Well, It’s been a day. Another adventure. Shall I begin?

As you know, I packed up most of my belongings last night at my Rue Jean Beausire address, and called an Uber to move me less than 1/4 mile to my apartment with Luigi on Boulevard Henri IV.

It’s an 8-minute walk, so when the ride started to feel a little long, I pulled out my phone and opened the Maps app to see where we were going, because to me, this wasn’t making sense.

You all know by now I’m not good at Maps, but I’m also not a total idiot. lol. I quickly discerned the route he was taking, and it made some sense, not a lot. But then, it clicked, and I understood. The Olympics!

While I may be moving a mere .03 miles away, I am moving into another realm in « Paris of July 2024 » because I will now be staying in what is known as the « gray zone. »

Oh my! Streets are closed, fences are up, and you literally can’t get there from here. Not by car, anyway. That’s what’s going on. What a nightmare for the residents.

Ok, so the driver pulled up, announcing we’d arrived. And I was like, um, no we haven’t. Not really, I was thinking. Where are we? Oh, wait a minute, we’re across the BOULEVARD from the apartment building. It’s a whole-ass boulevard. You know, 4 lanes of traffic. Buses, taxis, Ubers, bikes. He was dropping me off on the opposite side of said boulevard, with all my suitcases: one large, one smaller, two very large totes (some groceries), and my iPad tote/purse. That’s a lot. He put my suitcases on the street, and he left.

Small tip alert.

I understand he is not allowed to drive on the other side of the street – there are restrictions for Uber drivers as they try to keep things even here. No advantages for one private company over another. Prices are controlled, etc. Still, I’ve had taxi drivers wheel my giant suitcase down a Paris city block for me without my saying a word. I will forever sing their praises when due. But not today, Satan. Next time, I’m calling my usual G7 cabbies.

I waited for the traffic to stop coming, and I summoned all the strength I had in me, and hoisted the totes onto my shoulders, and wheeled the bags across four lanes like my life depended on it. Because it kind of did.

Reaching the front door, I opened my iPhone to find the code number and punched it into the pad to gain entry into the apartment building. Then, whilst holding the HEAVY wrought-iron 12-foot giant door with my hip (!), I slowly lifted the bags over the unbelievable 3-inch high iron bar on the ground of every apartment doorway in Paris. Why, Paris? Why is this a thing? I couldn’t just roll them in, no. I had to hoist them – whilst holding that ginormous door – over the horizontal bar on the ground. All four or five bags at this point. A woman with a dog strolled by, watching in horror or amazement, I’m still not sure which. She seemed impressed.

Once inside, I had to wait for the Concierge to give me Nathalie’s extra key to the apartment. She had told me her cleaning lady would be coming today, and would leave at 13h00. I’d arrived at 11h15.

After riding up the elevator (Nathalie’s is larger than most but you still feel like you have to hold your stomach in), as it’s still an old-fashioned wrought-iron cage elevator, I started the process of working the key. I had to take my trench-coat off for this. I also had to unhook the key from my purse.

I’ve told you that keys and doors here are yes, enormous, but also notoriously difficult. Instructions are like this:

Push the key in, like you mean it, and while pushing in with all your might, turn the key twice to the left. You have to keep consistent pressure on it. Pushing in the whole time. Then, after those two turns, insert again, and make one more turn to the left. Then, you kind of want to pull/push the door till it pops open. You should be sweating by now, but you’ll get used to it.

These are my own instructions from last summer.

As I was working it, I thought I heard a voice coming from inside the apartment, and thought, oh, Nathalie’s home.

Nope.

A sweet older woman opened the door and didn’t speak a word of English (this is important to remember). She was the cleaning lady and had not received any word from Nathalie about my arrival. Can you imagine this? She opens the door to a crazy American woman with all this luggage and groceries confidently trying to enter the apartment.

I assumed she knew I was coming, so I said:

Bonjour. Je m’appelle Lisa. Je suis une amie de Nathalie. Je reste ici pour garder l’appartement.

She knew nothing of it. Oh, I thought, okay. Let me text Nathalie. I didn’t want to upset the woman. I had texts from Nathalie. This will be fine. Oh, no.

Here’s the thing. Nathalie and I have a fun little thing we do. She writes to me in English, and I write to her in French. We do the same thing when we talk – confusing everyone around us, no doubt – but it works for us. And only us.

So… every message I had from Nathalie was in English. The cleaning lady cannot read or understand English.

And Nathalie was busy at work – way too busy to get involved in this situation. It was up to me. Nathalie wrote quickly:

Oops! I forgot to tell her. I am sorry. In English.

This kept happening. It was just jibberish to this poor woman. Thankfully, she had trusted me enough to let me into the apartment. (I did have the key in-hand.)

And then, I kept explaining in my best French, and finally, she understood the situation. I even explained Nathalie’s and my game of texting each other in the other’s language, and she laughed. I told her I was watching Luigi, too, which she liked.

At 13h00, she left, and bid me a wonderful day and vacation. She told me I should get something to eat – that I must be hungry.

Cute story, huh? There’s more.

I was supposed to meet my friend Hélène today, but I found out that I’m living in the « gray zone » and that threw a monkey wrench into our plans. We both thought it important that I figure out my situation. So what does that mean? Well, I need a special « pass » to be here during the Olympics. And I don’t have one. And I didn’t know about it. The pass is necessary, starting tomorrow.

The last thing I want is to be stopped by les Gendarmes. Actually… maybe I should re-think that! lol! They’re notoriously buff, like les pompiers. Seriously, though, they don’t mess around. You can’t talk, joke, laugh with, or take pictures of them.

I went online to see about getting the pass, and started filling out the forms. I needed my passport, Nathalie’s passeport, and some kind of written/sworn affidavit from Nathalie, on her honour stating that I am indeed who I say I am, and I am allowed to live here in her absence. That’s all.

Unbelievably, I found a photo of her passeport from last year! Hooray! I was feeling confident and flying through the forms online.

Turns out I was wrong to feel confident. The passeport I had for Nathalie, had expired. Yeah.

I took a nap.

Nathalie and her husband came home from work. They both had evening plans, but we chatted for a bit, and I told her about the affidavit I would need. Together, we figured out all the online glitches and my application for the pass went through! I doubt it will be here by tomorrow, but at least I’m in the system and have her handwritten affidavit.

It’s now nearly 21h00, and the sun is shining like it’s noon as I sit here on their terrace, and type. I am shamelessly smearing crunchy French peanut butter onto a baguette. I had to run out to the nearest grocery store earlier, because I was hungry and didn’t want to eat Nathalie’s food. I bought a baguette, cheese, pb, yogurt, and some other essentials in case I was to be sheltered in place, indefinitely.

No one stopped me on my way to the grocery store. Alas, they don’t start cracking down till tomorrow. We shall see. Stay tuned.

Nathalie and her husband leave on vacation tomorrow. I will not see her until August. Her husband will be in and out, working.

Other guests will come and go here, too. Paris is a popular destination for many this summer. One guest is involved with the Judo Olympic team. And even Nathalie and her husband have tickets for some of the events in August.

I don’t know how long I’ll be here, but I am invited through August 18. I have my own room, and everyone in Europe is used to sharing homes and spaces like this. I’m very fortunate to have such lovely friends here.