Although I've been staying at the "Friends" hostel for the last couple days, I have since moved to a budget hotel in the Marais. "Friends" has left me with a enough memories to last me a few weeks, in the form of mysterious bite-marks which appeared after the last night, when I finally gave in and used the one ragged, multi-colored blanket they supplied.
Although I suppose I can't legally prove that these marks came from the hostel, I took the liberty of pulling up my shirt and showing my lower back to a few of the Germans in my room as a warning. I love making friends.
Not that the new hotel is much better--I already feel like I'm in some kind of ancient Syphinx-ien riddle. I checked out the (communal) bathroom about an hour ago, and realized that the toilet had no seat. Hmm. I climbed the stairs to the next landing to check out their bathroom. It had a toilet seat, but the door didn't close. I don't like crowds forming at the door. Hmm...next floor. No toilet paper. Next floor...two dwarves guarded the door, one that always lied, and one that always told the truth. Well, you get the idea. I'm still trying to figure out which of the evils to choose when it comes time.
In other news, I met the guy who's renting my apartment to me today. Although I've already paid him some rent and talked with him for almost a week, today marked the first time that he actually told me his name. Given that renting a Parisian apartment is insanely complicated for non-French people, we had to organize a complicated system that involved my dad meeting up with his daughter in London to give her a check and a wad of blood-stained money...I exaggerate only slightly. He gave me the contract today and said that there should be no problems...except. Except?
"The neighbor is very disturbed," he said as he tapped his head.
He used the word "derangé" in French, which is indicative of something pretty serious.
"Derangé?" I asked.
"Euhh, no...no, not exactly. Well, she's very aggressive."
Oh, good. I was worried for a second.
"She...hears things. And gets very angry."
Apparently this woman has a habit of knocking on the door in the early hours in the morning to complain about the noise of non-existent pianos (an actual story he told me), and such other antics. He warned me that, for the love of God, I should not actually put a piano in my room or make any noises at night.
He paid for my coffee, which was nice. Maybe it was some kind of compensation for the year of raving lunacy ahead of me.
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