Before moving into our apartment here on “Rue Nic” in January, I lived in a series of short-term rental apartments throughout the second half of last year. In the words of a fellow expat, I couldn't help but notice the vault-like construction of apartment doors. “Steel construction with multi-point deadbolt locks, with steel plates and channels to prevent a crowbar from getting a hold. And if you want to get a key duplicated for an apartment you don't own, you need almost as much documentation as you do for your carte de séjour!” (French residency card)
But, as my colleague pointed out, one realizes that most Parisians aren't here in the summer. It’s as if Moses parted the Seine and a mass exodus ensued. He forwarded an e-mail from the U.S. Embassy that provided a friendly reminder to all of us Americans who were left behind, and are used to telling the neighbor to keep an eye on the house if we leave for a whole week. In Paris, all your neighbors are gone too, making August National Burglary Month in France. The irony is that most apartment buildings aren’t air conditioned, so you have to keep the windows open to capture enough breezes to combat the stifling city heat. It must have been the burglary rings that coined the saying, when God closes a door, he opens a window. (July 23, 2010)
Ft. Knox Doors: Postscript
Three days later, I let a stranger in the house. Someone knocked on our back door (old service entrance in the kitchen) at midnight saying they couldn't get in the building's front door. He said he was Mr. Dev-(something) from the 5th floor, saying the front door system was not functioning and he couldn’t get in. Pause: I looked to our weekend houseguest, who nodded, and decided we could take him if there was a problem (Sid was in bed.). It was an older gentleman, blue jacket with brass buttons, profusely apologetic and briskly making his way to our front door to get out. Sid was furious that I'd let a stranger in the house at that time of night, at the outset of vacation / burglary season. I didn’t sleep very well, thinking maybe I’d put my family at risk.
Next morning, it turns out that the front entry door really was broken and the guy really is our neighbor. He got in through the basement door and had to hustle back (as much as a 70-year-old can) to let his family – who was waiting down on the sidewalk – in through the basement door and up the dangerously narrow back stairs. He came by mid-morning to thank us (OK, me!) for helping, and suggesting we get together for an aperitif when he and the fam return from holiday. I’m glad I was able to break the ice with a neighbor by helping him out…even if I still didn’t catch his last name. (July 29, 2010)
Cass
hello
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