10 July: Le Tour Eiffel

Today, Thursday, I used the first day of my Batobus (Bat=Bateau=boat) pass to travel along the Seine and see the Eiffel Tower. It seemed the easiest way to get to it, as it's way off the Route 1 Metro line. It was a little bit of a disappointment because it was all enclosed with a plastic shield, so harder to feel the breeze and take pics, plus it got quite hot in there when the sun shone.

This was also the day I got a good hit of what it means to be a tourist in Paris. There were all kinds of families on the boat, Parisian ones, both French and Arab, and lots of Americans with some very unhappy teenagers in tow, who really looked like they'd much rather be somewhere else. I was tempted to take their pics, but didn't, especially after watching one daughter, about 16, hide her face with her hand for about 15 minutes while her parents tried to sneak a pic in, even using the younger daughter as a photographer stand-in. The younger daughter seemed to be having a good time with her slightly older brother humouring her. So much sadness in such a spectacular place.

Behind the Batobus to the right is the Ile St. Louis.

I wasn't really sure I wanted to go to the Eiffel Tower, but as I got close it became harder to resist.

When I got off and started for the stairs, I saw what at first I thought was a small golden statue of the moon, just sitting there being ignored. Then I realized it was a living statue, like I'd heard about in New York. I had to take a pic. Then I decided that I should also make an offering and fussed in my purse to get a bunch of change, including a 2 E coin. I put in in her tin. As I got close, I could see there were dark, knowing eyes within the mask, so I bowed and to my delight, she bowed back. Then I walked a little way away toward the stairs and she turned very subtly to face me and I took another pic and bowed, and she bowed. That little interlude cheered me up for the whole day and even now I smile when I think of her.

Well, having gotten this far I decided I should go up in the tower. I first waited in a line that didn't seem to have too many people in it, but the sign said Escalier and I decided that my motivation didn't include climbing up a huge number of stairs, so I moved to another line.

I waited in the line for about 20 minutes before I finally decided to talk to the woman behind me, who was part of a tour. She had brown, bouncy hair in a flip and was wearing a dress with a white background and small, closely woven red vertical and horizontal stripes, like a plaid. She turned out to be from Kansas as were the teenagers accompanying her (one of which was her daughter). She said she'd decided to quit her old job and go came back to being a principal at an alternative high school in a small town nearby where she lived. We ended up talking about meditation (because I told her I was a Buddhist, which is how I got the good deal on where I was staying). She said she'd tried meditation, but that it scared her and she just didn't get it. I said that for me it took a long time not to see it as something too mysterious, but mostly an opportunity to see how my mind worked. She said she found it scary and wondered why. I said that I thought it was because we see impermanence and that we will die. She said she had seen that everything seemed to pass away, good, bad, everything, so that's why she wanted to grab onto her life as it came up. I said something no doubt deep about relaxing the hold, when her tour guide came around bringing them all their tickets and I had to leave for another lineup to get mine.

So, for my friend Sue, some factoids on the Eiffel Tower. From my Go To book, "Gustave Eiffel, who also engineered the Statue of Liberty, wrote of his tower: 'France is the only country in the world with a 300 meter flagpole." Critics called it a "metal asparagus, but it was the tallest man-made structure in 1889 when it was built. It was almost destroyed when it's 20-year lease ran out, but survived due to its importance as a communications tower (which Eiffel had foreseen and planned for), and during WWII captured many enemy messages, including "the one that led to the arrest of Mata Hari, the Danish dancer accused of being a German spy."

And here's the official website: http://www.tour-eiffel.fr/teiffel/uk/

One can buy tickets for walking up the stairs, or riding the elevator to the first etage (or stage), second, or third -- the top. I wanted to get one for the top, but the cashier said they had stopped selling them for the day. It wasn't until I was in the elevator going up the leg (it goes at a slant) that I remembered that I'm somewhat afraid of heights. After I walked around on the second stage for a while, I almost went for it, as from there they seemed to be selling tickets for the top, but I took a look and changed my mind. The above photo is of the top part of the tower from ground level and the one to the left is from the second floor. It starts to look quite different. Somehow I find looking up more vertiginous than looking down, but then again, I could quite imagine being able to look out the windows of the elevator as the metal structure started to diminish around me.

I thought I'd end this post with a few pics I took from the second stage that give an overview of Paris and how big it is. The photo to the right, and east of the Tower, is of the Hotel des Invalides, originally founded by Louis XVI in 1671 as a home for disabled soldiers and is now the headquarters of the military governor of Paris and still serves on a smaller scale as a military hospital. The photo on the left puts it in context as you can see how packed the city is with buildings and residences.

Still with a military theme, the green sward to the west of the tower is the Champs de Mars (Field of Mars) and was built as a drill ground for the Military College that can still be seen at the far end. In 2000, a glass Mur pour la Paix (Wall for Peace) was built at the base -- two large panes of glass with the word "peace" in 32 languages. The sward is now used as a place to picnic and hang out.
And to the North is the Church of the Sacred Heart (Sacre Coeur) on the top of Montmarte, which is said to be about the same height as the Eiffel Tower and the highest point in Paris. I plan to go there next week.

And finally, last, but not least, is the true conductor of the elevator that travels the Eiffel Tower as seen through the mesh fence protecting him from us wayward travelers:

The Ring, the 3 Things, and the Louvre

The Ring

I'm going to try and catch up for the last three days (Wednesday until Friday). It was a busy time as I decided finally to do the tourist thing. I'm not convinced that I'm too much a classical tourist.

Fairly early (for me) on Wednesday morning, I took the Metro to the Palais Royale/Louvre stop. I was standing there in the Place m the gape-mouthed tourist looking at the antiquities section of the Louvre (below) when I saw a dark-haired woman out of the corner of my eye bending down and straightening up. She turned to me and said that she'd found what looked like a wedding ring. She tried it on and it didn't seem to fit. Then she turned to me and said I should have it. That she didn't want to be a married person. This is all in French you understand and I didn't completely understand her -- just in specks. She tried it on my hand and it fit. She insisted that she wanted me to keep it.

Just that morning I had been reading in the Go To book that Lynn Friedman had lent me for the journey that it could be a good idea if you didn't want to be hit on to wear a wedding ring. So I looked at it and thought (well probably not too intelligently) that "Maybe this might be OK." Hmm. Then she starting talking about having children (les enfants) and saying something about eating (manger), and then asked me for money. I looked in my purse and was going to give her all my coinage, not much, about 2 and a half euros. But, no she wanted more. So, I started to take the ring off, and she said, "no, no." She wanted me to have it. So I said "combien?" How much, and she said "dix euros," 10 Euros. I said, "no, no trop cher." (too much) and tried to take it off again. Then she said "Cinq Euro," so I looked in my bill collection, while she watched (I've been using a pouch around my neck for my passport and metro pass and have split up my cash so that most of it is in a hidden spot and what I think I want to spend is in a more accessible spot, and managed to find a 5 Euro bill. So I gave it to her. I think that she was saying that she needed money to feed her children -- or at least that's what I decided she was trying to say. It was a creative way to beg and if it was a scam, she'd earned it. I wore it that day and it didn't seem to turn my finger green and it does have some kind of "franking" marks on the inside (but they're too small for me to read). So, I either have a very pricey ring or a nice piece of costume jewelry in case I want to pretend I'm married. (Or, you never know, we have seen a very similar ring not too long ago -- in a three-part series no less.)

Then I went to the main Louvre. I sat for a bit in the Place getting some very expensive sparkling Perrier -- I think it was 6 E -- watching three military men with machine guns circling the pyramid, which, not to be too jaded, definitely looked better in The De Vinci Code -- though that was also shot at night and there didn't seem to be any people about. Well, looking at the photo, it did look pretty good. There wasn't any line-up and I was able to descend the stairs into the huge Napoleon reception space.

The Three Things

Before I left for Paris, I met with my friend from the L'Alliance at Julienne's in the Hydrostone Market, to talk about her experience. She told me that she had found three big differences between Paris and Canada.

1. Everywhere you go you see people kissing. I said, "oh, you mean that French way of kiss, kiss, kiss the air on each side of your face?" "No, no," she said. "Real kissing. Making-out kissing." Ok. Didn't see much of that, but here's one I did see inside the Louvre (painted by Bordonne (1500-1571, Berlumne et Pomone):

2. The second big difference was that even though France has passed a law forbidding smoking in public buildings, everyone was smoking anyway, everywhere.

3. And the third was that no one picked up after their dogs. "Dog poop is everywhere," not like in Halifax, she said.

Well, I haven't noticed these things too much--maybe I'm too jaded. People do smoke, but only on the street, though there are a lot of sidewalk cafes, so there is smoking there. And, I've seen a lot of people walking their dogs, mostly little ones, two at a time. And, they don't seem to be carrying those plastic bags.

The Amazing Louvre

Incredibe to me, there seemed to be no restrictions on taking photos. Flashes were going off everywhere. So, I'[m afraid I went along, at least a bit. I figured I had to at least see the Mona Lisa and Winged Victory (but I did miss Venus Di Milo), the major attractions. I saw a number of other Di Vinci's, virtually abandoned.

In this museum, the only place I saw a sign restricting photos was in Napoleon's bedroom, where no flashes were allowed. Don't know why that was. It was blue and a bedroom? Someone did it anyway, and a guard ran over to reprimand her. (Not me, I respected that sign.)

I'm going to keep it simple here, because there's a beautiful website you can look at:

http://www.louvre.fr/llv/commun/home.jsp

if you want to see particulars.

Though I am going to include this one: The Coronation of Napoleon, 1804, painted by Jacques Louis David (621 x 971 cm, i.e., huge) because my colour definitely turned out better than that in the book I bought. This is a "detail" of just the main action. I thought it was one of the most beautiful paintings I've ever seen--for colour, detail, and expression.

I also really quite liked looking at how Napoleon lived. So for a very ratna drawing room, see the pic on the left. And for fine dining, a droit.

Don't forget you can double click on a photo to see a larger version.

Vincenne: The hood

Thought I'd show you a few pics from right around where I'm staying in the ville of Vincenne just southeast of the 1000-hectare Bois (forest) de Vincenne, in the 12th arrondisement of Paris proper. I haven't really explored it yet, but it has a zoological park with a man-made mountain for the zoos population of alpine goats, plus 134 other species, plust a buddhist temple, a Chateau (the Versailles of the Middle Ages), and two sets of lakes. I've only been in a little corner hardly anything at all, just a shortcut to get to the Metro, but above is a guardhouse within that shortcut, to give you an idea of the trees and greenery that abound. Here's a website about the Bois de Vincenne you can look at if you want: http://www.boisdevincennes.com/site/index.php3

To the right is a photo of the block I'm staying in from the vantage of a nearby bistro I found.

And to the left is the building I'm staying in. Valerie's place is on the top floor, right-hand side with the balconies.

I told my son Zeb about the elevator I take up to the 6th etage (i.e., 7th floor) to get to the apartment. It's sign says it can only hold three people maximum (or 225 kilos), so he was curious about what it looked like. So this pic's for you kid.

I go to sleep and wake up to the sound of French family life, the nearby express train, an occasional police siren with it's distinctive two-tone sound, and the billing and cooing of these two pigeons, who rule the light well.

Towards the afternoon, these two are very active flying from window sill to window sill caressing each other I think. Doesn't quite look like mating, but I now know what "billing" is. Tried to get a pic of it, but this one actually turned out pretty well. This is definitely their territory, though there are needle-like spikes on quite a few of the sills where they can't land, including just below my window. I asked, and evidently they never actually fly in, though there are no screens on the windows, just metal shutters.

On the way to the Super Marche (aka supermarket, about the size of the old Fresh Mart up on Duffus in my neighborhood at home), I saw these cows. Couldn't resist taking a pic, since I seem to be in an animal mode.

I kind of got into checking all these things out because my expectations of what I was coming into and what was actually here were somewhat at a disconnect. I've not had a roommate particularly since possibly in college -- somewhere back in antiquity, so didn't have quite the right approach, plus I was in a somewhat vulnerable condition and needed a bit more help than what my roommate expected to have to give, so I listened and rested a lot and stayed in my room more than I might usually, so you're getting the benefit of all these weird details of my environment, besides the fact that weird details are some of my favorites noticings. We seem to be doing quite well now as I've become more independent and gone from the neighborhood for most of the day. I'm quite liking Vincenne though. It's rather nice not to overhear so much English.

Ah, one last thing. I did go on Tuesday evening with Valerie, who had returned for a few days between trips to the country, to the evening sitting at the Kalu Rinpoche's centre, which is where the Paris Shambhala Centre is located at the moment. It was quite a beautiful room (didn't take pics) with a large life size gold finished statue of the Shakyamuni Buddha in touching the earth mudra pose and lovely thankas around the room. Nice bright prayer flags hung around the sitting area. Afterwards there was tea and cookies, though rather nice ones and a little bit of leftover sake from the previous weekend when Herb Elsky led a dharma art weekend. They're slowly looking into renting/buying/finding a house sort of centre, which seems to be the preferred mode for European centres these days (rather than office space).

I've arranged to go over to a sangha member's house tomorrow evening for a viewing of the Sakyong's DVD and am looking forward to doing my first Werma sadhana in French. I'll try and catch up with you on my tourist activities tomorrow.

[Note: If you want to see a larger version of any of the pics, you can double click on it and it will come up in a separate window. I'm also going to set up a "slide show" connected to the blog where you can just look at the photos.] Aurevoir for now.

July 8: Into the Fray, Le Champs Elysee

8 July 2008

(One note I forgot about the inimitable Dr. Dickenson is that he was tall, thin, dapper, and I found out had delivered all of his six children. A very energetic and efficient fellow.)

To the left here is a pic I took at the bottom of the stairs going down to the Metro from the Chateau de Vincennes stop. A little old lady hobbled up to me on her two canes demanding to know whether or not I'd taken her picture, but no, unless she looked like a shark, it wasn't her. I don't think she entirely believed I'd take a pic of ads, but I think they're interesting. Maybe because we don't have undergrounds in Halifax.

I finally made it into Paris proper on Tuesday, i.e., to the Champs Elysee, saw the Arc de Triomphe in the distance. Didn't actually go further up the rue than this for now.

Ate some boeuf bourguignonne at the George V Bistro, which was really good. I wasn't entirely sure what it was really -- beef stew? But this was what it's supposed to be, rare and tender even covered with a tasty gravy, potatoes and carrots cooked perfectly, al dente.

Actually, I went to the Champs Elysee to see if I could find the Viator people at Planet Hollywood, who were supposed to give me my "Paris Pass"-- admission to 60 different places, like the Louvre, or the Bateau Mouche--which translates to Boat Fly, if you want to know, because the two windows in the front combined with the pointy prow look like a fly--which sails up (or down) the Seine (it's now called the Batobus, pronounced bat-o-boose). All need to be seen in a six-day contiguous period, for only $US243, which includes a few free coffees and a pass on the Metro. But, I've now bought a month's pass for the Metro for $52 Euro (add 30% for C$).

Well, Planet Hollywood, which by itself didn't present too much interest for me, closed two months ago. To the left is a pic of what's there now -- Starbucks. The only other Planet Hollywood is at Disney Euro, which is about 40 km from Paris, and not a place I want to go. So, I called my travel agent who booked it, to cancel it, since it is still within the 7-day advance notice period. (Update: did get a full refund! Note: You can get passes like that in Paris, at least at the Louvre, for about 45 Euro, so you're better off waiting 'til you arrive.)

Also, I figure that I'm so slow that there's no way I could do all those things that fast and have it be worth the price, even if it means I wouldn't have to stand in line, which is why I considered it.

2 July -- surprise laser surgery

This post I'm going to explain what happened the day I left and why I've stayed in Vincenne all this time.

As said, I'd been preparing for this trip for a few months (if not many years in my mind). At the same time, I've been working with my new GP and trying to follow her advice. A few months ago, I tested positive for "pre diabetes," probably because I'm too plump, so to speak. Part of working with that is to see various specialists, like a nutritionist and, of relevance here, an eye doctor.

The week before I left, I finally made an appointment with Dr. Jacquelin Smith of Eye Doctors in Scotia Square (a very good optometrist by the way). If you're diabetic, your vision can change, become blurry. Mine was becoming blurry in the late afternoon, noticeable while working on my computer. (note: it seems to be fixed now, hmm). So, she tested my eyes and we came up with new glasses specifically for me to use while working on the computer (am I using them now? no.) She also found that I seemed to be getting a detached retina -- on the bottom , so it might take a while to become totally detached, better than if it were at the top where gravity could take its toll. So, she referred me to a specialist.

Two days later I saw my GP and told her (Dr. AJ -- from India, hence the initials). She said seeing the opthamologist sooner than later was good -- i.e., before I went to Paris, was good. Call and get the name and call and get an appointment is good. So I called on the Monday before I was due to leave on the Wednesday. Tuesday was Canada Day. Got a call on Wednesday morning at 9 am that I had an appointment at noon. Hadn't finished packing.

Went to see Dr. Dickenson. He said, yes, the (may be more detail than you want to know) jelly in my right eye was layered like a kleenex and there was a hole in my retina, so leaking could hapen. He could operate now if I liked. Did mention that it would cost $10,000 in the U.S. Didn't know how much in France and my medical insurance wouldn't count because it was now a pre-existing condition. So now was good. Not what I expected when I woke up though.

So, at about 1:10, I went into the laser surgery room. Dr. Dickenson spent about 10-15 minutes lasering (or as he described it, spot welding) my retina back on. Gad. When he was done I saw a nice green haze in my visual space. When I walked out of the room to leave and catch the bus home, it was a nice pink haze. Didn't really hurt. Just felt a little pressure and warmth at one point.

4:30, the taxi came to pick me up for the $50 trip to the airport (no share-a-cab, though that's who I called, but not early enough to get the cheap rate).

7:30 pm on the plane. 8:30 we left. Jumbo plane with nine seats across. Had a great seat mate, Deborah, who I sort of recognized, though she looked like she was in some pain and trying to sleep. But, when she woke up, found out she was a fellow writer and we'd met at the Writer's Federation of Nova Scotia (WFNS) Christmas party and that she had read some of my last blog on going out west!

We had a great time talking. After a while, over the mid-Atlantic, she moved to a better seat, so she could lie down (the middle section of seats was pretty empty) and I tried to get some sleep with no success, though I did get to chat with Rene, a 13-year-old flying with her parents and two sisters to France for vacation. Very worldly wise, but fun to talk with.

I got into Orly at 6:45 am Paris time (5 hours later), then, because it's what I arranged, had to find my way to Vincenne by bus and Metro with my very heavy suitcase, backpack, and purse. Oiy. It was very difficult. I don't know enough French to really communicate and hear back what is communicated very well, plus having to figure out where I was going. The bus went to Montparnasse, which somehow I thought was somewhere else (like the Sinai), but took the bus driver's word for it. I was to get to Chatelet. Well, I won't bore you with the details. Basically after asking all and sundry, I finally figured out that I wanted a Metro pass and waited in line so I could talk to a human being (not a machine), then went through what felt like all the tunnels in Paris, up and down lots of stairs and escalators to get to Line 1. It took me three hours to get to Vincenne where I called my new roommate to be -- who, for some reason I thought had a car, but didn't, who nonetheless, met me on a bicycle to escort me back to where I'm staying--a walk of about a km.

To sum up, I was truly exhausted, more than I'm used to. Kept falling asleep and having my vision tunnel. Then I needed to find my way to a grocery store -- or let's say a vegetable store, a patisserie, and a "super market." Then I needed to find a store that sold an adapter for my computer ("Monsieur Bricolage" if you want to know). Now I've been to "Mono prix" or Monop for short about four times -- it's about two km one way -- maybe only 1.5, but only if you don't lose your way. Agg. Figured out I also needed a "parapluie," aka rain umbrella, not an "umbrell," which is a parapluie for le soleil, i.e., a parasol.

So, that should bring us somewhat up to date. I can now move along.

L'Alliance Francaise et Petanque

Having secured a place to stay, I decided it would be good to learn French before I went, so I signed up at L'Alliance Francaise down on Young Street, in Halifax. I can't recommend it highly enough. It's so much fun!

I'm in debutante deux (wow, I didn't know I could be a debutante after all this time -- but it just means "beginner, level 2"). Here's their website: http://www.af.ca/halifax/.

My class of four was the most multi-cultural I've ever experienced. There was Nadia, from St. Lucia (where I think they speak French); Samantha, from Caracas, Venezuela (where French was very popular with one of the rulers at one time and widely spoken); Maria, from Beirut, Lebanon, where French has been spoken for a long time. (Beruit has been called the Middle Eastern Paris); myself, dual citizen U.S. and Canada, and our professeur, Isabel, who is also the Directorix of L'Alliance (AF) in Halifax and is from Paris.

AF also promotes French culture. On the first Friday evening of the month they show a documentary with vin et frommage afterwards and on the last Friday a fiction-type movie with the same socializing. French is spoken, but everyone is very friendly, so you don't have to be fluent, but just open and willing to discuss whatever comes up -- in French.

I went to a mini-immersion just before I left where I learned how to play Petanque, also known as boules (or bowls). Here's a link to a Wikipedia description of the game:

http://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/P%C3%A9tanque

We were taught by Clemon, fresh from Paris. He was very French, tall, thin, with spikey dark brown hair and a winning way. He told me that he'd just come back from a French teaching stint in India. There are 62 branches of L'Alliance Francaise, promoting the French language and culture around the world.

Clemon showed us the requisite hat you wear (kind of floppy fedora type), the equipment (a small ball (about 2 inches in diameter called a cochonette), and at least three heavy metal balls with distinctive markings on the different sets, that team members toss to try to get as close as possible to the clochonette. The game seemed to me to be a cross between bocci ball and curling (without the ice).

It's also required to drink "Pisso," which is a very tasty delicate anis wine. He brought a bottle from Paris for us. After learning the rudiments, we filled our plastic cups with Pisso and walked down Young Street, in front of the Hydrostone market and went into the back lane, where we played petanque, drank our Pisso, and shouted suitable commentary in French. Dishwashers and cooks peeked out from the restaurants on their smoke breaks to c cheer us on.

I also went and saw Pascale McKeever's play at the de Mauier theatre. It was in French, no subtitles. It wasn't easy to follow I have to say and I looked blank a good bit of the time, but it was fun.

I brought my textbook, and flip cards with me on my journey.

Why Paris? Grandmere A Betty and Art

I've always wanted to go to Paris--to see the museums, the bistros, the jardins, and experience the ambience. As many of you may know, I'm a painter and graphic artist. I've drawn and painted (though somewhat sporadically) since I was six years old when I won an award for A Bride and Her Horse.

In my teen years I had aspirations of fame and decided I wanted to be like Van Gogh (without the ear problems) and in high school, painted a painting called My Bed, which you can see on my website www.cjohnstone.ca, along with a few other paintings. The only resemblance to Van Gogh is the perspective. It has a more "pop art" hard-edge look.

As I thought about painters and whether or not I could succeed, I couldn't find any that were women. In fact, there were no famous women composers, sculptors, or painters, except perhaps for Marie Cassat (and at the time I thought with the arrogance of youth, agg, "and she just paints babies and cats").

Then I heard from my mother that my grandmother, A Betty, lived with Edna St. Vincent Millay in Paris sometime during the 20's or 30's. Later I found out that Ms. St. Vincent Millay, who won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1923, for The Harp-Weaver, and Other Poems as I found in the Wikipedia entry on her http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edna_St._Vincent_Millay

She was also known for being bisexual, so if they lived together? My mother did not want to hear about that.

Ms. Millay’s best-known poem might be "First Fig" from A Few Figs from Thistles (first published in 1920):

My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends--
It gives a lovely light!

This would be a good description I think of my grandmother from the tales I’ve heard, though I never met her (unless I was a baby), nor do I believe I have a photo of her. She was the sort of person who would say "how pedestrian," if she read my blog. She was a journalist of some kind, wrote poetry, and played the piano.

However, all this traveling to Paris, meant leaving my father at home with different relatives. Another story is that once when he was 11 or 12, he traded himself out of the family rotation and was found by a truant officer living in a cheap hotel working two jobs, his room filled with empty boxes of chocolate-covered cherries, which might explain some of his character.

My father, later in his life, must also have spent time in Paris, as one of his nine wives was a Parisian. I once saw a photo of her in his "secret room" in Vienna, Maryland, naked and in a hustler kind of pose, next to a painting of a Keane-like waif I had given him. Rather weirded me out to say the least. This room also had a cot (where I slept the one night I visited with my husband Richard), a beautiful green-glass opium pipe with gold-leaf dragons entwined around it, a well-used charcoal bowl, and a six-inch gold mouthpiece at the end of a long tube. There was also a kind of cat-of-nine tails mounted over the cot that I didn't want to think too hard about.

So when I saw an ad on sangha-announce for a room in Paris for only 400 Euro for the month of July, I decided my time had come.