Les Cloches Sonnent

4am start and it was pitch black. No doubt my friends back in Leamington where I had been the day before were trudging back home from a night out from celebrating the first of many 21sts. I shared a night bus with London Friday nighters who, like their hair, looked defeated by the music and the alcohol so had finally decided to surrender to slumber. My mum had accompanied me to King's Cross St. Pancras where I collected my tickets, said my goodbye and was off on the Eurostar.

I couldn't believe it, I was doing it, embarking on my year abroad. All that paperwork and hard work had allowed me to do this. Check-in was stress-free indeed. It was certainly very sad to pull away from London and not see my close friends until Christmas. I also miss the randomers, you know, the ones whom you know of and they in turn know of you, but you probably won't see them anywhere else other than at uni. It was an absolute luxury going on the Eurostar compared to my coached endeavours from a couple of weeks ago.

The sun had risen when we arrived in France. After hearing an announcement whilst on board the train for purchasing métro tickets from the cafeteria coach, I jumped at the chance because I could pay in cash: sterling! When I arrived at the Gare du Nord, looking at the vast space that was the station and the bright light streaming in, I realised that I'd officially started. Reading many of the blogs from previous Warwick students who came to Paris on their Erasmus year, all their blogs started in this very place with this much luggage.

I put my heavy luggage in the cosigne luggage lockers and just carried my backpack to where I was going to live. Thank goodness I had bought métro tickets on the Eurostar: there was a massive queue for tickets. Each staircase I took made my heart drop a bit because I knew I would somehow have to get the heavy suitcase up them.

I stood outside my apartment for 11am as organised with the estate agent. I didn't look too silly because there is a bus stop directly in front of the door so I pulled off waiting for a bus until the bus arrived (the stop was only for that bus) and I didn't get on. I was getting a lot of suspicious looks, maybe because I was wearing quite warm clothes for the 28 degree weather.

It seemed my arrondissement was thriving even though it was Saturday, I later found out this was because of the market on the weekends. Every single child was on a scooter, it was like their standard transport. I almost felt sorry for a little boy who had to walk.

People started to stare more, even the tramp outside of Franprix because I had a massive backpack which screamed TOURIST and FOREIGNER. I couldn’t get my blazer off because that would mean taking off the backpack, taking off the blazer and then somehow hauling the backpack back on to my back without breaking my spine. I had worn my boots as well because it was better to wear the heaviest shoes than pack it. So I just had to stand there looking like a sore thumb. A woman with her child in a buggie was staring, a girl washing a freshly bought apple from a nearby fruit stall was staring and all the summer clad Parisians who passed me by stared. I thought I was being paranoid, but I guess I did stick out because not many tourists come to this arrondissement since it’s quite far out and there’s nothing to see except the market and restaurants.

The bells chimed on the hour and 2 minutes past the hour (for some reason), it was then 11:10. Shit. Had I been scammed? Just like a friend of a friend who was now looking for a place to stay? Just like a guy who e-mailed me through my university warning us of a scam where he had viewed the place, met his flat-mate and paid a deposit to find that the flat-mate was playing ignorant and claiming to not know him at all and would accuse him of stalking to the police if he kept contacting her. I finally saw a woman carrying a wooden fold-up chair in a black business dress and bleach blonde hair. She apologised profusely for being late – she was trying to find a place to park. The place was quite busy since it was market day. It was definitely the woman from the facebook photo (that I had stalked). She showed me in and we ascended to the final floor which was where my studio is. It looked just like it had in the pictures. We went through the inventory and she answered all of my questions. She had bought new things for the studio: a new mattress, new cooking equipment, a new shower curtain, new bed sheets, pillow and duvet. I signed the contract, paid the rest of the agency fees, the deposit and the first month’s rent and I received the keys. She asked me to make a copy of the mailbox key since the ex-tenant was still expecting some mail. I thought this was expecting a lot of me. Cutting keys? How would you say that in French? She said that she would give me 5 euros which she said would be enough. She then decided that she would come with me and do it herself but needed some change because she only had the big notes that I had given her. She decided to buy an apple, she bought four apples: one for me, one for a cleaner and her daughter. She apparently needed to pay the cleaner for cleaning one of the apartments when someone had just moved out. We returned outside my apartment and there was the woman with her buggie who was staring at me earlier. She instantly recognised me as the ‘girl-with-the-back-pack’. As soon as she started talking, I knew instantly that she was Filipino. My estate agent introduced us both and the usual Filipino questions were asked:

“You’re a Filipina?”

Yes.

“Really?”

Yep.

“Your parents are Filipino?”

Uh-huh.

“Really?”

Yeah.

“Both of them?”

Mm-hm.

Apparently I don’t look it. The two extra apples were for her and her daughter. When we had to go our separate ways, I say separate ways but I was outside my door, I finally had the studio to myself. Exhausted, I unfolded the sofa bed and put the new sheets on it then just lay there. It was so hot and I did not want to think about my heavy suitcase that I had left in the Gare du Nord.

I made my way to Gallieni to meet my dad who was arriving by coach. We struggled to get that suitcase to my place and as soon as we settled for a bit, we were off out again to get my other suitcase. I’d brought my emptied backpack this time to fill it with some of the suitcase’s contents. It took quite a few trips up and down the stairs emptying and filling but we managed to get it up the stairs. I live on top of a little supermarket so my dad and I had a little shop and then ate.

The next day was spent finding the nearest Monoprix, which was shut because it was Sunday, but we walked down the Rue de Lévis which was where the open market was and found a small household goods store which had nearly everything I needed (including a whistling kettle). My dad insisted on buying some roast chicken and I must say it is probably the best chicken I've ever had. It was chewy, not watery and had so much flavour and not dry at all!

A photo of my kitchen corner

Tired all week-end, I didn’t do much but just unpack, I was excited about Monday yet scared at the same time. My dad was leaving on Monday and I was going to be properly alone in Paris for the first time. Also, I was to start my studies at Université Pierre et Marie Curie – Paris VI.