Becoming « habitué » to life in Paris

My first weekend in Paris has been a real experience, to say the least.  Friday morning I landed in Paris, so early that it was still dark, so alas, I had no grand view of the “ville” from the plane. But it was beautiful, because I was greeted by a dark red skyline as I left the airport, and throughout my hour-long ride in the airport shuttle to reach my foyer (the student housing/dorm where I’m staying), the morning light became brighter and brighter, and I could see all the hustle and bustle of Parisians’ morning commute, whether it be by bike or motorcycle, weaving dangerously through traffic without being in a real lane, or by car.  The driver turned down a fairly small road where a truck was blocking traffic, and when the truck didn’t move out of the way, he angrily stepped out of the van to yell at the truck! It was then that I learned from one of my fellow passengers that bikers, motorcycles, other drivers, etc. aren’t afraid of aggressive drivers because gun laws don’t permit citizens to carry them. Interesting fact.

I arrived at the foyer and introduced myself to the concierge, and she launched into a fairly detailed discussion of all the rules to which I’d be expect to adhere, including mandatory room-cleaning! (all this after 10 hours of travel and a 6 hour time change). They actually inspect all the rooms, which each have their own bathroom & shower, albeit TINY, about once a month, and cite you if there’s anything really unkempt.  It seems really petty to me as an outsider, but it’s a different way of life here.

So without further ado, my room, on the 9^th floor:

I live in the 11^th arrondissement, the district with the greatest residential density in the city, and one with many bars, nightclubs, restaurants, and cafes. There are lots of small grocery stores, kebab stands (kebaberies), and stores called Bazars, which sell various cheap kitchenware and other assorted household items. It’s not the glamorous Paris you imagine, and it’s not touristy. It’s a quartier (quarter) where real French people live their lives, shop for groceries, buy their bread at boulangeries, and and work. I’m seeing a different side of Paris, one that includes fewer views of the Notre Dame Cathedral sitting in its ancient regal glory by the side of the Seine, and more of a glimpse of the dirt and grime, and grey skies that are common in the day-to-day life here. That’s not to say that it’s completely depressing and terrible, just that it pops any bubble you might have lingering in your mind of Paris being a perfect city.

The view out my window, looking just to the left

Looking directly down, from the 9th floor

The view straight ahead

I met several other jeunes (young people) in my foyer who are doing a program fairly similar to mine, which is comprised of both courses and an internship, but it’s a program for European students, whereas mine of course is geared toward American students.  There’s Marisa, who’s Spanish and really sweet. I first met her one morning when I came downstairs for petit dejeuner (breakfast). Then there’s Sabrina, who’s Italian, but who’s been living for the past several years in Switzerland. She's the one with the camera. Then Luciane, who’s Portuguese, and Elise, who’s French (I think) - the one with the guidebook who was leading us all around.

From left: Sabrina, Elise, Luciana