I moved to Paris
Just for a bit. I’ll be back in NYC at some point but until then I’ll write about living in Paris.
I got a new big backpack and a tote, that is all I am bringing with me. I wear the same 2 shirts and jeans everyday anyway. No need to overpack. OK, Bye, I’m off to Paris.
If you have any thoughts don’t be afraid to comment below or message me! I’d love to hear from you and it'll give me more ideas of what to write about. ALSO, if you want to LISTEN to this article, I’ll post that soon as well. Just trying all these things out!
November 23rd
My Airbnb at the top of a 6 floor building. Which makes for a nice glute workout and a nicer view. It is in a guy’s living room so though there is no privacy, it is affordable. Not so affordable that I could live here for a few months, what with cleaning fees what they are these days. I actually need to find a much cheaper place by December 1st, that is when this airbnb is over.
My parents and friend/fellow comedian Zach Zimmerman said ‘you are answering the call to adventure.’ Which is fun too hear people say but when the call to adventure means not knowing where you will sleep in a little more than a week, well part of the adventure is nerve wracking.
I do think I am answering some call to adventure. But…if I end up sleeping on the streets of Paris in a week that would be too much adventure for me. Although, most of the the homeless here drink red wine rather than tallboys of Natural Ice, so at least the choice beverage is more up my alley. But I have a feeling I will look at this post in 10 days and be surprised where I am sleeping and it won’t be so bad.
A few people I told I was doing this said ‘Why Paris?’ The question always surprised me and the only answer I had was ‘Cause it’s Paris. You’ve seen the postcards right?’ But actually it seemed like a good idea because it’s cheaper than New York. And I like that I can’t immediately connect with just anyone. I already feel uncomfortable asking for help and straining my ear to understand the language. Or translating the little French I know from Duolingo in my head as someone speaks it. I’m not immediately able to be rescued from discomfort by friends or social plans or my familiar New York haunts and routines. I anticipate getting lonely, missing my family and friends over Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Years (as I type I am thinking, my God what have I done) but when that inevitably happens, I’ll think about it or write about it or go do something in Paris, France I wouldn’t normally be able to do in the U.S.
OK I AM LYING…I am talking around it and I just have to come out and say it uncensored the blunt reality. I am very pretentious!!! And love the idea of living in Paris and drinking wine at a table at a street corner and writing at a cafe and running into some girl that looks like Amelie and she drops her baguette and I help her pick it up and she’s says,
‘You are American? What do you do?’
And I am like ‘Ya, I am a comedian.’
And she’s like ‘oh like clown?’
And I’m like ‘Yes but a clown with deep thoughts beneath all the laughter.’
And she smiles and says ‘Let’s walk around and you can have half of this baguette.’
And that is not all…this all take place in black and white!
November 26th
Every day has started with me thinking, what the hell are you doing here and somewhere throughout the day my anxiety quells and I have found some small victory to hang on to. A view, a street, a croissant. Nothing very original, just unfamiliar to my typical day in New York. At the end of my 4th day I was having a beer outside of a cafe and really wishing it could be paired with a friendly conversation but alas, no friends. A girl came outside and sat next to me and lit up a cigarette. She was scrolling through live music on instagram. I came up with my line. Which would be,
‘Are you a musician?’
Not a pick up line by the way, I had zero desire to flirt, just an intense desire for normal run in the mill human small talk. Once I realised that, rejection didn’t seem like a big deal at all.
‘Are you a musician?’
‘Excuse-moi?’
‘Sorry, I don’t speak French. Are you a musician?’
‘No, I just like music.’
‘Oh ya, me too!’
Pretty wild how small the world is! All the way 1000’s of miles across the Atlantic and I found another human being who likes music!
Her name is Margot. Her boyfriend was a drummer and we talked about his band. And she is a painter. She showed me some of her paintings. I asked her if she knew anyone who may have a room to rent. She told me that finding a place in Paris is extremely hard and wished me luck. It was discouraging but nice to have a friendly conversation.
I went back to my Airbnb and frantically posted on a Paris Apartments Facebook page.
‘I am a NICE PERSON, CLEAN and KIND! I NEED A ROOM ASAP! December 1st! Here are pictures of me with my two nephews, a bunch of friends, my parents! Look I am normal!!! Please help!!!!’
November 28th
I got a message from an Irish girl who is studying human rights. She was renting her studio out for 6 weeks. I went over to look at it. She was very thorough, it was just one room but she went over everything, the way the toilet flushes, the heat. The entire time I was thinking,
‘ya I’ll take it. I don’t need to know how the oven works, I don’t need to know IF the oven works. Zelle or Venmo? Check or cash? I’ll take it.’
I kept my cool and went on the entire tour of the 15m2 apartment (I’m on the metric system now. Besides Celsius, still using Fahrenheit).
‘So, if you want it. It’s yours. Do you have any questions?’ the nice Irish girl said.
‘Um, ya I think it works for what I want. Um, no real questions,’ I nodded my headed and looked around as I said this to project some thoughtful consideration, while my mind said, ‘Yes, I’m in. I’ll take it! Cash, Check, Venmo! Take my money! I want this apartment!’
I sent her half the rent via PayPal and she had me take a picture of her passport and wrote out a beautiful rental agreement on a piece of notebook paper.
I walked out of the building and thought about the two giant windows over looking a beautiful street minutes from the Republique metro stop. I was walking on air, I hadn’t signed a new lease since my New York apartment in 2009. I celebrated with an espresso at a tiny cafe below the apartment. And wandered around the bookstore next door. I didn’t buy anything because I figured I would be back at the bookstore regularly in just a few days. As I turned the corner, I saw Margot sitting smoking in front of a big Parisian style corner cafe.
‘Margot? Margot! I got an apartment!’ I said to my close personal friend!
‘Excuse-moi? I’m sorry?’ she said confused.
‘We met at the bar the other day. You like music!’ I said.
‘Oh yes! How are you?’ she remembered.
‘I got an apartment! And it’s right around the corner!'
‘Magnifique,’ she handed me a smoke, ‘to commemorate?’
We celebrated over a cigarette, which still have the same health hazards here as the do in the United States, but in moments like that it is easier to overlook them.
‘I hope this isn’t weird but I have no friends here in Paris. But I do have a friend from New York who is in town doing a concert tomorrow and I have some comps. Would you and your boyfriend want to come with me?’ I asked Margot before our cigarette was over.
‘Tomorrow? Sure I have no plans, I will ask him. DM me the details’ she said as she showed me her instagram handle so we could keep in touch.
I followed her. She followed me.
December 3rd
I am not homeless. I am in a hostel. The lease doesn’t start until December 10th. There are worse things, it is a very nice hostel. I made a solemn pact with myself not to sleep in a bunk bed after the age of 35 and I had to break that. But I signed a short term lease in Republique in the 10th arrondissement. I move in on December 10th. It is a small studio with 2 big windows and it is right above a cafe and a small bookstore. But until then…bunk beds!
Moral of the Story: When you are in need, ask. Whether it’s a home or a conversation.