The search for an apartment has begun. Or shall I say the miserable, disheartening and exhausting search for an apartment has begun.
Today I went to see a room rented out by this lady. Based on my keen journalistic sense (or because I saw a saint-like image in stained glass), I deducted that the building was at one time a priory. This would explain the many rooms with shared bathroom/toilet/kitchen and sink-in-room situation.
Anyway, the room was sweet. Hardwood floors and a huge Parisian window with lots of light. Awesome location very close to central Paris. The only uncool thing? This woman who owned the building was absolutely wretched.
She insulted my French constantly, and at first I wasn't sure why. Then I decided it was because she was hard of hearing and refused to admit it. While she was putzing around being old, mean and deaf, I snuck into the kitchen and chatted with a girl who lives there. I was able to get some good information. "She's strict," and "she likes money."
Okay forget it. I am not living under the iron fist of a greedy old French lady who is mean to me. I'm an adult, and I make my own decisions. Decisions such as… I will not live there.
And so. The search continues.