Paris Day 9: Lock Down

The day started late yesterday because unlike me, Erin needed more than three hours of sleep to recover from Fete. It was her last day, but all we had planned was a trip to our new favorite puzzle store. We’ve become obsessed with two different mind-teasers and wanted to pick up a few for friends and family.


Harder than it looks.

But first, I valiantly tried to get Erin to eat this:

cheese plate

She was a good sport, but in the end, I concede. Erin will never like cheese. I tried. I really did. I made up for it by taking her over to BHV for some shopping. I scored a sweet pair of Marc Jacobs sunglasses while Erin played it more practical and got a cardigan.

Since it was cold, rainy, and generally miserable outside, we decided to visit the Pompidou. Having never been there, it was an adventure for me, too. The outside of the building is a series of colorful pipes and very modern looking itself, but honestly, I hate it. I think it looks ridiculous next to all the old buildings.


Erin was taken with the Kandinsky’s, but I loved this take on Manet’s Olympia (My favorite painting ever, and sadly, not at the d’Orsay this year because it’s on loan to the Doge). It’s sculpture by Larry Rivers (1923 – 2002) called I Like Olympia in Black Face (1970). Rivers took an already politically charged work and amped it up by a thousand.


I wanted to give Erin a nice dinner on her last night, but the restaurant didn’t serve until 8pm (it was 7:35), so I took her to the old café across from the apartment I shared with the boys last year. We filled up on food and champagne and headed home around 9pm.

That’s when the trouble started. All week, the key to the exterior hall door has been sticking. Tonight, however, it simply wouldn’t turn. We tried for a good ten minutes before another resident came along. She tried too, but no luck. So she called out to her friend who was looked on the inside and he came and tried on the other side.

Again, no luck.

erin and the french door
Erin is not amused

Long story short, the door was broken. I offered to call and pay for a locksmith and was told I was “cute.” After about an hour and five more “helpers,” Erin and I left to go drink and make a plan B in case we couldn’t get into the apartment for the night.

champagne and phone
Sometimes, even champagne doesn’t fix the problem. But fries always do.

We returned an hour later to a still locked door, but the lower pane of glass had been broken out. Shards were everywhere, people were screaming (the landlady and the tenants). The landlady stopped me and accused me of breaking the door. Ummm…no. I wasn’t even there.

broken door
This is how I’m supposed to enter and exit my hallway?!?

Finally, at midnight, Erin and I climbed up and through the window. Did I mention the three-foot drop on the other side. Thank God I’m strong and could swing myself up. Unfortunately, my Walford stockings ripped and I got cut up rather badly on my inner thigh.

And this morning, Erin and I got to do it all in reverse, with her suitcases. Hopefully, it gets fixed soon. Otherwise, I really will be in lock down, writing, for the next few days.

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