Crazy Cats (Follow Your Gut)

I got an apartment today!...but I turned it down. And I'm really glad I did. I had emailed a few places from a subleasing website a few days ago and I got contacted by one this morning. "Urgent! I'm in Thailand. My neighbour can help you, but she leaves tomorrow!" = sounded heaps like a scam. But it wasn't. She was in Thailand for real. And her neighbour leaves tomorrow. I went with caution (I made a separate wallet with a bit of cash in it in case I turned up to the flat and there were four men with guns that demanded I give them my tourist money or they kill me) and checked out the place. Got a good tour from the nice neighbour - an older smoking french woman who spoke English very well. It was 550€ which is not that bad for Paris. It came with two cats which I had to look after. One of which hisses at you when you come near it. Came with a bed and washing machine and kitchen and bathroom (the shower head was broken though so you have to hose yourself down). Electricity and internet included in the price. All sounds pretty good (except the cats - I've decided I really don't like cats - I'm a bit scared of them to be honest - ever since William Godfrey used to pick up his cat and bring it towards me, paws open, at speed) but the place was a bit of a pigs sty. It had just been upped and left when the owner headed to Thailand in a hurry.

I spoke to her on the phone, asked a bunch of questions, and managed to get the rent down to 500€ with no bond, but when it came to paying for it a month up front I started to feel really icky about it. I really didn't want to pay the whole 500€ upfront in case I really hated living there. Mostly the cats on my mind at this point (I just didn't want to wake up with some crazy cat's claws in my face). But also it just didn't feel right. I felt instinctively stand offish about it. I actually got quite upset about it. Because I had to make the decision and pay the money within a few hours or so. So the pressure was on. I ended up calling Mum at 3am NZ time (sorry/thanks Mum) as I needed to talk to someone to get my head straight. She was wonderful. She simply said "follow your gut". I'm worried about it and I can't exactly say why. It's important to listen to that. I also didn't want to be stuck in a stink place and then get to Gaulier on Monday and there are some cool people wanting to find a place together, or there's a room free, or whatever. So anyway. That drama took up most of my day. But I learnt a good lesson. And I think I was smart in "needing to go the bank" (=a walk to breathe and think) before handing over about $900NZ.

Before I got this txt I went back to the American Church (the guard at the door recognises me now and greeted me with a friendly "ca va?" today) then found myself in Champs Elysees (which is a big flash clean candy-like shopping street connecting to the Arc de Triumphe) and stopped in an 'Orange' mobile store where I tried to get data on my cellphone (blocked because my credit has mysteriously been disappearing at a pace due to a mischievous iPhone in my pocket) and to check out how to get a bank account. I need a bank account to get a good contract mobile deal (55€ for 2 hrs calling, unlimited txts, unlimited internet) and I need an apartment to get a bank account.

UPDATE: Just got a desperate call from Helene the owner of the apartment saying she would give me the apartment for 450€ and then she said she would let me stay there for free until she found someone to replace me. I turned both down. Maybe the free offer was a bit crazy to turn down but I'd rather not get caught up in a cat looking after fiasco. e.g. I leave - the cats die. I die.

Anyway. I feel really good about the decision I made in the end. I thought I might kick myself for letting it go as I've been told how hard it is to find a place in Paris. Let alone a cheap one. But if I can find one (and be begged to take it) within 5 days, I reckon I can find another one.

This poster has been haunting me for a few days now. It's two guys. I think. But they swap haircuts. And moustaches. Or is it just one guy? I dunno!

This guy was playing really enthusiastically in a bar called Le Petit Journal (where Funky Jazz music was being rehearsed in as I walked past).