Which reminds me, the motorcyclists in Paris must have a death wish. They charge up the middle of lanes, weave between cars and squeeze between others with complete disregard for traffic rules. I can understand that driving like that allows them to pass through traffic faster, but personally I don't think it would be worth the risk of personal injury.
Anyway, I was pretty tired when I finally got to our street and I was worried about parking. We have a rented parking spot in a garage about 15 minutes away on foot, but we're learning that street parking isn't too difficult to find.
The parking garage is amazing. It's spotless, freshly painted with colored floors and murals on the walls. It's extremely well lit and heated, and there are speakers piping in American music. When you pull up, a camera reads your license plate and grants you access. It's just bizarre. Not only that, but when we went to sign up for parking at a local municipal building, we were escorted to a plush office and an elegant woman behind a large wooden desk. Who promptly opened her appointment book and started proposing times for our meeting. For a parking spot?? In the states you would expect a plexiglass window, a cash exchange, and a sticker.
But like I said, street parking hasn't been hard to find. And it's free from 7 p.m. to 9 a.m. and on weekends. And holidays. And the month of August. So if I leave before 9 and get home at 7, then what's the point in the garage? Levallois-Perret is really safe, I'm pretty sure I don't need to worry about theft. Besides, there's nothing to take in our little Ford Fiesta.
Tonight I parked a block and a half away on the street. I'd like to take the opportunity to thank my dad for teaching me how to parallel park.
Here are some photos Dave took tonight in the apartment. The transformer in action (thanks Roch!) and Dave's new slippers in action (thanks Lisa!).
And here's one I took of the ceiling
Now you know why the Parisian ER teams nicknamed cyclists « the organ donors » :D
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