Does Size Really Matter?

America is truly the Land of Plenty. Plenty of space, plenty of money, plenty of stuff. And Americans take so much for granted - I know I did until I moved to romantic France and reality set in. The reality of tiny apartments, many not any bigger than 10x12 all inclusive. The reality of no closets, no cupboards, no bathtubs, just tiny shower stalls smaller than most Americans would have in their motor homes. And the kitchens? Oh la la! With the cost per square meter at an all time high for real estate in Paris, the kitchen suffers. To find a flat with 1 1/2 meters of uninterrupted counter space is like a dream come true - for me gone are the days of cooking with every bowl, pot, and spoon in the house and spreading out. Of course, the upside is the fresh factor. With little room for large refrigerators and pantry's crammed with junk food loaded with preservatives,* one shops more often. Almost every arrondissment has it's thrice weekly Farmer's Market, and of course bread is a daily event at your favorite boulangerie. Sometimes I see ads for apartments that include a "cuisine americaine"; that is a bar counter (usually about 3 feet long) that divides the kitchen from the main room in a studio apartment. Apparently a revolutionary idea! Most important however, is what one prepares in the french kitchen. Gastronomy being elevated to an intellectual art form here (ironically there are zillions of bad restaurants), still every culture has it's preferences and France is no different. The essentials in every french pantry are; tea, café, chocolat, and biscuits (cookies). No cupboard would be complete without an ancient tin of sardines, and of course wine is a must have! For the frigo it's frommage, (cheese) yogurt, jambon, (ham) eggs, butter, and smoked salmon. Throw in a fresh baguette and with these ingredients in stock, you have everything you need for a snack. If you are really clever a saucisson seche (dried sausage) is in your arsenal, as the french are particularly fond of this and will respect you for having it on offer. And after all, it takes very little space to slice a pepperoni! *(a "preserveratif" is the french word for condom, so my french friends will certainly be thrown into a state of confusion upon reading this LOL!)

Cribs Part One: A Room with a View

A friend of mine is in the market to buy a home in Paris, and has been recently engaged in the daunting task of apartment hunting. She asked me to accompany her one afternoon, and we set out to find the perfect place. First stop; Les Halles. A lively and bohemian neighborhood, it boasts a history as old as France; Les Halles, or The Halls have been the center of commerce since the 12th century. Bateaux filled with wheat, grain, fish, and beef delivered their wares via the Seine to giant underground storage facilities to be sold by merchants in their stalls above ground. It was the first shopping mall in Paris! Today a modern shopping center takes it's place in history with chain stores offering shoes, cellphones, and skinny jeans. The streets are lined with Lebanese fast food shops offering Gyros and frites, poster stores for decorating on a dime, and Asian discount shoe shops (the place to go for a cheap pair of converse style tennies). We entered the Place des Innocents, a plaza skirted by cafe's and softened by a beautiful fountain in the center. The entrance into the building was smack dab in the middle of two of these cafés, and as we wove our way through the diners and entered the digicode I observed the easy access to room service! Four very long flights up (this was a very old building with no ascenseur) we were greeted by a very dignified agent with a back as straight as a ramrod and an air of royalty who would open the door to the most dreary apartment imaginable. Entering through a space of approximately 3x5 ft., this was the kitchen. A full length curtain was drawn to reveal a tiny camper style sink and drainboard, the latter being home to a microwave. A stacking wire rack occupied the remaining space alongside the sink, this was the available storage. A door to the right opened into the w.c., with just enough space for a toilet, but not really any space for a person. The salon was a dark, gloomy 8x8 nightmare in parisian beige - France's national color. I looked at Anne as if to say, "Let's run as fast as we can!" while the agent stood haughtily in the corner. He could care less if we liked it or not, in this market it would be snapped up within the week. At a mere 280,000 euro. Our next stop was near Gare de l'Est in on a quiet street that had good access to shops and restaurants. Liveable, with a nice kitchen with plenty of prep space and a seperate bedroom, it was definately a step in the right direction. There were other prospective buyers waiting their turn outside to have a look, and I am sure it was sold before the end of the next business day. Anne wasn't feeling it, and we moved on to apartment number three. Listed at 240,000 euro, it was in the heart of Montmarte; a busy ethnic neighborhood crowded with tiny shops full of exotic food and spices, traditional dress, and cheap housewares. We entered a small courtyard where a Haman offered saunas and showers to the public. To the left was the porte leading to the foyer. A salutation was scrawled on the wall as we entered; "Fils de Pute Dehors" (Son of a Whore Get out!) Not a good sign. Funky food smells and screaming kids provided the ambience as we climbed the stairs - again no elevator. I could see the handwriting on the wall (no pun intended)! After a trip down a long, dark hallway we met the current owner who was busy trying to clean the place up. And what a lovely place it was! Tile floors, a spacious eat in kitchen, a private bath (other apartments on that floor shared a toilet at the end of the hall), and a magnificent view from the windows in the salon. A picture being worth a thousand words, I have added a slideshow for your benefit (below). Ah Paris, the City of Lights, the most romantic city in the world!