This view is not actually from Brooklyn, but IS from my friends’ apartment on the Lower East Side
Originally, my plan was to leave August mostly free. I figured I might like the time to bop around and see friends and family and just bask in my freedom. As my France house sit drew to a close, however, I began to realize that not having a home base would actually feel like the opposite of freedom.
It turns out when I’m not in a place I can call my own (even temporarily), I feel unseated. Wherever I am staying, regardless of how welcoming and accommodating the hosts are, I feel a little out of place, like I’m stepping on toes and have to make myself smaller than I am. I also tend to spend way more money, which is likely a combination of not having free reign of a kitchen in which to cook my own food, and being in proximity to people who I want to catch up and socialize with, which often involves going out and spending money on drinks, food, or transport.
Getting help with my work…
So, come the end of July, I started looking for an August house sit and I found this wonderful opportunity in Brooklyn. Brooklyn was perfect because it had me close to home, which was my intent anyway for that period, but I would still maintain my own space. It also so happened to be for the perfect amount of time, leaving me a few days buffer at my mom’s in Connecticut on either side.
The Neighborhood
Having grown up in what is technically a New York City suburb, I’m familiar with the city, I have friends in the city, I’m fairly comfortable there. Having never lived there myself, however, means I don’t really KNOW the city. I don’t know the ins and outs of the neighborhoods or all the little spots to go. For the past decade plus, usually when in the city, I would be with a pal who lived there so they would take the reins and I would just follow along.
Beautiful church in the neighborhood
This meant that I when I read, “Clinton Hill, Brooklyn” I didn’t really know what the neighborhood was about. The ladies wanted me to stop by before they left so they could give me the keys, show me around, and ultimately meet the stranger who was about to stay in their home. The Saturday before the sit, I was in the Bronx for a very long, crazy day that revolved around a Yankees game. As we waited for the night game to start, I hopped on the subway and headed down to Brooklyn to rendezvous with one of the homeowners.
When I got off the stop in Clinton Hill, my eyes went wide. This neighborhood was BEAUTIFUL. Impeccable brownstones, tree-lined streets, it was seriously gorgeous. Let’s be clear that as it stands I couldn’t afford an apartment anywhere in the five boroughs at this juncture, but this neighborhood would likely be beyond my reach even if I had a full-time job in my field with an NYC salary.
Impressions
A bodega breakfast sandwich will cure any overhangs…
The first few days of my sit, I was really digging city life. I just love being able to walk out my door and access the things I need. From the beginning, I was struggling with how expensive everything was, however. I know New York has a reputation for being expensive, but it’s always been my experience that the inexpensive food and drink establishments are discoverable. This time was different. Every beer I encountered cost $5 and over (usually more like $8-10), and every meal was between $12 and $20 (bodega breakfast sandwiches notwithstanding). One of my favorite things about being in a large city, however, is that there are endless routes for walking. I love the diversity of the people. I love that there’s always something going on. These things all energized me on the daily.
Concerts at the Prospect Park Bandshell include sweet light art
I have noticed in recent years that I’ve become very neighborhood loyal. This was true in Denver, and it continues to be true in the new cities I sample. I may thrive on travel on a large scale, but I hate leaving my neighborhood. Despite the ease of getting around in New York, I found myself more likely to stick in my hood than to travel far distances.
At the end of the day, it was great to be in this beautiful apartment in this wonderful neighborhood with these super cuddly kitties. I also really appreciated the opportunity to catch up with some local pals. By the end, however, I was definitely fatigued by all the money I was spending. My productivity suffered a little as I finally started earning money but let my passion projects fall to the wayside in the struggle to balance my priorities (this continues to be true as I post a blog post about my August house sit in November…). I’m sure the gorgeous TV setup with the access to Netflix and Hulu didn’t help on that front either…
Missing Photos
Brooklyn Masonic Temple
Most of the photos I ended up taking while in Brooklyn were of the cats. I did get a few nice photos while walking around, but I always tried to do this on the sly. Since I grew up near New York, I have this weird, internalized fear of appearing like a tourist. This makes me hesitant to stop in the streets and take photos, even though there are a lot of really beautiful streets and brownstones and lovely, lovely sights. Because of this handicap, I’m missing out on some good shots (and by extension, so are you). It’s so funny the weird things that are ingrained in us.
Friend-Crushes
Most of the time, the days that I overlap with the hosts can be a little awkward. It’s always slightly uncomfortable to be taking up space in someone else’s home, and this feeling is amplified when you don’t know the people. This time, we didn’t have any overlap, but I did find myself wishing I had the opportunity to get to know these ladies a little better. I was immediately drawn to the books and DVDs they had around the apartment (hello, they had “Troll 2” on DVD!), plus I can definitely relate to grown women with multiple video game systems. I definitely left this house sit with two substantial friend-crushes.
All in all, this was a lovely sit in a lovely neighborhood, even if my wallet wasn’t quite as happy about it as I was.
I spent six weeks in the foothills of the French Alps and it wasn’t long enough.
My daily view
This house sit is one for the record books. Don’t let the months that have elapsed since I was there tone down my enthusiasm at all. This place was beautiful. It was peaceful. It was conducive to productivity. I could have stayed there for a very long time.
On an evening in late June, I landed at the Geneva airport. I was instructed to meet my hosts in the jazz club as soon as I exited the airport. Jazz club. Airport. Sure.
From the backyard
The first sign that this was a different place was that they were right. There was a jazz club, in the airport, with actual live jazz music. People were there. Listening to jazz. Okay, Switzerland, you got me.
At first glance, my hosts were very lovely and very British. I was pleased immediately. We drove the hour or so to their home in France and chatted the whole way. As we drove through the hills and little towns, I stared agape at my surroundings. I couldn’t get over the beauty and the quaintness. Everything was SO quaint. The hills were rolling. Everything was green and perfect and out of some sort of fictional tale. I couldn’t believe it. As we went on, the sights just got better and better.
When we pulled into the house, it was dusk. We were surrounded by mountains and hills. Vast fields dotted with a few homes stretched in each direction. I couldn’t believe it. I was going to be waking up to this for over a month? Pinch me now.
This was a wonderful place for me to be. Despite the relative seclusion and loneliness (I really don’t speak French beyond being able to order some things while really butchering the accent), I could have stayed for a much longer. While there, I got into a real groove with my productivity and writing. They had so many places to sit and write, read, or think. There were multiple outdoor tables, patios, and indoor tables with beautiful views.
Something I have encountered a lot of, and I don’t quite understand, is people who have outdoor spaces, but nowhere to sit in them. I simply cannot comprehend such things. I’ve also learned that I am far more productive when I’m in natural light, either actually outside or near a large window.
This is a part of France that I might never have thought to come and see. There weren’t many tourists. Perhaps partly because of this, I highly recommend it. It was such an authentic, beautiful place; the picturesque, French countryside. Read on for some specifics.
Little Town
The walk into town
I’m pretty sure this place is exactly what Belle was singing about. Little town, it’s a quiet village. Every day like the one before! The little town of Lescheraines only had the things it needed. There was the boulangerie (bakery) which made the most amazing croissants and pastries. It may come as no surprise, but baked goods in France are really no joke. They had a butcher, a small grocery shop, a cheese shop, a couple of boutiques, two restaurants, one ATM, and that’s it. A short walk away was the little swimming lake/beach which also had a restaurant.
The swimming lake
Siesta time kept getting in my way because I would wake up and immediately start productivity. By the time I was ready to head into town for lunch or supplies, it would be 1-2pm and shops closed from like 12-3pm. Essentially, they were trying to starve me. It was a challenge.
Driving Stick
The homeowners had quite generously left me a car. Of course, it being Europe, the car had a standard transmission. I had not driven a stick car for probably over 10 years, and I hadn’t even fully gotten the hang of it back then. I watched some YouTube videos to remind myself how and took to the cul-de-sac to practice. The problem with this, though, was that as I did this (not very well), every single time at least one neighbor would come out and just stare me down. This made me incredibly self-conscious, as I was stalling a bit, and I had no real way to explain to them what I was doing. I couldn’t really get off our road until I was comfortable because there was no way to avoid hills in any direction. Eventually, I gave up on the idea of being able to drive anywhere and I stuck to moving around by foot or by bike. This is fine because it was good for my health and also stopped me from trying to do too much, so I was able to really dig into my surroundings.
Night of 1,000 Spiders
Modern Weaponry
My first night there was action-packed. After arriving, and having dinner, and not being able to wipe the wide-eyed smile off my face, I retired to the little in-law apartment on their ground floor. At about 2 am, I woke up to use the bathroom. When I came back, I noticed a spider. Then another. Then another. Then another. They were EVERYWHERE. I usually try not to kill spiders if they are just chilling… But, the sheer amount of these guys meant that the mathematical probability was that at least ONE would crawl into my bed while sleeping. I couldn’t have it. I pulled my bed away from the wall and sat there for ages not knowing what to do. How could I reach them? The ceilings were high. I didn’t yet know where any cleaning supplies, or really anything, was. They were everywhere. I was awake for hours, sitting in the middle of the bed just looking at all of them. Finally, I found a broom and put my Birkenstock on the end of it and went to town on them. I killed 8 before dawn. One or two got away but I was able to get them in the bathroom in the morning. For the rest of the trip, I was more or less able to keep them at bay due to some hefty poison and vigilance.
The Animals
Miss Mimi
The stars of this show were the three hens. The homeowners affectionately call them “The Girls,” and would even sign off on emails saying “from, HO1, HO2, and ‘The Girls’,” no joke. This house sit consisted of two separate trips for the homeowners, and during the first trip, one of The Girls, Brunhilde (is there a better chicken name? I dare you to find one), started losing her feathers. This put me into a bit of a panic because I didn’t want it to seem like I was neglecting her in any way. During these days it was pretty hot, but I always made sure they had plenty of water scattered all over the yard. I also kept an eye on the other chickens to see if maybe she was being bullied, but I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. By the time they came back the first time, she was on the upswing again and was fine for the remainder of my stay. I guess she was just going through her own thing.
Brunhilda, Samantha, and Portia
The Girls were hilarious because the three of them would walk around like gossipy little old ladies. The 2-3 eggs I got a day were amazing. Fresh eggs for breakfast, egg salad, french toast, you name it. They had a bit of mischief in them, too. One of the things the husband asked of me before they left was to water the lettuce patch, as he had some really nice young lettuces in there. Well, every time I turned my back, those ladies were in the lettuce patch and I’m sad to say, the lettuce did not make it. I tried to put up barricades and everything but nothing worked.
Morning cuddles with Mimi
They also had a mostly outdoor cat named Mimi. Mimi was super adorable, and every morning we would have a very serious cuddle. She would get so excited about these cuddles, she would drool and it was ADORABLE. The best thing about Mimi is that since she was mostly an outdoor cat, she didn’t touch her litter box, which meant I didn’t have to either. She was super easy to care for because of this and I just made sure she was filled up on dry and wet food and water. Oh, and I couldn’t forget the cat milk. That’s right, people. Cat milk. The main question that ran through my mind every time I poured her some cat milk was, “But who milks the cats?!”
Cat Milk!?
An Unwanted Guest
There were a few cats in the neighborhood that would come calling from time to time. One of these was a little grey kitten from across the way. He was full of mischief, always trying to hunt the chickens who were easily double his size.
One night, I was sitting and watching something on Netflix. It was storming outside, which was wonderful. All of a sudden, I heard a commotion outside. I know that the first rule of any horror movie is not to open the door when you hear a commotion in the night. However, I was there looking after some animals and what if Mimi had gotten herself into trouble or something? As I went over to open the door, there was more commotion and I could see the silhouette of a cat climbing the door through the frosted glass.
I was thinking that maybe there was a fox or some other predator out there, or who knows what. So, I opened the door and it was the kitten from across the street. He jumped off the door and ran off. I figured that was about it and I went back inside. As I closed the door, however, I looked up and saw this:
Uh oh!
This little squirrel, or sugar glider, or whatever it was, had clearly run up the door to evade the kitten, and now he was stuck in my little apartment. While he was super cute, I had no interest in getting my mitts near his little teefies. I was in a pickle.
I stood around and laughed for a while, but eventually had to make my move. I turned off the lights inside (bugs) and opened the door. I had to chase off the grey kitten who was still lingering. I, then, got the broom and gently encouraged the little fella out the door, which you can sort of see in the videos below. Eventually, he made it and bounded off into the night. It was a very silly predicament.
Meeting People
“Les Boeufs”
For the most part, this was a pretty solitary stop. As I do not speak French, meeting people was pretty challenging. I can be decent at reading it, but I cannot pronounce that language for anything. The neighbor was super friendly and would come over to check in every now and then. If she caught me without my phone for translating, our communications would be pretty hilarious. One day, the farmer up behind us let his herd of cattle come flooding down to the fields right by our houses. When the neighbor came over, I wanted to explain why the chickens had to remain in their run. I did not know the word for “cow” but I did know the word for “beef,” so I essentially said, “The beefs! The beefs!” over and over while gesturing. She politely corrected me.
Watching the World Cup Final
Toward the end of my stay, France ended up in the World Cup final. I was excited by this. I also am convinced that I have great World Cup luck. Spain won while I was there, and now France. Just in case people want to sponsor my travels each World Cup season. Anyway, I biked over to the slightly larger neighboring village to go to a pub and catch the game. Everything was pretty tame. Surprisingly tame. In fact, I missed the first goal because nobody made a peep.
I kept catching what I thought were snippets of English from a neighboring table. Eventually one of the men came up to the bar and I asked him, “Do I hear you guys speaking English?” and he was like, “We sure do! We’re Scottish! Come sit with us.” And friendships were made. They were two couples, one of which has a vacation home in the area. I very quickly became betrothed to one of their sons (unbeknownst to him). We had a good time, AND I made plans with one of the women to attend the American Party with her the following weekend. I ended up staying later than intended because I was having fun finally socializing. This meant that getting home involved barrelling down the pitch black hilly road on my bike. Luckily I had my headlamp.
Ready to ride!
American Party
One trip to the boulangerie, I saw this sign for a USA-themed party. Line dancing! Cars! Trucks! Teepees! Hamburgers! Hot Dogs! This is basically the equivalent of us throwing a French party with striped shirts, berets, neckerchiefs, and baguettes back home. I couldn’t WAIT to see the USA portrayed in whatever lens this was.
I made plans to meet Scottish Christine and her future daughter-in-law for some good craic. As we walked in, the first thing I saw and heard was a few people outfitted in Native American garb, dancing a Native American dance. I cannot speak to the accuracy of any of this, but I can only hope they did their research or perhaps that at least some of them had native ancestry. The Scots were amused and surprised at how uncomfortable all this made me. I had to tell them that this sort of thing would not fly back home in the present day. However uncomfortable I was with my white guilt, I suppose it was cool that the native population was at all represented when people from France thought of the United States.
You know when you go to a festival and you need to buy tickets in order to get food or beverage? Well, here you bought American Dollars that you then used to “pay” for beer, wine, and food. I got a huge kick out of this.
American Dollars!
They had booths selling all kinds of wares: handmade leather goods, lots of denim and biker gear, cheesy wolf and eagle t-shirts, 50’s retro kitsch, flags, etc. The confederate flag was pretty present and I had to explain its history to the Scottish ladies, who upon hearing what it symbolizes exclaimed, “I can’t even believe it’s legal to fly that flag!” Ya know, me neither ladies.
There were teepees, face painting, cars, trucks. At one point, the Scottish ladies stood next to a Dodge Ram expressing disbelief, “Do people really drive trucks this big? WHY? Why do they need to?” Not really sure, ladies.
Overall, it was a super fun day. I ended up staying past dark again and barreling down pitch black foothill roads on my bike. Must be the Scottish influence.
Quaint French Towns
Annecy
During my time here, I had an opportunity to visit many of the surrounding towns (Annecy, Chambery, Aix les Bains). The verdict: they are ALL quaint AF. They all had little medieval town centers with winding streets and surprise nooks and canals. Annecy has a big, beautiful, impossibly blue lake that I regret not going back and swimming in. I tried some bakeries around the area but none were as good as our little small town bakery in Lescheraines. At this point, I’m convinced that it is a prerequisite to be quaint as hell if you want to be a little town in France. I’m looking forward to performing more research on this hypothesis.
Things I’ll miss: Fresh eggs daily, beautiful vistas, fresh air, the boulangerie, quiet country living, cat drool
Things I won’t miss: consistent buzzing, always being on the lookout for spiders, bug corpses, everything “bug”, chicken poop, relative immobility, siesta time (So what if I want to eat lunch after 1p? Ohh, you’re going to starve me at LEAST until 5… maybe even 7? Great!)
Some thoughts and reflections from my very first house sitting gig.
As I’ve mentioned before, there are two specific things that are making this journey possible for me: my Registered Companion status on a major US airline, and various house sitting gigs through Housecarers.com. We all know that house sitting is a genius idea that I stole from travelers before me. I get to live somewhere for free and meet and hang out with new animals, it’s perfect.
Grey taking a wee nap
Before I came, a friend pointed out that she wasn’t sure she would like it; wasn’t sure she’d be able to feel at home or be cozy in someone else’s space. So far, that is not the case for me. I remembered just a few days ago that, in my experience, even when one temporarily rents out an apartment in a foreign city, it is usually already furnished. You don’t populate an apartment with your own stuff. This is more or less the same.
Also, besides the animals, you are in the place by yourself. It’s not like being a guest in someone’s home and always being concerned that you are in their way. Just keep everything clean and functional and keep animals alive and you are just fine.
There is one important distinction to note. Traveling alone by house sitting is not the same as traveling alone by hostel. At hostels, there are all sorts of people doing the same thing, out of their respective elements, looking to make friends. House sitting, you don’t get that immediate network. House sitting, there are all sorts of… cats who want you to clean up after them. They’re also usually pretty unwilling to go out and grab a beer or a bite.
It’s a veritable menagerie in here
Something that I didn’t necessarily consider before, but will consider in the future, is the number of animals in any given house sit. Going into this gig, I figured seven cats aren’t much different than one, and birds and fish are easy. Turns out, the fish actually required the most work. Some of them have a special diet, which needs to be prepared, AND their water needs to be changed every four days. Seven cats means seven opportunities for vomit. Seven cats means a lot of fur. Seven cats means you can’t wake up and immediately get to writing with fresh ideas, because overnight seven cats have been using the litter box and eating the food and they need both those things freshened before starting the day. Birds are pretty easy, though I feel badly for them regularly. Birds also poop, a lot, and they don’t really care where they fling it
It has been fun watching the cats slowly but surely come around to me. When I got here, they were all pretty spooked, some even hissing and running away. The first few days were dedicated to winning them over. Slowly, one by one, they stopped running (some of them stopped hissing), then, they started to be okay when I initiated pets. Finally, they would come to ME for cuddles. As of writing, there is only one cat who is still not into me, but he HAS voluntarily sniffed me a few times.
When they snug, they SNUG
Fufy is not into my shenanigans
All in all, my first house sitting gig was quite successful. My hosts were beyond friendly. They treated me as a part of the family as soon as I arrived. They took me all around and even bought me a most decadent birthday cake. The animals, while time consuming, have been wonderful. It’s fun seeing the different personalities of all the cats. The home is clean and safe, plus there is a pool! Not too shabby for my first experience.
Casualty count: 1 fish, 1 bowl, 1 lock… could be worse.
I came VERY close to being locked in for my last 24 hours here
Not sure who was more stressed out during our trip across the country, me or the cat
Picture this: a woman in her mid-30’s, standing by the luggage carousel at Westchester County Airport, with a cat in a bag strapped over her shoulder, sobbing openly. Two plane-loads of people milling about, waiting for their own luggage, casting furtive glances. Even the cat, who had had a rough go herself, had finally fallen silent.
I can only imagine the thoughts or questions that go through people’s minds when they see something like this in public. I’m assuming it’s more common in airports than in other locations, but I think most people are able to quell their tears until they are in a more private location. That has never been a gift of mine.
A newly adopted kitten, helping me grade papers
I had just gotten to the end of a journey I had been dreading. I had anxiety about moving my cat since it first crossed my mind. In fact, I probably put off making plans like this numerous times before because the cat got in my way. I had made a commitment to her when I adopted her. I was to be her mom and she and I would be companions. I don’t like reneging on commitments, which is why I hesitate to make them until I am sure about them. And this one took its toll. Every time I looked at her, I was wracked with guilt.
Additionally, she is an AWFUL traveler. Every trip to the vet is a torture experiment that involves a lot of screaming and expelling of fluids from all feline orifices. Not a pleasant experience for either of us. Last time, she soiled herself before I even got her to the car. And forget about when we moved to my current apartment. She, a cat who never has an accident, squatted in the closet and made eye contact with me as she screamed and peed. Not a good look. And that was only a four-mile move. I couldn’t imagine how this move across the country would go. In a plane.
The vet had given me some drugs to give her to calm her down, and I did a trial run with them the week before. I was a little surprised to see that they weren’t tranquilizers but anti-anxiety meds. So she was fully alert, just slightly more chill than usual. This would not be enough, I thought.
Nube actually hanging in her carrier during the drug test run
I lined her carrier with puppy pads and a towel I was willing to dispose of. I packed an extra shirt for me, extra rags, extra puppy pads, and a plastic bag to put soiled things in. Stress was at an all-time high as I prepared to take her away (the amount of times my realtor has seen or heard me cry is now just getting indecent).
She did surprisingly well, most of the time. She cried a lot and didn’t sleep. But she wasn’t screaming or panicking. Even the level of soiling wasn’t too bad. She didn’t puke, she wasn’t panting excessively. A few turds escaped (one on the floor of airport security when I took her out, oops), but it wasn’t bad.
In the middle of the second flight, however, I think the pills must have worn off. She had some moments of screaming and thrashing around violently in her carrier. I’m assuming this is when she peed. But again, compared to what I thought it was going to be like, it really wasn’t that bad.
So why, then, did I find myself sobbing in front of the baggage claim?
As the plane began to descend, it started to hit me. This particular move, taking my cat out of our Colorado home and dropping her off in Connecticut, is the first real “no looking back” step of this whole process. Until now, in the planning phase, it has still been just that: a plan. Now it is all starting to take shape. As I walked out the door and into my Lyft to the airport, my realtors were in my place getting it ready to show.
Adjusting surprisingly well to life in Connecticut
For most of this process, I’ve been excited, aware of the things I will miss but knowing that things are fluid and an uncertain future brims with limitless possibilities. Recently, however, I’ve found myself digging in my heels. I’ve brewed up a lot of complicated feelings about leaving, and I’m sure they will only intensify as the clock ticks on and more and more irreversible milestones are hit.
But, as people keep reminding me, irreversible is just a concept. Nothing is set in stone. Nothing is permanent. If, in the deep depths of my heart, I decide I want to return to Denver, I CAN. Maybe it will be a little less affordable once I sell my apartment, but it’s still possible. Anything is possible.
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