Unfortunately the day began a little later than desired.
(This was following an interesting night last night in which I missed the last metro home. Again. Despite being adamant that I would not repeat the mistake a second time. But time flies and Hanna fails. Despite being told numerous times that it was snowing outside, we thought we'd be fine to walk to the local bus depot and catch a handy, multi seated vehicle to our homes. Little did we know that they don't run in snow. Handy. So after having a messy snow fight at around 2am in the deserted streets of Cardinal Lemoine, then swiftly regretting it when we were wet, freezing and still with countless blocks to trample through the snow in, we literally RAN through the snow, holding hands to balance ourselves and avoid slipping. Success! No one fell. But it must have been quite a sight.
Arriving at the location for the buses and finding there were none, we joined the homeless crowd on the grates. SO warm. We ended up breathing in that toxic, awful but warm air for about 10 minutes before bringing ourselves to the fact that things were not going to just fix themselves and we couldn't stay there forever. Well, technically we could, but the homeless men seemed to be catching on that we weren't actually homeless and just merely stealing their coveted warm air and were getting worringly close. So we hailed cabs and were met with instant warmth and finally, a ticket home. I stared, mesmorized, at the glimpes of delicious, fresh snow whizzing past from inside the comfort of a friendly taxi man's car. Paris decorated in snow is STUNNING. Something everyone should be lucky enough to see. I collapsed into bed in the early hours of the morning, unable to fall asleep for the beauty of the delicate beads of white snow, gliding down right outside my window against a backdrop of the horizon of Parisian roof's. I am SO lucky. And warmth should never, ever, be overrated.)
Needless to say, my plan to wake up early and get started on the difficult moving process became a little more difficult when it came to the follow through. So I rose late (with snow still everywhere!!), packed up all my stuff and got set for trip #1. Of two. I don't know what made me decide to try and do it by myself, by foot, with no means of transport, but I had set my mind on ignoring the taxi's streaming past eager to pick me up and get that instant 5euro because I had bags. But no. After carrying my suitcase down the 6 flights of stairs (its at this point that I think maybe my fear of lifts has gotten a little extreme) and head down the Grands Boulevards. By the time I arrive at my new apartment (which is on the ground floor, thank goodness) I am sweating on the inside and freezing on the inside and my body is clearly confused. I drop off my stuff, grab the trolley my landlord gives me for my extra boxes and head back. This time getting the trolley, laden with boxes down 6 flights of stairs seems a little more tedious. I stand and stare at the lift. And then relent. Sorta.
I manouevre the trolley into the lift, press the ground floor, close the doors and then race down all 6 flights of stairs so I can open the doors when it reaches the bottom. Pretty sure I looked like a complete nutter. BUT, I have reasons for this other than the idea that a small, swinging square suspended high up in a narrow shaft is not the most comfortable of images. Not only had the lift been breaking previously (the doors would often refuse to opena dn had to be shoved hard, or pushed from the other side) but also, I doubt I actually would have fitted in the lift with the trolley. The lift is THAT small.
Anyway, it was a success. I got my trolley down and managed to trample through the, now slush, relatively unharmed. I am now somewhat unpacked in my brand, spanking new room (but actually not brand, spanking or new. At all.)
There is definitely a trip to IKEA in the near future. SO excited.
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