Emily in France: Frenchy French stuff

This week has been a trial of patience. We've pounded the pavement, visited agencies, apartments, and almost all arrondissements in Lyon. We've refreshed rental and agency websites over and over until our refreshing fingers were raw. Every time Ben's phone gives an email notification, my heart races. This is how Pavlov should have done his experiments: take a group of people looking for apartments and see how they react when they hear a ding on their smartphones.

We've seen some absolutely gorgeous places and some absolute merde-holes. We've talked with some extremely helpful and kind agents, and some who clearly didn't take us (and our foreign accents) seriously. I know we aren't being judged by age because many other prospective renters in the agencies were our age or younger. Finally, at the end of today, we were able to get in our complete applications for three places, two of which j'adore (original hardwood flooring makes me weak in the knees).

This guy also makes me weak in the knees.

One of the agents we talked to on Monday is the agent for one of these top two; she was a life saver. She explained to us all about needing a guarantor, how the application process works, what kind of paper work we do and don't really need. She took the time to walk us through each step, and she genuinely seemed to be rooting for us that we get the apartment we want. When she realized I don't speak French, she asked me in English, in the most non-patronizing way possible for my passport. She also apologized to me for explaining everything in French, because I could only understand about half. She happened to be our age too... many of the older agents we spoke with could barely spare us half the breath it takes to say, no, nothing for you in my city, get out!

No! I want to stay here and eat baguettes!

The reactions of many of the agents actually really shocked me. We would find an apartment we liked online, and then we would physically go into the ad's agency and inquire about listings. Countless times I felt like I was walking into a laundromat or a boulangerie and asking the proprietor to check if she had any locations in the 7eme arrondissement. Rather, like we were walking into a rental agency and asking for fresh baguettes. I thought that going to the source in person would yield the best results. I was mistaken. Every time we called ahead first, we had greater success in securing a visit or at least being told of other similar listings.

And so now we're waiting, Pavlovianly glued to Ben's phone, to hear if we got anything. In the mean time, I made a profile for myself on a website to get hired as a nanny/babysitter/tutor/pet-sitter. Ben was kind enough to take a picture for my profile with the make-me-pretty filter on his phone:

Hire me to care for your children?

We rewarded ourselves this evening with a walk through Vieux Lyon and to the other side of the Rhône River. I finally, finally let myself take in my surroundings in the city. Lyon is just so French. It's the most charming city with beautiful old French buildings, a lovely French river, and lots of arching French bridges (also a big French cathedral on the top of a dauntingly steep French hill). We plodded up to the top of said hill and were delighted by the view looking out over the entire city. Lyon really is a huge city, but it feels so intimate and approachable. Public transportation is ubiquitous - a sprawling metro, street trams, and electric buses - and nearly every main road has dedicated bike paths. People don't seem to smoke as much here as they do in the South, which is a huge plus for me...

Photo credit to Ben and his new smartphone

We climbed the hill to that cathedral in the top right

At the end of our evening excursion we walked through the most adorable and chic restaurant quarter on the other side of Vieux Lyon. It afforded the cutest of French pictures and a relaxing end to a gut-wrenchingly stressful day.