Bienvenue to moi! I hereby proclaim my triumphant return to this fabulous world of blogging. Go pee if you have to, grab a snack, and make sure your laptop/PDA is fully charged because this blog promises to be entertainingly and informatively long. You may laugh, you may cry, you may end up doing the macarena in a ten-gallon cowboy hat with Cher... all things are possible. Let the blog (pause.. pause..) commence!
My hood... neighborhood that is...
Why yes, yes I do. I'm living in a lovely area called the 15th arrondissement. You take the metro until you're somewhat near the Eiffel Tower (one stop away, to be exact). You descend the filth covered stairs and exit the through the automatic doors that enclose the metro stop. The rusted overpass rattle as the train cars rolls above. You walk past a man of some ethnic decent who sells fresh fruit on a small, cardboard table. Cross the street, and voilà! I live just off of the major street. My street (apologies for saying the word "street" so many times) is wonderful. I mean it. Walking down the sidewalks, you pass a fresh fruit store, followed by a flower shop, than a wine shop, then a ready-to-eat meat store where the scent of rotisserie chicken wafts into your nostrils, causing an automatic hunger. Past the shop of poultry delights, there is a seafood store, proudly displaying a wide range of exotic (and not so exotic) underwater sea-friends, which stare at you, beady-eyed, as they lay on a bed of ice. My surge in appetite (from the rotisserie chicken, of course) is quickly suppressed as the overwhelming odor of low-tide punches me in the face. That, my friends, is only one side of the street. On the other side, there is a butchery, a cheese store (yes... a store that only sells cheese... aka heaven?), and a wonderful bakery that displays meringue cookies the size of an average-sized infant.
The amount and variety of food on my street could not only feed a small country, but also satisfy most epicureans. My favorite (too expensive, yet worth every penny) is a Lebanese joint. I think its food display case (much like at a typical deli counter of any supermarket) was crafted by God himself. I'm talking- mounds of glistening olives, heaps of fresh grape leaves, hummus, meats, vegetables, rices... And it gets better- on the other side of the restaurant is a giant display case (equal in size to the giant display case of divinity across from it) filled entirely with Baklava... Bakalva with pistachios, almonds, honey, no-honey, triangled baklava, squared baklava- the list continues. I've never seen that much baklava in my life.
So, by now you know that my heart is one with food, which is clearly the obvious reason for which I chose to live on this particular street... that, and my apartment.
Mon Appartement
After you pass the Alsatian bakery, you arrive at a series of small shops. Once you get to the real estate agency, you see 2 massive green, wooden doors. I'm talking MASSIVE. The doors are weathered, and paint frequently chips off, but they serve their purpose. After typing in the secret code, you walk into a large foyer with a floor of gray, giant cobblestones. You walk. Immediately in front of you is an opening to a large, semi-concrete courtyard. There are small hut-like structures whose roofs are covered in grass. It's quite difficult to explain- and I clearly have served the courtyard no justice in my describing it. It has a rustic, antique charm that may be less obvious to the eyes of many. But, that was just the courtyard. Having gone only a mere few feet from the giant doors of the entrance, you see a staircase to your left. You climb the cold, stone stairs and reach a black and white tiled landing. From there, you continue mounting the stairs until you reach the fourth floor. My floor.
Upon entering my apartment, you step into a narrow hallway. To your immediate right are folding doors suitable for any closet. This, however, is no closet. Instead, these white doors open up to the most ridiculous bathroom that I have ever owned (...rented). You step up just a few inches as you enter. Immediately on your right is a bathtub. The curtain rod dangles limply from the ceiling. Dangles? you ask. Yes, the curtain rod dangles as it is attached to the ceiling by clear, plastic, fishing line. The toilet is just in front of you, hidden by a curtain (for some reason..) and above it is a large, cream-colored plastic container. This container is our boiler, apparently. Fun story- I can only take a 7 minute shower before all of the hot water is gone. It sucks.
Awww poop. I'm really tired. I'll finish writing my home description tomorrow, with, of course, more updates.
Gnight to all!
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