the Fixer

Liz says: Love this city. We have looked at a couple of apartments while we wait for the place I am determined to get, the god place, comes through. They only make me more determined to get the god place. One was up 5 flights and Liz is not doing 5 flights. The apartment was still under renovation and full of Polish workers. I would say the place was at capacity! I know I’m always talking about the size of the apartments, but this one was positively gargantuan (for Paris) and still you could barely get in. It had 2 bathrooms, and looked to be on its way to being pretty nice. The neighborhood was just around the corner from the Pompidou Center and you would never know it. It was a charming street, bustling but not crowded, with fresh vegetables and two butcher shops, one a tripererie (one that has tripe things, I assume). I was close to being persuaded that I could live in the Marais, but it was still too far from the nice pedestrian market and the walk up the stairs settled it.
It was the second apartment shown to us by our new Fixer. He is the most fabulous thing since the croissant!
I had contacted him online back when I was looking for places from Madison. He was out of town when we first arrived and I was under the impression that by the time he got back to Paris, we would have a place. Silly me! Little did I know the French Surprise petite tape rouge! Anyway, he called and I said, “Oh, we found a place and we were waiting to sign the lease.” That was 2-3 weeks ago. Meanwhile, we were frustratingly struggling with the invisible spider web of can’t do, won’t do, manana, manana. I, with my Larrouse dictionary and Dick with his mountain of patience and logic. Nothing was happening very slowly. The Fixer emailed, asking to see if we were interested in an apartment. Yeah, sure, why not, maybe it will force the gods into motion. The apartment was not far away, but, it was right where the neighborhood starts to go dead. Well, we’ll look at it anyway. We waited outside and we greeted with a big “Hi!”. It was shocking. We hadn’t heard “Hi” in weeks. You have no idea how foreign it sounds when you have been saying Bonjour for a month! He immediately started talking, in English, it was amazing, just to be talking to someone without the struggle to say things simply, without slang and colloquialisms, so they can continue to understand you.
The apartment was nice, one major red wall, which in all honesty, did look very french. It had one or two fireplaces, old wooden floors and a decent sized kitchen and small bath, a living room that could be divvied off with pocket doors and another room. Large, again, for Paris and nice and clean. But it just wasn’t the apartment I had my heart set on or in the area I really wanted to be in and I told him so. We summed up the situation as we understood it and he said the magic words I wanted to hear. "Well, if its what you want, we’ll see what we can do." CAN DO!!!!!! Yes!
We walked down to our favorite area while he talked with us and strode along on his bike. You can tell he’s been here for awhile because he can do that thing that people driving and biking do here, they manage not to get hit and yet seem completely preoccupied by something else. He’s chatting away, listening, catching his phone and doing the bike walk thing. I’m just thrilled to be able to hold a conversation. Not that Dick isn’t hold up his end verbally, but we have been in this frustrating invisible mess together, so nothing new to say there.
We go to the real estate office and he talks to the agent, in french. We stand there with smiles on our shining faces because someone can say what we need to say and find out what we want to know.
Feeling foreign.
Having people talk about you and not worrying that they are mocking you, but feeling that you are actually being helped. Not a feeling I am used to. It is very warm and sweet and powerful.
One aspect of this learning is like being an infant. You can barely speak the language and you want things, everything is so complicated by your lack of voice. Your brain gets very frustrated. You know 2 of the words but not the one that ties the two together to make the thought you want to express. Whaaaaaaaaa!
I must add here that I have been told I have a very strong American accent, which tickles. I imagine myself sounding like people who say “EErack” and “yee haw”. But then, no one never understands me on the first go and they still hand me the english menu. Although, I have welcomed the corrections, and they do like that.
So, the Fixer talked to everyone involved, the same day. With stunning efficiency he found out what we had figured all along but could not work out.
Everything was a simple but complicated problem. Welcome to France.
Still love it!
Within the span of 2 days he has helped us get an internet connection, has gotten the bank to send the card and checkbook, uh, in theory. He took me to the shop to put my fabulous sofa bed on hold. He can talk to anyone and get them to do things. He’s charming and talkative,traits I personally like and he gets things done.
It seems the form we need in the language we need it in is on its way. The landlord wants things in the present tense, not the future tense. Its as simple as that. The documents take weeks for the bank to produce. That is all it is. Will the landlord wait? Will he rent to us once the document comes in? At least now we know what we are waiting for. Hopefully, it will happen before we have to leave. I am prepared to stay here, if needed and let Dick go back for Christmas.
We went to the Pantheon. It has a grand, in every sense of the word, sculpture with Live Free or Die/ Liberty or Death written on it. I have a bad photo of it here. It is my apartment motto. I will pursue this, as the Fixer says, “tooth and nail”. I am Joan of Arc of this cause, I WILL have this apartment! unless the landlord rents it to someone else ;-}.