Mon Apartment et Passport

Paris is the city of cafés, balconies, boulangeries, little streets that somehow look like they've been designed specifically for a film, and apartments with tall windows overlooking something impossibly French.

Paris is the European city of angles

And then you actually try to rent a place.

Fucking nightmare.

I've done it before. A few years ago, I had to navigate the Paris rental market myself, and it was one of those experiences that completely destroys the fantasy of simply arriving in Paris, finding a gorgeous apartment in your favourite quartier and starting your new life.

Because Paris has a housing problem.

And if you're coming from another country, it can feel like the system was specifically designed to ask you for paperwork you don't have, references you can't provide and a rental history that you haven't had time to establish.

From my experience, there are broadly four routes.

1. HLM

There is HLM — social housing.

These are the huge housing estates, particularly around the outskirts of Paris and the wider Île-de-France region. Some are perfectly ordinary places to live; others are in neighbourhoods that have become symbols of the economic and social divide around Paris.

The attraction is obvious.

It's cheap.

You can potentially get a surprisingly large apartment for the money.

The downside is that you're generally further away from the Paris that people have in their heads when they dream about moving there.

You're not necessarily wandering downstairs at 8am, buying a croissant and casually strolling past the Eiffel Tower on your way to work.

And some areas have reputations for being places where you need to be more careful, particularly at night.

It's a very different version of Paris.

2. The Rent controlled apartments

Then you have the older private apartments where the rent is controlled or otherwise relatively affordable.

And these are the ones everyone wants.

Because if you can get one, you've potentially hit the jackpot.

The problem?

Everyone else wants one too.

You need the paperwork, the references, the financial history and, often, evidence of an established rental history.

If you're moving from another country, that immediately puts you at a disadvantage.

And when something genuinely affordable appears, you're effectively joining a fucking scrum.

It's a bit like New York.

A desirable apartment becomes available and suddenly half the city appears to want it.

Except you're standing there thinking:

"I've got a good salary, I'm completely trustworthy and I promise I won't trash the place."

Unfortunately, the system doesn't particularly care.

It wants the paperwork.

3. Private modern apartments

Then there's the easy option.

Well...

The technically easy option.

Find a modern apartment. Put your name on the lease. Pay the rent.

Except the rent can be absolutely brutal.

Paris isn't cheap, and a nice modern apartment in a desirable location can eat an enormous chunk of your salary.

You can end up with the perfect apartment and then realise that after rent, bills and everything else, your disposable income has basically disappeared.

Congratulations.

You live in Paris.

You can afford bread.

4. Public housing in the centre

And then there is the stuff that looks like it came directly from a film.

Those enormous old Parisian buildings.

High ceilings.

Tall windows.

Ornate façades.

A concierge downstairs.

Apartments overlooking some of the most beautiful parts of the city.

And, potentially, surprisingly low rents compared with what you'd expect for the location.

These are the apartments that make you understand why people spend years trying to get into the Paris housing system.

The catch?

The waiting lists can be years long, its currenty at 6 years.

And getting one isn't exactly straightforward.

If you're not already embedded in the system, it can feel almost impossible.

Unless, perhaps, you happen to know someone who knows someone...

Which brings me to my own experience.

The one I actually got

The last time I lived in Paris, I was working for an international company.

And that helped.

The company had enough influence and resources to help navigate the rental market, and eventually I managed to get a private one-bedroom apartment.

And it was fucking brilliant.

Top floor. - I've added a picture to this post and circled my old place.

A huge balcony that ran from my louge, passed my kitchen and then to my bedroom. It has 2 sun loungers on it and a table with 4 chairs, it was rather impressive if I do say so myself :)

Overlooking a port beside a canal.

I could wake up and look out at boats gently bobbing on the water.

Which, incidentally, is not exactly the first thing that comes to mind when most people picture Paris.

And downstairs?

A bar.

And a bakery.

Honestly, what more could you want?

Wake up.

Look at the boats.

Walk downstairs.

Coffee and pastry.

Come home.

Wine at the bar.

Repeat.

The only slight problem was the rent.

It was very expensive.

So I had to be careful with my money.

But it was doable, and for a while I got to experience something that was pretty close to the Paris fantasy.

And that's probably why I've never completely lost the idea of living there again.

Would I move back?

I've been asked whether I'd move back to Paris.

And the answer is...

Maybe.

But knowing what I know now, I'd do it very differently.

I wouldn't arrive thinking:

"I'll find somewhere when I get there."

Absolutely fucking not.

I'd call in every favour.

I'd use every contact.

I'd get every bit of help I could.

And if I'm going to take the plunge again, I want the full fantasy.

I want the Emily in Paris apartment.

Yes, I know it's television.

Yes, I know it isn't realistic.

That's rather the point.

If I'm going to uproot my life and move back to Paris, I don't want the compromise version.

I want the beautiful old building.

The big windows.

The balcony.

The shutters.

The little café downstairs.

A few minutes' walk from my favourite streets.

Somewhere I can step outside in the morning and think:

Fuck me. I actually live in Paris.

Because that's the thing about Paris.

Visiting Paris is easy.

Living in Paris is something else entirely.

And perhaps that's why, if I ever go back, I'm going to be considerably more demanding about where I live.

I've done the reality.

Next time, I want the dream.

In the meantime, I'm off to Edinburgh...

Well, not quite Paris. I'm off on a day trip to Edinburgh, which is less a sightseeing adventure and more a two-hour formal interview at the French Consulate.

My French passport expired last year, and with frequent trips back to France on the cards, it's bloody worth getting it renewed. It'll also save me having to queue with all you morons who voted us out of the EU.

Yes, you. In fact, stop reading this blog now. We can't be friends!

Honestly, only the French could turn getting a passport renewed into a full-blown bureaucratic exercise. It's not exactly a case of filling in a quick online form and waiting for the postman.

No, no.

Prepaid postage. Forms. New photographs. Supporting documents. And then a face-to-face interview at a consulate.

Because obviously, they need to establish that I'm actually French before allowing me to prove I'm French.

Vive la bureaucratie!

There are only two French Consulates in the UK for this little adventure: London and Edinburgh.

Now, I did the maths.

Train to London, tube across the city, food, drinks and the inevitable expense of getting around the capital? I wouldn't have much change from £250.

Alternatively, I could get the train to Edinburgh, walk to the consulate, grab some food and drinks, and still have change from £100.

So, really, it was a no-brainer.

The plan is to catch the 10am train, arrive around lunchtime, grab something to eat, head to my appointment, and then enjoy a few drinks and a decent meal before catching the train home after 6pm.

A full day out, a bit of French administration, some food, a few whiskies and a train journey home.

Not quite Emily in Paris, admittedly.

More Knobhead in Edinburgh, dealing with French paperwork.

But at least I'll be one step closer to getting my passport sorted, which means fewer headaches when hopping over to France, even moving there.

Although, knowing the French, I wouldn't be entirely surprised if I get to Edinburgh only to discover I've brought the wrong photograph, missed a signature or filled in a form in the wrong shade of blue ink.

Wish me luck. I'm going to need it.