baby. After our visit, I was 10th bound and detouring every chance I got. Oh hey, Notre Dame! I see you Musée du Louvre! How you Champs-Élysées? Look at you shine Eiffel Tower! I snapped a few pictures of the Three Billy Goats Gruff – the unsupervised lawn-mowers in front of the Hôtel des Invalides eating all the grass, before Paris rolled out the red carpet for me.
She downpoured. Couldn’t have planned it any better. First day – walking Paris in the rain. Heaven!
Over these weeks I have eaten all the escargot, consumed all the Chablis, licked all the chocolate mouse and glace, seen photo shoots galore, and logged practically 17 marathons on my sneaks. Anytime someone would speak to me in French – I would politely give them the finger. The pointer finger!! Come on guys! Signaling them to hold please while I thumbed hurriedly through my French for Dummies – she’s been a wonderful and communicative companion so far!
Everyone is eager to speak English (probably to speed things along – lord knows I’m holding this whole city up. Taking on averaging about a half hour to order each item at lunch). But they are true sports. Forever coming at me hard with patience, smiles, pronunciation lessons (will I ever hear the difference between oo and ew?), and sometimes even a “I’m proud of you for trying so hard” freebie Chablis. (Ok, that’s only happened once. But still! Greenlight!)
Throughout these first few weeks here though, I must agree with Dave Sedaris’s This American Life in Paris episode. I have also found myself buying useless things, over ordering, and sitting for a coffee when I DO NOT need the extra caffeine. All so that I can have an excuse to practice speaking.
All that’s about to change next week though when roll is called at Language Studies International – my school for the next six weeks. Soon practice will make parfait!
SYNCHRONICITIES
So … AFTER handling BBN, and holding it together miraculously for two days. It took me calling my mom – hearing her simply answer the phone – to let the floodgates open. How do mama’s do this to us? I hadn’t shed a tear yet. Hadn't really even wanted to. And then BOOM. They’re safe and lord knows that safety warranted me to sob. Throw a pity party. Boo hoo. Ugly cry. And keep her on the phone with me for about two hours. After weeping to her, then laughing with her, she suggested that I go to a church like setting that day and listen to music or chants or just be around spirit – she told me “that will reset you.” I already felt reset by releasing all that CRAZY out, yet LO AND BEHOLD… enter FIRST synchronicity…
I found myself in this beautiful area of the 17th (had wandered there during our talk) and reached out to my girlfriend Selden, who I thought lived in that hood. She didn’t, but she was serendipitously a few blocks away and invited me to join her and her friend, Marshall, for a spritz aperol in the square out front of the Theatre de l’Atelier in Montmartre. Majestic!
When she had to leave, her friend, and my new friend, asked me if I had ever been to Basilique Du Sacré-Cœur, (a “church like setting” synchronicity), he said he hadn’t been in and while and would love to walk there with me. My breath was taken immediately when we arrived. (Yes, it probably most likely was 100% due to the 10000 steps we climbed to get there. But whatever breath I had left - was taken by its shear beauty.) UNREAL. All the times I've been to Paris, I had never been there. He suggested we go in and would you guess it?! (my mom would. She had willed this to happen for me, I just know it!) they were chanting prayers followed by song. Synchronicity after synchronicity! She was right. It, and the spritz aperol just before, had indeed reset me.
Enter synchronicity deux… The next morning, feeling inspired again, I went to Jardin des Tuileries. My apartment’s two blocks away, so have been doing this regularly. I was reading in the sun when on stage left Maximilian Magnus appears.
I had just moved to that spot when all of three minutes later, this handsome man, licking a mint chocolate chip cone and drinking an americano, sat beside me. Striking up a conversation I learned that he was only in town for the night and that he was an artist. I, not a savant, asked if he knew the ONLY artist who I have any sort of semi connection to: Willem De Kooning. This is WILD – so buckle up.
He was SHOCKED. Almost dumbfounded, speechless, that I asked about HIM. Maximilian ended up telling me that he had work in De Kooning’s workshop for several summers in Springs, NY. (Makes me giggle even writing this.) One of the summers being THE summer I lived right beside De Kooning’s studio. IS. THAT. INCREDIBLE!? He not only knew the artist I mentioned intimately, as I had, he knew/lived in the smallest little Long Island town, as I had. On the same road, as I had! In the same year, as I had! We were neighbors and had never met.
We spent an hour reminiscing about that town before he attended a meeting and I put my nose back in my studies. I swear – after we exchanged numbers, he texted me this one word unprompted by moi – “synchronicity.” chills.
And finally, last night, after my (almost daily) visit to SoHo House’s steam and sauna room (addict) I was up in the lounge cooling off when in walked Jesse and Lucas – two LA expats who I now call friends. They sat beside me. So what would a southern raised to ignore that “never speak to strangers” nonsense do? Naturally, I made those at first uncomfortable by striking up a conversation and then won them over!
Turns out, Jesse has also just moved to Paris for TWO MONTHS (ummm synchro!!) for “the fun of it.” Is studying the language (synchro!! synchro!!) and living in my dream neighborhood, Les Marias.
It was wild. He out of nowhere said “I’d be down to trade apartments to be in this hood if you would be.” WHAT??!!! I am obsessed with the Le Marais and knew I had called in that offer – alas I didn’t dare tell him about Luigi so knew I had to decline. (He was wild about my place. Gushed over the pictures — so had the BBN not occurred we would have house swapped the heck out of these two pied-a-terres.) We decided to stay in our respected apartments – but greenlight! He offered for me to stay at his when my place runs out. My lease is up the day before my school ends. So, since I’ll still be in school and he’ll be in southern France attending a wedding, it will be open for moi. SYNCHRONICITY. Having lunch with them tomorrow!
[NO PICTURES of these two — damn SoHo House “no camera” rule — so stay tuned for when we’re in the wild. I’ll snap us for sure.]
Next week I promise to provide a food ADDRESS BOOK! Didn’t cover any of the restaurants this week — Though I went to some GREAT ONES! Can’t wait to share.
For now - I’ve just returned from Les Quatre Saisons de Antonio Vivaldi concert at L’église de la Madeleine (one block from my apartment), where I finally got to break out my high heels! Lord knows my prissy self has been missing my clippy cloppies. Ave Maria had be chocked up. She gets me every time! It was beautiful. Yet, THE most beautiful part of the whole evening was that there were Chinese sisters in front of me, a Dutch couple behind me (she shushed her husband SO loud every time he whispered to her while they were playing - I was crying laughing. UNnecessary mama! Let the man tell you a secret!), a German family to my right, Italians the row over, and French ummmm everywhere else. Shocked me, to see that everyone would look at the person next to them with excitement when a familiar tune was played. Another synchronicity or really just a download. Music is universal — of course I knew that but for some reason tonight with it up close and personal... It blew my mind! We don’t speak the same languages or have the same culture, or traditions, and yet we all recognize/know the SAME cords. Wild!
And actually, while I’m on the topic of universal sounds, can we talk for a minute about sirens? Why in the world aren’t they all the same sound in every country?!! I shared this thought with my friend Sarah this week. While we were on the phone, a police car was singing in the background. Sounded nothing like the ones in the US. Why not!? This should be a call to order in the United Nations next summit. Regardless of where you go in the world, even when you don’t speak the language, we all speak “emergency.” We should know what to listen out for. Am I right or what?! I mean, AC for Pres!
I derail.
Ok all.. Sweet dreams and don’t, I repeat, DO NOT let the bed bugs bite. I certainly won’t ever again!
Next week I’ll be EN ROUTE to the Language Studies International where I’ll be an étudiante de Français. Stay tuned for my report card… Pretty sure I’m looking at nothing but A+’s in my future!
Paris is always a good idea. I hope to go back one day.
I love you, Annie! Call me anytime if you need an ear and a virtu hug. 843-421-7640