In France, when you move, you generally take all appliances with you: oven, refrigerator, washing machine, and sometimes even cupboards. Everything but, you know, the kitchen sink. It seems wrongheaded in a city where so many people live in walk-ups, but that’s the way it’s done.
And since in my last apartment, the one that was an 11-by-14 foot maid’s room, I only had a minibar-sized fridge and a hotplate, I’ve spent a good part of this last week making decisions on my new kitchen. I talked my landlord into giving me all new cupboards and countertops from IKEA, a complicated enough thing to order in your own language. Now I know my plans de travails from my placards, let me tell you.
Luckily, I have the internet, so I’ve been able to take care of work emails for my current freelance job, but in fashion you have to send faxes sometimes (imagine!), especially for fashion week invite requests (so 1980’s!), and being in a new neighborhood where I don’t know where to go for anything has made the easiest things a big production.
Also, everything from my old apartment had to be moved out of my friend Stefanie’s cave, where it was stored during my time in Chicago.
So, that's where I've been these last two weeks.
I’m lucky to have had a lot of help. My parents were here for over a week, and my dad’s friend Regis drove in from Orleans to help move my boxes. If there’s ever a person you want to help you move, it’s Regis. He speaks no English, except for his favorite phrase: “No probleme.” As in, everytime my voice escalates, Regis puts a hand on my shoulder and says, “Eleesabet. Hey, no probleme.”
He also helped us remove a wood-burning oven that was offending my spacial planning. Regis (left) and my Dad pay their respects.
This was right before they spilled ashes all over my staircase. No probleme!
I know, the stove was so cute and typique, right? I felt badly to see it go, but when it came down to it, I needed that extra space to store my American-girl consumer goods. Look, that was mostly a joke.
But I do have a lot of shoes.
Bonus shot of my camera-elusive mother surveying the hole in the wall.