Les fleurs, les fleurs!

I want to write this while I am drowning in the scent of these flowers. It's incredible. If I were in a garden full of lillies, I don't think the fragrance could be stronger. It fills the apartment. Its like its blooming over and over again. But how did they get here?

I write this blog hoping to somehow capture moments of my life in Paris. But sometimes I just shake my head because I'm living it and even I don't believe it.

I got home yesterday evening after spending a good part of the day getting ready to leave the apartment so that I could buy coffee. Buying Nespresso capules for my perfect espresso maker becomes an imperative when I have 6 capsules staring at me (one capsule = one espresso). I decided to go to a different 'boutique' because there are only 4 in Paris, all located in very exclusive neighborhoods.

I was dressed in summer whites, ready for a nice stroll, just when Paris decided to go grey and drizzle. For this reason I stayed the day underground, surfaced for capsules then back to the tunnels. One can do this, go shopping at Les Halles and basically not surface again until returning home. That's what I did yesterday.

So at the end of my mole run, I surfaced to find 4 missed calls from an unknown number. This is very unusual. In fact, it never happens. Hmm....wrong number?

I decided not to go to my drawing class last night. I was too exhausted from buying coffee. hahahahha...and now lacking all motivation. Instead I am studying french history..yes, french history.

My phone rings. Curious. There is that number again. Its something, something about Rome. huh? Ah, ok, its not Fabrizzio, its his assistant. Remember Fabrizzio? He is the gentleman from Rome that I met on the Ryan air flight when we had a 3 hour delay. He had his assistant drive me to the hostel when we got to Rome. He gave me the number of his secretary in case I had any problems. He also had a meeting right after the flight so that was the last time I saw or spoke to him.

Ok, so its his assistant. Yes? Yes, and he was at my apt to deliver flowers and tried calling me but somehow my phone never rang. This is because I was deep in the belly of Paris, avoiding the rain and shopping. Ah, ok, how sweet. He offers to bring the flowers over.

I live in Boulogne. That means that anyone who comes from Paris must normally ride the metro for 35-50 minutes. This poor assistant must come here for the second time.

Around 9:30pm my door rings. Since the assistant drove me to the hostel we were aquaintances so I happily opened the door without checking the peep hole.

Who are you????? There standing in the doorway was perhaps the assistant to Fabrizzio, but not the same one!!! Um, hello, but who are you? "I am the assistant." hahahahaa ok, come in. And as he does, the fragrance of the flowers enters before him.

We chat for a while and I learn that he is the 'french connection' for Fabrizzio's operation. In fact he is a fashion photographer who lives in Paris, who is italian and from Rome, and even lived in Hawaii for 3 months. Amazing. We spend a pleasant evening discussing cultural differences (and I finally get a man's opinion on the difference between, french, italian, polish, serbian, american and yes even hawaiian women!!!) Its great. He tells me that in Paris his friends are gay cuz the french men hate him. hahah I am cracking up. I had the same problem in Rome with the italian women!!

The evening ends pleasantly. I am shaking my head in disbelief. I open the card that he had handed me earlier. Its a very nice invitation to dinner on Friday. I will be in Amsterdam. And I will decline. But where else would I be experiencing this? I'm still shaking my head and drowning in the sweet smell of lilies.