Follow Matthew's travels around the world…
Finding an apartment to rent in Paris is tricky. The best ones go on and off the market by word of mouth, never getting advertised.
You can tip the odds in your favour, however. Nearly all the phone numbers have been taken by those with rooms to rent for this lucky renter…
Even in this day and age, sex sells.
It was our first proper dinner party since moving to Paris. The party was a pretty good success, with Anne Laure and Neil imported from the UK for the evening. Despite having been in Paris for nearly five months, it was the first chance I’d gotten to catch up with Alain and Faouzia.
It was only a matter of time before Neil pointed out that I hadn’t pulled out the camera all night. Like red to a bull, I grabbed the camera (and embarrassingly large flash) to shoot a few shots of the evening.
It has taken time, but after months of trying I am finally finding my way around the office. My progress has been helped along by a French colleague who is now working in the London office. He is working on my project, and in addition to his project duties, he has become my unofficial guide to the French firm. Thanks to him I am learning the peculiarities of the expenses system, which restaurant has the best lunch on a given day, and most importantly, where the stationery cupboard is!
In the UK, we used to have large stationery cupboards on each floor, and you could basically go in and help yourself. Anything else could be ordered by your secretary.
There’s none of this self-service business in France. Instead, you have to turn up at a window on the 23rd floor where a little man disappears into the back and produces what you’ve asked for. Trouble is, as a non-French speaker, asking for things is a little tricky. Pointing is a lot easier. Still, I managed to do okay.
Summer is here and I’m enjoying having an office with a nice view – even if it isn’t quite as nice as the view from our London office, it’s still nice being up this high.
We went out today for a walk around the neighbourhood and stumbled upon this scene: car vs. velib. I didn’t quite get the whole story, but the car and velib obviously collided. By the time we arrived, the two cyclists were exchanging blows in the street with the driver. Within just a few seconds, the police (also on bicycles) were there and gave chase.
It was never this exciting in Canterbury!
It’s been a very busy month with visitors. Aude’s parents also came to spend several days with us in May, taking advantage of one of the long holiday weekends. We did all the touristy things, walking all over the city and taking a bateau bus down the Seine.
We also had a great meal at Le Train Bleu.
One of the things that I love about France is the selective adherence to the rules. As an Anglo-Saxon, I haven’t quite worked out which rules I need to follow and which I don’t, but this much is clear: not all rules are created equal.
Everyone interprets the tax regulations creatively. Red lights are merely advisory. Pedestrians crossing a crosswalk are regarded more as a challenge than a reason to stop. Entire books have been written about the way the Parisians interpret parking.
In a typically French way, the grass here is marked “Pelouse Interdite” — “Keep off the grass”. And as you can clearly see in the background, no one is taking a blind bit of notice.
