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I spent yesterday with my friend Serge, who was having some difficulty with his washing machine. The hose broke and it wasn't entirely clear how to install a new one. So I popped over to his neighborhood in the 10th, near Gare de l'Est, and we spent a late afternoon washing machine fixing and checking out Serge's new artwork he created (I should have gotten some photos, will next time). What made Serge think I would be able to help fix a washing machine, I'll never know.
In the upper right of the photo above, at the top of the long street, you can see
the Porte Saint-Denis. It looks like the Arc de Triomphe, and is a relatively new addition to the neighborhood - built to replace the old walls of the city, themselves built in the 1300s. This new addition dates to 1672.
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Serge has a studio apartment in a really old building - well, American "old" - I believe it's from the 1700s. The iron work outside his windows is apparently original. I love the old wooden stairway and windows as you walk up to the 6th floor or so where Serge's place is.
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The neighborhood is quite ethnic. Heavy Arab influence, but also, apparently, an Indian and Pakistani influence as well (judging by the Bollywood video store just below). But just like big cities in the states, the neighborhood is slowly shifting from working class to yuppie, or at least a healthy mix of the two.
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Just a view of the sidewalk below Serge's. I like to hang out the window and snap photos. Paris, being such a low city - buildings just don't get that tall in most of the city proper - you always have a great view once you get up a few floors.
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After we manly fixed the washing machine, and I helped Serge figure out that, after all these years, he apparently DID have wifi in his apartment we went down the block to a Kurdish kabob place for dinner. It was quite interesting. My first Kurdish restaurant, and I'm pretty sure my first Kurds as well. The kabob was quite good, I got lamb (we also got a second vegetarian thing that you can see Serge eating above), Serge got ground beef, but the best part was sitting on these itty bitty v-shaped-butt chairs at itty-bitty tables that felt like something out of kindergarten.
It started to rain, and we had finished our kabobs, so headed back to Serge's for a late night herbal tea. The French are big on having tea with friends (at least my friends are). And it's quite lovely, for lack of a better word. The entire tea set comes out - folks my age actually have tea sets - and you sit and sip your tea while surfing for Ikea shelves on Serge's newly-found WiFi (or wee-fee, as they say in French).
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Finally, back to Montparnasse around 11pm or so. The rain had stopped, so the streets had a nice glisten to them, perfect for the neon that is both popular, and famous, in our more chi-chi neck of the woods.
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Oh, and the scarves. The French (and a lot of Europeans), just LOVE their scarves. A short rain, and temps in the mid 60s, and the scarves are out in full force (in the states, we don't sport scarves unless it gets to the upper 40s F or so, I'd say - at least not in the north). Admittedly not a bad way to warm up if you have a slight chill, even in the 60s.
And hey, she looked good. It is Paris, after all.
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