During her second year in Berkeley, K. moved in to a house on Oregon St., just down the block from Berkeley Bowl. Little did she know when she moved in that a guy named D. lived across the street. They met, they started hanging out, they became (and remain to this day) close friends, and they are my most favourite neighbours becoming friends story. That same year, on the other side of the continent, in a city on a different ocean, L. and 6 other girls moved into the first floor and basement of a house in Halifax. In another happy neighbour story, a group of guys lived on the upper floors of the house, and of course the girls and guys all met, started hanging out, and became friends. Some years after K. and L.'s neighbours turned friends adventures, N. made friends with a downstairs neighbour because they shared a porch and started hanging out on it together. That originally struck me as a cool story... But then I had my own porch in Austin, and didn't start really using it until my next door neighbour moved out (8 months into my living there) and I finally knew I could sit out there without having to run into him! I guess some of us are better sitting on porches either alone, or when already established friends come over.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, not all neighbourly stories are as pleasant as K., D. and L's. This past fall (spring, there), J. lived in a tiny room in an apt in Buenos Aires above an angry and obnoxious neighbour. J. has lived in Austin, Texas for the last 5 years, and though she's originally from the Empire State (with an I Heart NY t-shirt to prove it) she's become something of a Texas girl, with cowboy boots to prove it. In winter, spring, summer and fall, J. loves to wear those cowboy boots. Her downstairs neighbour, an old lady, didn't like them. So persistently, every night, she banged on her ceiling / J.'s floor, yelling obscenities in Spanish to J. and her boots.
Now fortunately, I've never had as mean a neighbour as J. But nor have I ever become friends with a neighbour either! When I moved in to the Hilgard apt in Berkeley, I was already friends with some guys who lived across the street. One time that spring, T. even had to come over and use my shower because he had a date and his shower was not working! I did feel pretty neighbourly letting him shower, which was nice. It was also wonderful when I lived on Ridge Road and N. lived down the street and L. lived right around the corner. But again, those were all pre-established friends. Excluding those situations, with one notable exception which will be detailed below and which only kind of counts as a cool neighbour story, most of my neighbours have been average or below, and either non-memorable or only memorable in a bad way (like for being weird and slightly creepy for example). My current neighbours - a girlfriend and boyfriend - with whom I share a small stairway, and a landing, and one fairly long wall, and a back fire escape which neither they nor I seem to use, are just kind of annoying. It's not that they do anything really bad, except constantly leave the stairwell light on after they've either gone out or are back inside their apt, but overall they just seem pretty uninteresting, and definitely not friend material.
So my only cool neighbour story comes from the six months I lived in Paris in 2007. I didn't know any of my neighbours who lived in my actual building, although I would always say hi whenever I saw anyone on the stairs. But, because my street - rue des Batignolles - was quite narrow, I could easily see into numerous apts across from the road from mine. And, because that lovely apt was a corner apt, I could see into other apts in two separate buildings in two separate directions. (Slightly related story: there was a window behind the kitchen sink in my Hilgard apt so I had a really great and direct view into this guy's (I was convinced he was a grad student writing his dissertation because he was always at his computer) apt. That is, I had a really great and direct view for the month of September, until, somewhere around the beginning of October, he must have become aware of (and uncomfortable with) my presence and began pulling down the blind whenever I came into my kitchen. One time I actually saw him do it - he just reached behind him and pulled the curtain cord without even taking his eyes off his computer screen. It bummed me out a little, but mostly I was just disappointed I only had his covered window (although sometimes I could make out a silhouette) to stare at while I did the dishes.) Unlike that guy in Berkeley, most of my Parisian neighbours rarely shut either their curtains or their shutters. I never once shut my shutters the entire time I lived there, although my roommate did at night to make her room darker. During the winter, she closed the living room curtains at night to keep the cold out, but once it got warmer we usually left the curtains open all the time. As for my bedroom, I only closed the curtains at night, and often on weekend mornings I would wake up, climb out of bed to pull back the curtains, and then get back into bed and read or go online and enjoy the natural light coming in.
Of all the neighbours who I regularly saw in their windows (and there were quite a few) my favourite was this old man (maybe in his late 70s/early 80s? so quite old) who was a fairly permanent fixture at his window. He lived directly across from my apt and one floor up (he was the third floor and I was the second). I saw him looking out all the time, and liked to think he was the self-appointed neighbourhood watchman. Sometimes we'd both be looking out at the same time and though I felt too shy to wave, I always hoped he'd wave to me. But alas, he only acknowledged my presence once. So April of that year was my favourite April ever (which is saying a lot, because until I was 18, April was my favourite month... it was then surpassed by June, but now I don't really have one, which isn't good because I like having favourite things, but I digress...). The weather that month had to be the most perfect weather ever. I'm pretty sure I remember reading in the newspaper and hearing from other people there that the weather was setting record highs for April. It was in the mid-20s and sunny and perfect for almost 3 weeks in a row. Everyone was in a good mood, the outdoor cafes were packed, on the weekends I went to the park and tanned, along with hundreds of other people, it was lovely. One weekday evening, right at the beginning of the heat wave, I was home alone in my apt with all the windows flung open to help with the heat, when a bunch of flies bugs flew in. I stood in the middle of the room, clapping (trying to frighten them out) and shouting "Get out" to them in English, when I noticed the old man from across the way, looking right at me and laughing. I'd like to say I smiled or waved at him, but instead I felt really embarrassed and quickly ran into the kitchen to escape. Sometimes I wonder about him, is he still alive? is he still keep rue des Batignolles up to its high standards? I hope so.
To conclude, I hope I do make friends with a neighbour one day. My ideal would be to find/have a K. and D. situation, but interestingly, K. hasn't made friends with any neighbours since then... So maybe it's a one time thing for everyone? Here's to hoping I eventually get mine!
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