Apartment Hunt

Turns out it was easier to find a job than an apartment in Paris. Ten days in Paris and we are still at square one for finding an apartment. We were close a couple of times, or at least we thought we were… Only to have our hopes broken. There was the studio facing the Pompidou Center, but it was too loud and too small. Our next visit was supposed to be in the 2ieme arr., and when we got to the building it was only to find out the owner forgot about our appointment and that the studio was taken already anyway. We’ve been working with a realtor agency called Lodgis, and visited a couple apartments through them. Luke loved a studio on the 1st arr., in the heart of Paris, that had a view of the church St Eustache. We thought it was in the bag, having no idea other people were in the running. So we got slapped in the face hard when we found out we didn’t get the apartment. Since then, we haven’t heard much from our realtor agent, Walquiria, renamed Witwicky by Luke.
The apartment hunt is made even more difficult because I work 8.5 hours for 5 days a week. Luke went on three visits on his own, and gets around the city better than I (I don’t even know the monuments and buildings like he does), but he relies on me for phone calls and all kinds of translations.
When trying to hunt for an apartment in good location at a good price, there is a lot of competition, and I guess we were a little ill-prepared when going to visits. We were viewing apartments that owners rent themselves through a website called pap.fr (which is the reference here for finding an apartment). While some people were handing their inch thick rental application with ID copies, work documents, co-signers docs…, we were coming empty ended, exchanging contact infos. And our situation wasn’t very attractive for the owners: a girl with low-paying job, and a foreigner who says have a house he’s renting back in his home country.
On Sunday October 9th, we visited two apartments: One in the 17th district, and the other in the 7th (where the Eiffel tower is). The first one was on the 5th floor with no elevator in a 19th century building typical of Paris. It was furnished with the strict minimum: a bed, a table and chairs. That was it. The owner was friendly and seemed to like us but he never got back to us.
The one on the 7th was in an old building as well, on the 4th floor with no elevator. On the 3rd floor, we got stopped by a line of people waiting to visit the apartment. That was the first bad sign, and I already wanted to leave. But we came all this way, so why not try. Then after 15 to 20 minutes waiting we were next (and last with another lady) in line, and could hear the owner complementing a woman on her salary. Second bad sign. Then we came in, and she was basically lecturing two foreign students on how to apply for an apartment in Paris. The poor guys. Third bad sign. At this point Luke and I  should have looked around and left, but I still wanted to talk to the woman. In the end I got basically the same patronizing speech as the foreign students. She was awful because she had the tone of someone lecturing but she was insisting that “it was to help us.” Instead the experience taught us that we had zero chance getting an apartment through the pap.fr site. Anyway, we didn’t like the last apartment… the shower and bathroom were fused with the kitchen. Weirdo.
- Claire

Claire’s Thoughts In the plane to Paris

For once I thought I would sleep like a baby in the plane. But I guess three weeks of moving and fixing the house was not enough. We still can’t believe we emptied the house. But we did it after three trips to the dump on Saturday, at least five trips to the Goodwill throughout the whole process, many more trips to get storage plastic boxes at Walmart, Costco, Target, or Home Depot, and the help of family and friends. The last few days were particularly grueling as we had to leave the house empty by Sunday afternoon. We were up at 5.30 or 6 am and wouldn’t go to bed until 11 or midnight. The whole day we were putting heavy boxes up in the attic and recently made loft in the garage, moving and tightly packing the furniture in the middle of the garage (amazing that everything fits), finishing projects around the house (painting, hot tub cleaning and rewiring, switching washers,…). Unfortunately some of the projects were not finished and Chris Miller will thankfully help us in that area. And we will have to hire someone for the cleaning.

We left the house empty, except for cleaning supplies, and 4 jumbo bags of trash we graciously left for Vern to take care of.

We gave everything to finish in time: sweat, a few pounds (Editor’s note from Luke, I didn’t lose any weight), and for me tears during and right after we were done, probably some neurons, and a chunk of skin. The last couple days I had a constant headache, and felt nauseous from all the stuff.

Saturday night we had the visit from a raccoon we named Buster. That afternoon we took everything out of the fridge into one of the jumbo black plastic bag. An old mustard jar broke inside , and it really stunk. But Buster apparently liked the pungent smell and was attracted.  We were working in and out of the garage, and he he was among us, trying to tear that bag up. I would chase him away but he would come back right away. He was so cute though. Eventually, I couldn’t resist but to open the cat food box we were trashing.

No raccoons in Paris. Pigeons instead, less cute.

Anyway. At 4.30 pm Sunday we were off to Menlo Park to Steve and Si’s for a last friends gathering and a night of sleep before the plane. We barely realized what we had just done that we had to go.