D+1:
I had one mission to accomplish today -- get a copy made of our apartment key, so that we would have two keys that actually worked to open our front door. A cursory visit to wordreference.com reminded me that the establishment I would be looking for ought to be called a "serrurerie" -- a name so unpronounceable by native English speakers that I vowed only to ask "vous faites les copies des clés?" as opposed to the more direct "Etes-vous serrure?" when inquiring of a store-owner.
The normal internet mapping solution suggested that these fellows ought to be fairly common, and -- like seemingly all other businesses in Paris -- situated at regular intervals throughout the area. I glanced at a few that seemed nearby, but made only a cursory attempt at memorizing their addresses, and then set off into the great unknown. I was forced to do without my wife as she was already off on her own adventures in Fulbright-recipient-welcome-seminars -- I would be forced to deal directly with the populace, without recourse to an interpreter gifted with a more thorough knowledge of grammar and vocabulary.
Half a dozen blocks from our apartment I came across the first of several "serrurerie" I had made note of, but a quick glance at the metal shutters closing up their windows led me to believe they were closed for the day. I was walking away when I glanced back at two men opening the door and raising the shutters. Ahh, of course, it was 14 00h, they were just back from lunch which they had been eating since midi. I caught one fellow while he was still on the sidewalk and asked him whether he could make a copy of this key (while holding out the original) and how much would it cost [Note: All conversations from this point on with anyone not explicitly identified as speaking English, in this or any subsequent post, should be assumed to have taken place in French... or French plus whatever language tenuously related to French I happened to be speaking that day. -- Ed.]
This joker said he could do it in a couple minutes for 5 euro, but he was quickly interrupted by his compatriot inside... turns out he didn't even work there, or at least, knew nothing of the key making business (Evidently serrureries in France often double as plumbers, door-hangers, window-installers and home security experts). After ushering me into his shop, he spent some time finding my key's exemplar on a chart before declaring it would cost 35 euro, oh, and by the way, you need to bring it in Tuesday morning and you can pick it up Tuesday evening. Oh yeah, and if you've got an original instead of that already copied key you're holding bring that, cause there won't be a risk of damaging anything -- kinda hazy on the last part of that translation, but the take-home message was that I'd have to wait a least a week for this fellow to get my key copied. Unacceptable.
Somewhat dejectedly I said my "bonjournee" to the gentlemen, and left. I decided to walk towards "Père Lachaise" (a huge cemetery containing such notable corpses as Oscar Wilde and Jim Morrisson), and perhaps give it the once over prior to some future planned visit with Michelle. I was surprised when I got their to discover it is located on top of a towering hill... but then, considering how many have been buried there, I shouldn't have been. I saw just a small portion of the cemetery, and no graves of anyone of any infamy, but what I saw was fascinating. There were hundred-year old stone sarcophagi covered in green moss next to recently erected monuments in fresh colored marble, Catholic prayer booths with stained glass and altars next to Oriental incense holders, French noble houses next to Vietnamese imports. A pervasive throughout were the horse chestnuts. Many of the shrines seemed to have broken glass, and while vandalism is not out of the question, I wouldn't be surprised if most of the damage was caused by falling nuts.
Leaving the cemetery, I happened upon another shop with a neon key logo above its door, and the monsieur inside curtly informed me a copy of my key would cost 30 euro and take 10 minutes -- and that without even consulting a chart. This fellow had a entire shop-wall covered in blank keys -- for all I know he was the fellow the first shop sent out for when they needed copies. Evidently key-making's an expensive endeavor in this city. Anyhow, I sat and waited, and despite a two employee consult that lasted most of the ten minutes hunched over a key-grinder with only sporadic mechanical noises to indicate progress made, and soon had my new key copy in hand.
And when I got home, it worked even easier in the lock than the original!
I had one mission to accomplish today -- get a copy made of our apartment key, so that we would have two keys that actually worked to open our front door. A cursory visit to wordreference.com reminded me that the establishment I would be looking for ought to be called a "serrurerie" -- a name so unpronounceable by native English speakers that I vowed only to ask "vous faites les copies des clés?" as opposed to the more direct "Etes-vous serrure?" when inquiring of a store-owner.
The normal internet mapping solution suggested that these fellows ought to be fairly common, and -- like seemingly all other businesses in Paris -- situated at regular intervals throughout the area. I glanced at a few that seemed nearby, but made only a cursory attempt at memorizing their addresses, and then set off into the great unknown. I was forced to do without my wife as she was already off on her own adventures in Fulbright-recipient-welcome-seminars -- I would be forced to deal directly with the populace, without recourse to an interpreter gifted with a more thorough knowledge of grammar and vocabulary.
Half a dozen blocks from our apartment I came across the first of several "serrurerie" I had made note of, but a quick glance at the metal shutters closing up their windows led me to believe they were closed for the day. I was walking away when I glanced back at two men opening the door and raising the shutters. Ahh, of course, it was 14 00h, they were just back from lunch which they had been eating since midi. I caught one fellow while he was still on the sidewalk and asked him whether he could make a copy of this key (while holding out the original) and how much would it cost [Note: All conversations from this point on with anyone not explicitly identified as speaking English, in this or any subsequent post, should be assumed to have taken place in French... or French plus whatever language tenuously related to French I happened to be speaking that day. -- Ed.]
This joker said he could do it in a couple minutes for 5 euro, but he was quickly interrupted by his compatriot inside... turns out he didn't even work there, or at least, knew nothing of the key making business (Evidently serrureries in France often double as plumbers, door-hangers, window-installers and home security experts). After ushering me into his shop, he spent some time finding my key's exemplar on a chart before declaring it would cost 35 euro, oh, and by the way, you need to bring it in Tuesday morning and you can pick it up Tuesday evening. Oh yeah, and if you've got an original instead of that already copied key you're holding bring that, cause there won't be a risk of damaging anything -- kinda hazy on the last part of that translation, but the take-home message was that I'd have to wait a least a week for this fellow to get my key copied. Unacceptable.
Somewhat dejectedly I said my "bonjournee" to the gentlemen, and left. I decided to walk towards "Père Lachaise" (a huge cemetery containing such notable corpses as Oscar Wilde and Jim Morrisson), and perhaps give it the once over prior to some future planned visit with Michelle. I was surprised when I got their to discover it is located on top of a towering hill... but then, considering how many have been buried there, I shouldn't have been. I saw just a small portion of the cemetery, and no graves of anyone of any infamy, but what I saw was fascinating. There were hundred-year old stone sarcophagi covered in green moss next to recently erected monuments in fresh colored marble, Catholic prayer booths with stained glass and altars next to Oriental incense holders, French noble houses next to Vietnamese imports. A pervasive throughout were the horse chestnuts. Many of the shrines seemed to have broken glass, and while vandalism is not out of the question, I wouldn't be surprised if most of the damage was caused by falling nuts.
Leaving the cemetery, I happened upon another shop with a neon key logo above its door, and the monsieur inside curtly informed me a copy of my key would cost 30 euro and take 10 minutes -- and that without even consulting a chart. This fellow had a entire shop-wall covered in blank keys -- for all I know he was the fellow the first shop sent out for when they needed copies. Evidently key-making's an expensive endeavor in this city. Anyhow, I sat and waited, and despite a two employee consult that lasted most of the ten minutes hunched over a key-grinder with only sporadic mechanical noises to indicate progress made, and soon had my new key copy in hand.
And when I got home, it worked even easier in the lock than the original!
