I had the other day I came to this city where the truth there were many tribulations that I had to go. As always try to entertain you approach to read me because lately I try to go down this little stick and easy sentimentality that would not get used. I am less of the latter and far more than another, what we're going to cheat.
Case is, as I told you recently, that through a company that is dedicated to managing language courses (and whose name I remember as if it did surely would share, about what others avoid what I suffered), I was assigned a family to live with during those months of learning the language. Since I do not speak French accompanied me to meet my host my parents and my sister the day he was to begin my stay with them. My father worked as a translator and we all made a good impression the site. It was a very elegant house "16e arrondissement, chic neighborhood of Paris and the family belonged to the nobility, some counties, no less. Very educated them, all kindness and refinement showed us their house and the room where I was staying. We had the whole family (four sons and a hamster at the time) and everyone seemed all great.
Once completed the rituals of a farewell to the Galician (ie, tears of those who cry for very way in and hugs all seasoned man of few words) I was there myself. French or potato. I think my mother, the poor, so felt it, it went pretty bad and I could almost secure, even without knowing it, he felt he left me.
Countess then took my hand beckoning me to accompany her with a suitcase. We left the house through the kitchen, "service door" and went up some stairs to the attic area. Then he pulled a small key and unlocked one of those rooms. My room. My "chambre de bonne."
was a small room, very small with a skylight under which they had placed a bed. On the opposite wall a piece of furniture with drawers for clothes and a folding door that served as a desk. On the opposite wall a sink and mirror. As I knew I had to leave the bag there, gave me the key and again asked me to accompany her. We went through all the hallway doors and get a late call. We opened a blonde girl, all smiles. Lively little eyes. Introduced me: Kirsten. An American from Michigan in my situation. We left the two alone. With my first words she spoke and by suffocating her untangled that knot in my throat.
I do not want to leave you with the mistaken impression that they were difficult months for me. Quite the contrary. I lived a thousand and one unforgettable experience and I learned that the attic of the "houses good" neighborhoods "noble" in Paris are inhabited by people better and nobler than they have in property, the floors below. Pesentároslos promise all they deserve and you will see why it was that stage that has shaped my life. Moreover, since that skylight enjoyed every night of the starry sky of Paris, What more could you want?
For the curious:
At worst I think I have been demagogic today's post, but the whore is really what you have, when you have as it is and no frills.
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