Getting Ready to Roll

I’ve only been out of the apartment three times since returning home from the hospital, which is so UNLIKE me. Normally, I dine out twice daily and lead a very active social life. Even friends who have wanted to visit, I’ve denied almost all of them because it just takes a lot of energy to entertain and talk at all. Café Charlot must think I have died, or moved, or am ghosting them…but of course, this is far from the truth. And all the tickets I had for the wonderful exhibitions on the Paris scene have been left to rot. Instead, I’m watching way too much of the terrible news (scary on a daily basis) and dumb shows on TV.

C’est la vie of the convalescent.

You and I are both the losers, because without all that activity, you don’t get the usual reporting of what’s going on in the City of Light, at least not from me. This coming week will be quite different however, as tomorrow is our monthly Après-Midi gathering. I intend on attending, even if not at my usual Energizer Bunny self. Naturally, I’ll be reporting on the event.

The next day, I’m hopping on (more like slowly climbing on) a train headed to Nice with a friend for the opening of Nice Carnaval where we will attend the “Corso Illuminé d’Ouverture” on Saturday night. So, next Monday’s Nouvellettre® will be chock-a-block with fun and fanfare!

And the following Wednesday, I’ll be boarding a flight headed to Maui to spend a couple weeks with my daughter and grandson in the warm paradise of the U.S. island for further R and R.

How am I doing all this considering my convalescent self?

Fortunately, it’s all possible with free wheelchair service offered by the airlines, from the check-in counter to the plane and out again to the baggage carousels to exit the airport. Special car services have been hired in each location to pick me up, handle my luggage and take me straight to the check-in counters. I upgraded my Air France seat on the long-haul flight to be more comfortable. And on top of it all, SNCF has a special baggage service so they will pick up my big valise the day before the train and deliver it the day after without me having to lift a finger.

Sure, it’s not all free, but “c’est la vie”—in a situation like this, it’s necessary. Health is just too important and stopping life is not in the cards.

On the property front, property in Paris is selling faster than it can be promoted. The moment it lands on any site, or even just on the books of an agency, the full price offers start rolling in. It’s INSANE and my agents say they have never seen the market like this.

On Wednesday I made a full price cash offer on a property I had not seen and didn’t know the exact address. The agent wouldn’t disclose it! I was the second of four buyers to do the same thing. Friday we had an opportunity to see it and Saturday, the sellers made their decision.

To put myself ahead of the others, I submitted a “motivation letter” to the sellers—a letter explaining who we were and why they should consider us as new owners of their apartment. This was all before I’d even seen the apartment for myself. The agent representing the apartment was touched by the letter—it was all about “heart” and I included a photo of my daughter and her son at the signature….hopefully it had helped put us ahead of the rest.

When we visited the apartment Friday morning, this was only the second time I’d been outside of home at all. The location near Saint Paul was fabulous even though I really don’t want to leave my rue de Bretagne neighborhood. This was a part of Paris I’d be willing to trade it for it.

The building was spectacular and the views exceptional. The interior of the apartment was beautiful and elegant with frescos and molding, parquet floors, tall windows and all the bells and whistles. The floor plan was workable for two apartments, connected by both the interior and exterior.

We did love it and I got welled up with emotion. I wasn’t faking it…I did really love it and could see us living there. The one caveat, which of course, was never disclosed, was the coffin-sized elevator, which for me is now a deal-breaker. I failed to take a photo, for which I apologize, but in all my years living in France, I have never seen an elevator tinier than this one. Even Googling tiny elevators, not a single one online was as tiny as this one. I could barely fit myself in, much less a large suitcase…by itself.

The tiny apartment building elevator

They didn’t choose me as their buyer, so I was saved from having to retract my offer, but that was the plan. Now, back to the drawing board to find another apartment! Wish me luck!

A la prochaine…