Dodo I: Run for cover

How I came to be where I am living now is still a mystery. Sadly, 139 boulevard Brune was not my intended address of residence in Paris. Upon my arrival, I discovered that the apartment I'd booked in January did not exist. I discovered that my 'landlord' was a character attached to a fake e-mail address, played by some soulless person at this agency. When I was about to leave and was getting worried about my landlord's sudden halt in communication, it was this same agency that gave me the number of a different person to call: my current landlord. This is something I discussed with her last week, and she was completely dumbfounded by my subtly phrased accusation that she was somehow in cahoots with this crooked business.
But yes, I am now her tenant.

Even before I came to visit this place with my cousin Benjamin on my second day here, I knew it would be hard to pass up. Though I found a dozen craigslist leads and scribbled down some other phone numbers from french websites, I really felt hopeless. Because in my mind, nothing could have been more stressful in an already stressful situation than wearing out my welcome in Benjamin's little studio. A yoga mat and a hose would have sold me.

Benjamin gave me a too-big helmet and asked me if I had ever ridden a scooter. Scooter-ing in Paris, it turns out, is really really fun, despite being acutely aware of life's fragility and the occasional helmet clunking caused by sudden acceleration.

As we zoomed closer and closer to my potential apartment in the drizzle, I took note of the landmarks we passed to orient myself in my head. From Benjamin's place in the République area we pretty much passed everything: the Centre Pompidou and my office, the Chatelet area, St. Michel and the Latin Quarter... we crossed the Seine, with Notre Dame (and a hatchback with two nuns inside) to our left, and the Eiffel Tower in the distance to our right, until all the beautiful, floodlit monuments were behind us and ... we pulled to a stop at the edge of Paris.

My landlord was half an hour late, so we stood in the entry way talking about our families and joking around until I almost forgot what we were doing there. Until she showed up. With her enormous, elderly dog, and armloads of mail and... bags? Seemingly full of trash? What? This is the landlord? Or maybe just someone seeking refuge from the elements? Ah, but no. This was her. We followed her up in the old fashioned elevator into the apartment. It was cozy and covered in random stuff, from 15 year old greeting cards to the decorations from last Christmas (or maybe the early beginnings of Christmas 08? They're still up..)

She made us tea. She made me an offer I couldn't refuse. She accepted Benjamin as my financial guarantor. She made me feel like I was in some bizarre skit on "French in Action." She showed me a room. With a bed! That could be mine! That NIGHT!

What she didn't explain was that she would be one of my apartment mates, along with her 2-year-old twin grandchildren, every weekend. And that she wouldn't fully remove the grandchild paraphernalia in my room, but would pop in multiple times per week to borrow the coloring table/toys/puzzles/kiddie slippers and "check on" her ficus plant.

And, dear friends, I am still here. Until May 20th, when I will move and look back on this as one of those live and learn moments or something. Whatever.