Paris Day 26: getting booted from the nest (CN)

Came home from class to find my bags (nearly) all packed. Turns out that a cleaning lady (who spoke no English), came in the morning, and was horrified that we were still there. Ginger ended up speaking with a woman at the rental agency, who impressed upon him that we had been expected to be gone yesterday, that there were another renter coming later that day, and that we needed to be out so the apartment could be cleaned for the next occupant. To which he repeatedly replied that he could not vacate the apartment without talking to me first. And so, I gather, they bantered back and forth until she finally understood that he wasn't going to leave, and left the number for me to call back.

So, there I was, totally bewildered and FREAKED OUT! Ginger left the apartment, ostensibly to get us some crepes for lunch, but also with the desire to evade the unpleasantness of the ensuing conversation between myself and the rental agency. Ironically, Gail was out to lunch, and I would need to call back in 40 minutes. By which time Ginger was already back. During this time, I frantically searched for my lease papers, which were not much help, since they described the apartment that I was to have, not the one I ended up in. However, I got rather worked up, since the date on both sets of rental contracts had the 5th as the leave ddate. Found a few emails between myself and Valerie, with my initial dates on it, and was prepared to wave the flag of indignation. However, just in case, I packed up my toiletries and got everything else ready to go.

Finally, after Ginger returned with crepes, I got a hold of Gail, and talked via Celina, whose English was better. The end of it was that we left the apartment on the promise that they would find us another.

Took a cab to the rental agency. There was no way that I would have been able to navigate with my bags through the metro. Realistically, it was difficult enough as it was, and that was with Ginger carrying the heavy duffel bag.

Got the rental agency, and discovered where the error was. It was mine. Let me explain by first telling you that the US is weird. Not only do we use the antiquated (ooh, not metric, but the other one, whose name I can't remember just now!) system of inches, pounds and Farenheit; we also write the date with the month first, instead of the day/month/year format that the rest of the world uses. Thus, I screwed myself when I mistakenly put the exit date as 5/5/08, and not 9/5/08. Luckily, Gail was quite gracious about it, and probably had a private laugh when I explained my mistake to Ginger. This is one of the reasons that I try to be pleasant, even when I want to berate someone ... because half of the time, the fault ends up being mine. I rather think this is a shame, since I would rather be right all of the time, or at least be pleasant by nature, as opposed to pleasant because I feel I have to. Gail found me an apartment a block away, and we were on our way. I'm sure it will cost me a pretty penny, being on the Right Bank. It's just as well that I paid the hefty deposit, and that I did pay for 4 weeks. Hopefully I will get something back.

The new apartment is nice, but not as great as the other apartment. And a good 400 euros more expensive per month. It stood on the second floor, past two flights of narrow, creaky stairs that looked charming, but were rather scary. Blessings again on Ginger who helped me with the bags up. And so, with the labors of the morning done, we set out to see some more Paris sights.

Out to the Marais(?) to see a glass house exhibit. Got there, foudn the address, ut it was all closed up, with no publicity at all. Ginger did manage to catch a glimpse of something through a window, but that's just because he's exceedingly tall. I saw some glass, but it didn't make any sense to me at all.

We walked and talked our way through the streets, having the most indepth conversation I've ever had with a man about the most I'd ever spent on an article of clothing. These days I don't spend a whole lot on clothing. Most of my clothes are very casual, or do double duty for dancing. However, when I think of it, the most I've ever spent was $400-ish dollars on a navy, wool, Calvin Klein coat that was heavily discounted at Nordstrom. A good investment that I still love. Ginger's was (not counting suits), an extraordinary pair of boots, which were not so extraordinary in that the Right sole still wore out faster than the Left.

Finally got the Luxembourg Gardens, and wandered around the outside, looking at the photography gallery exhibited on the gates thereof. I'm sad that I hadn't mentioned it before, but glad that I remembered in time for us both to see it. So many striking images, many of which were featured in Figaro, a prestigious magazine that I will have to look up.

Tried to dine at Le Partage, but it wasn't open yet, so we wandered about until we found another Indian restauant, the kind that's open all day. Food wasn't too bad. Although I did have to remove a few "knuckles" from my chicken dish. Wouldn't you know that Ginger had no such problem.

Back at the apartment, Ginger took his leave. But not before giving me a book of Atget's photos. How perfect.

When he left, I started making the couch ready to sleep in. Really, it pulls out, but I was too lazy to do it, and besides, I needed the space too badly to want to either. Found that there were tears/burns on the edges of the fitted sheet. However, it was clean, so I didn't worry about it. It just means another trip to the rental agency to explain it and the ice forming in the fridge.

And then I started to unpack. And realize that Ginger had packed all my things. Clothes. G's, bras, dirty laundry. My prevalent emotion upon retiring to bed was amused mortification.