Shut up, Woody Allen

Today I finally saw Midnight in Paris, Woody Allen's most recent film.  It was charming and romantic, beautifully shot, with an excellent cast (particularly Corey Stoll as Hemingway) and a fun storyline, and I hated it more than words can possibly convey.  But why???  Well, because it's a movie I would have absolutely loved before I moved here, and will doubtless absolutely love it when I watch it again in the future when I no longer live here.   At that point, I'm sure it will tug at my heartstrings and make me wallow in misty nostalgia about "ahhhh, Paris; living there was so great, I miss it so much" - but right now, it makes me want to force-feed  escargots to Woody until he passes out from snail poisoning.

I mean, having your main character give up a lucrative career to live the life of a starving writer in Paris?  You really want to get me started on that one, having done it myself?  Sure, have him give up wine tastings on the rooftop of the Meurice and private showings of the Monets at the Orangerie - why not?  It's soooooo much more fun to live on packets of ramen noodles (plus you get to go all the way to Chinatown in order to buy the cheapest ones, thereby seeing even more of Paris - good times!).  It's soooooo much more fulfilling to have to eat at home every night so that you can afford to go out and have a drink with your friends afterwards (because you can't afford to both eat and drink at the café).  Oh yes, indeedy, that whole living-in-poverty-for-your-art thing is just awesome - it's a testament to Owen Wilson's affable persona that I didn't want to slap his face off every time he bitched about his highly-paid Hollywood job as a "hack" writer.  Dude, I would be happy to be a hack.  I would be thrilled to sell my soul into well-paid corporate servitude as a writer, because selling my soul would be infinitely preferable to selling one of my kidneys, which may very well be how I pay next month's rent.

Don't get me wrong, Paris is indeed awesome and living here is a great experience in many ways, but it's not all wine and waterlilies.  I mean, I know the movie is a fantasy, but I assure you that, in Paris, time-travel back to the 1920s is far more likely than:  a) finding a friendly shopkeeper, b) walking on streets which are miraculously free of dog crap, or c) strolling the streets of Montmartre without approximately 87,346 tourists strolling along with you at any hour of the day or night.  

Woody, your vision of Paris is very sweet and beautiful and charming, but until you've applied for a Carte Vitale, or had to file a French tax return, or been snubbed by yet another Parisien for not speaking absolutely perfect French, you have no idea about actually living in this town - next time, you might want to stick to New York...

Favourite Paris photos - 47

Things you might see in Montmartre #3

Sooo, remember how the other day I posted the photo of what I see walking to work?  Well, this is what I see on the walk back home.  I know, you don't even have to say it: I suck.  Sorry, everyone!  (Please feel free to cheer yourselves up with the thought of how broke I am living here - sure, it's pretty, but dang, it's a good thing the views are free...)

Favourite Paris photos - 41

Things you might see in Montmartre #2

I really do love my new neighbourhood - there's something very cool about living in Montmartre.  It has all the cachet of its long and storied history, and there are parts of it that are just as charming as you imagine them to be.  However, one thing you do have to remember is that the "Mont" in Montmartre means that you are living on a big goddamn hill and that means that stairs are everywhere.  And sometimes they are cute and charming and only a couple of flights.  But other times, they are as long and steep as this bad boy I encountered today while out exploring.  Happily for me, I walked down these stairs and made a quick mental note of where they are so that I can avoid them and never have to actually walk up them.  As you may recall, my stair-climbing abilities are not exactly my greatest skill (The eyes have it )...

APARTMENT, bitches

As I was saying, it's time to tell you about my new apartment.  It's about 30 square metres, a one-bedroom, located in a buzzy, vibrant neighbourhood, but in a quiet street.  It's in Montmartre, historical home of artists, can-can dancers, writers, drunks and debauched deviants of every sort - in other words, it's perfect for me.

And because I moved at the beginning of July, I was able to take advantage of the sales - in France, stores are only allowed to have sales in January and July (they slip a few small sales in under the radar at other times of year, but the big sales only happen twice a year), so I have been running around like a maniac to every homewares store in town to pick up some bargains to kit out the apartment.  If I hadn't done it now (in spite of my lack of money), I wouldn't have been able to afford it until January, and that would have sucked.

So, after all the horrible months of oh-crap-I-have-to-move-again-where-am-I-going-to-go, I have been concentrating on making this place a peaceful little haven that I will really enjoy living in.  Because it's mine - for the next year, it's MINE.  The lease is signed, my name is on it, I don't have to worry about roommates or crazy landladies or sub-lets.  And what makes it all the more amazing is the fact that it's impossible that this could have happened - many landlords in Paris won't rent to you if you're a foreigner, most won't rent to you if your monthly salary isn't at least three times the rent they're asking for (which mine isn't), and even if you pass those hurdles, nearly all of them still want a guarantor (which I don't have).  So the fact that I got this place is...miraculous.  It's more likely that I could have won the lottery.  It's more likely that I could have married George Clooney.  Hell, it's more likely that I could have seen a two-headed giraffe riding down the Champs Elysées on a purple motorcycle, singing "Hello, My Baby" in Yiddish.  You get the idea, yes?

Anyway, so hopefully you'll now understand why the first item I bought for my new, impossible apartment was a cocktail set (which, to be fair, was on sale for 18 euros, down from 65 euros). Okay, yes, the fact that the first thing I did was to set up a bar in my new home does make me feel slightly as though I am a couple of sharp suits and a penis away from actually becoming Don Draper, but like I said, it's Montmartre - drunken debauchery is not only acceptable but expected.  And after the stress of the last few months, it's time to celebrate...

Miss K returns

Gentle readers (assuming I still have any after such a long absence), I'm back.  Of course, it's been so long now that I don't even know where to begin, but somewhere back in the mists of time, I believe the last thing I actually posted about was my then-impending move, so let's start there...

Moving in Paris is a strange experience, as I've mentioned before ( Demenagement) - in this particular case it was even stranger.  I was supposed to move into my flat on 1st July, but the only person I knew with an available vehicle wasn't actually available that day (a Friday) or that weekend, and I had to have my stuff out of the old place by then.  What to do?  Well, I was acquainted with the guy who was leaving the flat I was moving into and asked him if I could move my things in a week early.  It wasn't a lot, but on the other hand, it's not a huge apartment and he also needed to pack up his own stuff, so it was really rather excellent of him to agree to this.  So, on the 25th of June, Tiny Dancer's boyfriend showed up with his mini-van at  9am, we dragged my stuff down five flights of stairs, went to the new place, dragged my stuff up one (just one! yayyy!!!) flight, stacked it up in a corner and left.  The whole thing was done in less than an hour, which I think is a record for just about anyone moving house...

Anyhow, so my things moved to the new apartment a week before I did.  I stayed in the old place through the night of the 29th, and stayed at Tiny Dancer's place  on the 30th.  So, on 1st July, my actual moving date, all I had was a little carry-on and my laptop bag.  So I moseyed on up to Montmartre, signed my lease and that was it, I was all moved into my very first official-lease-holding, living-on-my-own Paris apartment.  More on that next time...

A very good day (I think)

Gentle readers, I advise you to look up into the sky to see if there's a flaming ball of DOOM headed for the Earth.  No, really.  Because I apparently landed both an apartment AND a lucrative second job today.  And the reason why I say "apparently" is because these things have both actually happened, but I have been so unlucky in the areas of housing and finance for the past year that I am not going to believe either one of them are true until I have a) my new keys and b) my first paycheque both clutched tightly in my grubby little paws.

So the story, in brief, is this:

Home:  a colleague at work told me a friend's apartment in Montmartre would be available for rent in July and that she would put in a good word for me.  It all seemed fine until it fell apart two days ago (cue panic attacks about finding another place to live in just two weeks - aieeee!), but I met with the landlady today and basically begged her to let me rent it until she agreed.  Yes, this is how competitive the market is in Paris - if you want a home and you don't earn eight gajillion euros per month, be prepared to grovel.  And possibly barter one of your kidneys.  My negotiations didn't go quite that far, but I was ready to offer it up.  Just saying.

Work:  I love my job and they pay me well for it, but I just don't have enough hours to really get by.  So I have been looking for something else that has flexible hours and is in English (someone suggested I'd be a great dominatrix and if this doesn't work out, I might just have to think about that...), so the always-awesome Tiny Dancer mentioned me to a firm she's doing some voice work for (as she is a radio journalist and her dulcet tones are in high demand) and I also met with them today and they're giving me a trial run.  So I will be spending the whole weekend recording technical specs to be narrated onto a PowerPoint presentation, but in my current state of poverty, that actually realllllllly sounds like a good time.

So there you go - an extraordinarily lucky day for Miss K.  So lucky that I might just have to buy a lottery ticket as well.  Before I get hit by that meteor, of course...

Things you might see in Montmartre

Ahh, Montmartre.  Great big cathedral?  Yep.  Moulin Rouge?  Absolutely.  Guy wearing a vaseful of live goldfish on his head while wearing a tie-dyed shirt and making balloon animals?  Oh, you bet...

Another day with the dead

As I have mentioned before, one of the most interesting things to do in Paris is to wander around one of the amazing cemeteries (Day with the dead).  I hadn't previously checked out the one in Montmartre, so before Mrs Redneck moved back to the US, we spent an afternoon there.  Hope you enjoy the photos...

Moulin, not rouge

I've had trouble uploading photos lately, thanks to my horrible internet connection (which is why recently you've had to put up with more of my yammering and less of the pretty pictures) but today the wifi gods have smiled upon us.   So I thought I'd share this: just a little something you might see as you stroll through the streets of Montmartre...

Favourite Paris photos - 4

Fourth photo:

Okay, I know there are 40 bajillion photos of the Eiffel Tower out there and I may have one or two more coming in this little collection, but this shot is probably my favourite.  Taken over the rooftops of Montmartre in a hazy sunset - just fabulous, if I do say so myself.  And it's my damn blog, so I do.

Favourite Paris photos - 3

Third photo:

And this is what the stairs in yesterday's photo led to - magical views of Sacre-Coeur and Montmartre.  So gorgeous (just ignore the stupid modern building in the foreground - grrr!).  I immediately went home and watched Moulin Rouge on dvd -  remember back when Nicole Kidman could actually move her face?  Yeah, good times.