40 Rue Condorcet

After our flight in from Bratislava, Lisa and I took a bus and then a cab to our apartment in Paris. While Lisa had been in Paris the previous summer, it was my first time and I was amazed at how beautiful the city was. Coming from a more modern city with tall metal and glass skyscrapers, I was in awe of the detail that went into each stone building. It took us over an hour to get there from the airport, but we finally arrived at our apartment at 40 Rue Condorcet. We were a little bit late so we were surprised that Alan, our new land lord, wasn't standing there waiting for us. Some time went by, I went down the street to the Kebab Stand to get some chips (they gave me french fries instead, I didn't understand this until I got to Australia and realized the rest of the English speaking world calls french fries chips) and a diet coke for Lisa and I to eat for dinner. We waited about 45 minutes before we really started freaking out. We weren't near any hotels (not that we could afford one anyways), we had no contacts in France, and Alan was not answering our urgent e-mails. It was getting late and we were going to have to join the homeless on the streets if Alan didn't show up soon. Finally, I asked Lisa if she had the contract we signed with Alan, hoping his phone number was on there. After rummaging through her bag, we found the paperwork but didn't know how to dial his number (calling people in other countries is much more difficult than it seems. There are so many numbers and you don't know which ones you do and do not have to dial; I had the same problem when I got to Australia). Lisa went back to the Kebab Stand to ask for help, but that didn't seem to get us anywhere. We had no idea what we were going to do, when we flipped to the next page of the contract which told us that our address was 48 Rue Condorcet, not 40 Rue Condorcet. So we made a mad dash down the block where Alan had been waiting for us for an hour and a half, right next to the Kebab Stand.