We wanted a genuine cultural immersion in one of Europe’s greatest cities.  That’s why we decided to rent an apartment in Paris versus stay in a hotel.  We’d make the beds, run the errands, and do all the cooking and cleaning.  Everything would surely be more fun in French.

While this has largely been true, my romantic vision of Parisian life did not include a burst water main.  That’s what happened last week when Sandy, Grant, Rachel, and Sophie were visiting.

The day started innocently enough:  we were finishing up our morning coffee and croissants when the doorbell rang.  It was our upstairs neighbor calling to inquire if we had had any water leaks on the ceiling.  After a quick inspection, I was happy to assure him that all was well.  He gave us his name and number and encouraged us to contact him should the situation change.  We promised we would and then went on with our day.

We spent a full morning and afternoon touring the city with our friends, happily oblivious to the storm that was brewing in our apartment.

When we returned later that evening, the electricity was off and there was a tiny puddle on the kitchen floor.  The carpeting in the hallway was damp.  We flipped the circuit breakers back on, sponged up the water, and notified the property manager.  It really wasn’t all that bad, we said. 

The next afternoon the cleaners arrived to wet-vac the stairway.  Their timing impeccably coincided with the precise moment our neighbors turned on their newly-installed heating system:  within minutes, it started raining in our apartment.

Shortly thereafter, our flat was filled with concerned neighbors, electricians, and plumbers all speaking rapidly in French.  Their sentences were urgent and I could barely make out what was being said.  There was something about “une inondation” and “quelle horreur.”  It was really pouring now and, what’s more, it was 5:00 pm and we had tickets to the 6:00 premiere of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.  There was nothing to be done about it:  we had to leave if we were going to get good seats.

With a smile and a nod, we explained that we’d be back at 10:00 pm.

As we walked into the crisp evening air, I took Russell’s hand.  The situation in the apartment was under control, or soon would be, and we were out with dear friends in a city we’d come to view as home away from home.  It didn’t matter that it was raining.  The night was perfect.