The apartment where we lived when our children were young and that we now have returned to as our empty-nest base is located in one of the chicest neighborhoods of central historic Paris.
I could try to pretend that that fact was a strategic choice when we made the purchase, but I’d be lying. That apartment sits in one of the priciest and most sought-after areas of this city… accidentally.
Lief and I knew Paris much less well back in 2004 when we bought the place and didn’t recognize the ooh-la-la factor of the particular ruewhere we decided to buy.
We stumbled into a distress sale…
A friend of our property agent was getting divorced and wanted to sell immediately at almost any cost. The apartment hadn’t even been formally listed for sale when we were told about it.
The only thing we can take credit for is acting quick when an opportunity presented itself.
Today, more than 15 years later, that apartment has provided us with wonderful memories of raising a family in Paris… followed by a decade of excellent rental cash flow… and a decade-and-a-half of steady appreciation in value… including a recent spike thanks to what I think of as the Brexit Factor.
And, now, at last, it is serving its ultimate purpose as a well-located pied-à-terre from which we’re launching the next phase of our lives.
Over the past 15 years, we’ve gotten to know the corner of Paris where this apartment sits well. It’s an open-air museum. Among the exhibits are centuries-old stone buildings… fanciful and ingenious shop windows… grand allées of trees… monumental monuments and decorative feats of engineering… covered arcades… royal walkways… cobblestoned courtyards… secret gardens…
Within a few minutes’ walk in almost any direction are some of the world’s greatest artistic, architectural, cultural, and culinary achievements. Living among them you come to take them for granted. They’re just part of the scene.
For many (including me) central historic Paris is the most beautiful, most romantic, most alluring spot on Earth.
One friend, though, doesn’t like it. While I use adjectives like noble, elegant, regal, and traditional to describe central Paris… my friend calls life here staid and stuffy.
Last month, Lief and I repositioned ourselves from Panama City to Paris… but to a new face of Paris… one that is showing me that maybe my friend has a point.
Our current situation has us coming and going from our place in the 7th… but spending our days and, as much as possible, our evenings over in the 18th.
Every morning we hop Metro line 12 to the stop at Abbesses, detrain, and climb the 180 (I counted them one day) stairs up to street level.
The scene that greets us each time we pop our heads up from belowground is such striking contrast to the one we left behind in the 7th that I almost giggle aloud.
Back in the 7th arrondissement, Parisians wear the latest couture, walk around with serious expressions, and keep to themselves. I wouldn’t say they’re arrogant and rude (though some interpret their behavior that way). But you wouldn’t call them friendly either.
Friday afternoon, after I’d finished the day’s work, I snuck away for a private glass of champagne at one of the cafés around the corner from our work digs. I chose a table at the street and positioned my chair so I could watch the traffic in the intersection.
Bell-bottoms, jeggings, leggings, hip-huggers, high-risers, short-shorts, and capris…
Tube tops, wifebeaters, midriffs, silk camisoles, T-shirts, and fur jackets…
Thigh-high boots, flip-flops, ballet slippers, stilettos, and Converse sneakers…
In colors even Crayola has yet to imagine.
Toddlers in diapers, 20-something goths in black capes…
Old women in housedresses… older gentlemen in polyester suits…
Tourists speaking French, Spanish, Portuguese, Dutch, and German…
Locals reading the evening papers and checking emails at bistro tables and on park benches…
The most eclectic picture of humanity I’ve witnessed in France… like a scene from Times Square on a Saturday night.
Everyone mixed together to enjoy the early spring evening… and each other’s company.
All around the sound of laughter, animated chit-chat, street musicians, children crying, shopkeepers calling out…
In the background, every 30 minutes, the bells of the Church of Saint-Jean-de-Montmartre.
This isn’t the Paris of my experience.
But, boy, I’m enjoying getting to know this Paris better.
Kathleen Peddicord
