Lovechilde (lovechilde) wrote,

So here I am, back in Paris four years after I slunk off home with my tail between my legs (almost to the day), and roughly an hour, local time, from my birthday.

I was thinking that coming back is a mistake more or less as soon as the Eurostar left the station in London. Even aside from the fact that Nottigham was delightful, York was amazing and spending time with L is always a joy, I'm not sure that six days here isn't too damn long. I'll do a day in Normandy, probably, and maybe a day trip to the Loire Valley- and then of course I'll find out towards Wednesday that six days isn't anything like enough. That's the optimistic option: it's always nicer to be left wanting more of a place than to be sick of it before you leave (see under: ten days in Vegas, winter of 2005).

So I got myself to Paris. It's considerably warmer than either Nottingham or London (looking at 35C on Monday, gods be kind to us), and my phone died on the way, because of course I could charge my phone on the bus between Tel Aviv and Be'er Sheva, but not on the bloody Eurostar because they have outlets only on one coach. So getting into the apartment involved finding it, waiting outside for someone to meet me with the key for 15 minutes, and going to sit in a cafe and charge my phone so I could call my host. When I could finally turn the damn thing on I found a message from her that the key was under the mat, and the entry codes to the main door, because her friend couldn't make it. So far, irritating but not too bad, right? Apartment is a 5th floor walk-up, it's good exercise, I knew it in advance, not an issue. What was an issue is I got in and there were no towels, nor clean sheets, and a polite note on the door asked that guests clean up after themselves because the host didn't clean between guests. At that point I was more than a little angry.

Text the host, get the reply that the friend who was supposed to meet me was also supposed to deliver towels and a sheet, but, as she'd already told me, couldn't make it. Also, apparently, the apartment doesn't actually come with linens- which I assumed it did because all Airbnb apartments do...usually. So, towels tomorrow morning. By that point I was past angry and into finding it funny, for lack of a better reaction.

The thing is, at that point I maybe could've gone out to buy a towel, but I didn't notice what time it was. It's a summer in Europe problem- it's light until around 22:00, and my time sense gets screwed up entirely. By the time I decided to go and do something about it, it was 21:30. The good news is the apartment is in my old quarter, and I still remember where everything is in this neighbourhood, more or less, so once I oriented myself I knew where the nearest supermarket that stays open latest was. The bad news is that by the time I got there, it was 22:01 and therefore they wouldn't let me in. At least I found a smaller shop that provided, if not a towel, then supper and tomorrow's breakfast. And cherry tomatoes, because I needed a pick-me-up.

Situation will be resolved tomorrow morning, one way or another. And there's an artisan bakery right under the apartment. I hope they're not on summer vacation.
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