February 12th, 2024 / µ

My Tragi-Absurd Parisian Nightmare

Why did I choose to go back to Paris in 2019? To anyone who knows me and my past, the first and most obvious answer to this question might be:

I am an idiot.

However, I do have one rational reason, plus a bucket full of emotional crap and a lifetime of disillusion to explain myself and my decision.

We all want to go home. Rats return to the safety of their sewers; refugees long for bombed-out cities, and Navalnyj returned to Russia, most likely knowing what his fate would be. (Update: This was written before Navalnyj’s death).

Life’s hard, and then you die, and troubles and tragedies will find you, no matter where you are, so it is always better to be where you feel at home in your heart. Denmark stopped being my home long ago, so over the years, I created a new one in Paris. And in 2019, I wanted to go home.

That’s the emotional reason for my bad decision.

The rational explanation to justify my decision was that I wanted to once and for all stop the monsters the Danish police on Funen had de facto granted control over my life and thus the right to crush my life.

Now, back to Paris and what happened in September 2019.

If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast.

Ernest Hemingway

Ready To Move On

In the fall of 2019, I was ready to pick up my life where I felt I had mentally left it years earlier. I had had enough of Denmark, especially the local police force (Fyns Politi), who had treated me like garbage, and I was tired of living in my mother’s house. And most importantly, I, along with others, had a plan to stop the monsters; the monsters the Danish police refused to stop,

There will always be criminals because humans are not angels; some are scheming, some are perverts, some are notorious liars, and some are sadists. So you have police forces and courts to protect the rest of us from those who trespass against and abuse us. But on Funen, experience has taught me it is different.

To ensure I would not have any unpleasant surprises, I checked with the authorities in Denmark, including the National Police Force (Rigspolitiet), before I left Denmark. I had no debt, no charges against me, and no lawsuits on the horizon. And given that I am a single woman and business owner with no kids, I have no contact with Social Services.

The plan was that I would move back to Paris, pick up my life where I left it (more or less), and finish a fictional text with the action taking place in central Paris while placing my faith in the French legal system if the monsters followed, as I expected they would.

I had had some problems in Paris in the past (read: Huge problems). But at this point in my life, middle-aged and disillusioned, I had concluded that single and independent women will face prejudice and problems wherever they go. In Paris, I had the advantage of knowing the system, the labor market, and how to live. And most importantly, I knew how to get an apartment.

As long as you have your own apartment and you can pretty much make rent for the next year, you’re golden!

Ari Shaffir

An Apartment in The Latin Quarter in Paris

With the usual bureaucratic craziness it takes to rent an apartment in Paris, I managed to secure a ground-floor apartment in the 5th arrondissement in Paris on Rue Malebranche. It even had a small yard for my dog, Gavroche.

Gavroche was used to Champ de Mars back in the day (Parc du Champ-de-Mars), and we could get there relatively fast by bus so he could revisit his old friends and his old girlfriends and pee on what needed to be peed seriously on after five years absence.

As with most apartments in big cities, it looked perfect online. And like most apartments in big cities, it was far from perfect in the real world.

The apartment was quite cold as it was just above a basement that seemed to have been dug out before the invention of the wheel. It was located behind an old, noisy elevator, and the only window in the kitchen area had one layer of old glass and faced the property’s trash cans.

The toilet was in what appeared to be a former closet with no sink. It was dark and moist, and one of the former inhabitants had definitely been a male cat! Or, in the words of a big city real estate agent, it had charm and atmosphere!

But apart from those minor issues, there was nothing not to be expected when renting an apartment in Paris if you are pre-rich! The problem was not the bricks or what may have been mold on the walls. The problem was the Danish monsters!

Less than 24 hours after my arrival in September 2019, I became the unwilling listener to a heated debate between three women, who seemed only to lack a cauldron and a couple of brooms. The women were too hysterical for me to find heads and tails in their hysteric outbursts. I chose to ignore them and forget about it. Days went by, and things didn’t improve, and soon I found out what was going on:

The Danish monsters had arrived, and they were in the building!

The Monsters

The day I found out what was going on, I was preoccupied with my own life and on my way out. But as I turned the corner up the stairs to the lobby behind the old, noisy elevator, I had to pinch myself to make sure I was awake because in front of me, in conversation with an older woman from the building, stood two monsters and honorary members of The Gutter Squad from Funen.

The Danish monsters hadn’t just followed me to Paris, as expected. No, they were in my building, as definitely not expected!

I was in shock. Everything went black as if all the lights in the world had been turned off. My heart was going 500 miles an hour, my throat was as dry as the Sahara Desert, and it felt like the 5th arrondissement in Paris had turned into The Twilight Zone.

Despite the psychopath’s lack of conscience and lack of empathy for others, he is inevitably better at fooling people than any other type of offender.

Anna Salter

That Wasn’t The Plan!

That wasn’t the plan! Not at all! The plan was to move back to Paris because the monsters did not know the city and thus could not have friends at the police force to help them, so they would not be let into buildings, and would eventually give up. And I would get the documentation I needed, if not, a restraining order against them.

At the time, I was sure that whatever had happened in the past in Paris was in the past, and I would be safe in Paris. And I am sure the plan would have worked, and I would have been safe, had the plan not had one minor but, admittedly, foreseeable built-in flaw – all great generals know that little ups - the Danish monsters knew and teamed up with the monsters from my past!

How did they know each other? At the time, I assumed that by *****, they learned where I had rented my apartment, and I thought that it was either via one of their previous break-ins or ***** that they found the names and addresses of the specific individuals with whom they teamed up, criminals with links to * * * * *.

That was my assumption at the time. I was wrong. It was much worse. More on that when the story is published in its entirety.

You Will Be Alone

To make a long story short, I was, as too many times before in my life, alone on a continent where single women are de facto second-class citizens with limited rights. You work, you pay your taxes, and you are a burden to no one, but at the end of the day, you are nothing but a walking, talking vagina, and whatever happens to you, you probably had it coming; after all, you got out of your single woman bed and started breathing!

For legal reasons, I end the factional account here to protect the names and privacy of all involved parties. But there’s still a bit more to this story for now. Keep reading!

The French Police

You might think that I am outrageously hypocritical, not blaming the French police on this blog for not helping me in 2019. I hear you. But I have no good reason to do so.

To begin with, the situation spun out of control so fast that I had to really think hard to see myself out of it. I decided not to involve the police on the first address because I was still a bit at odds ends as to what was going on, given that I was shunned in the building, the monsters had set up camp, and I had no idea if they had managed to involve the French police based on their usual lies, slander, identity thefts, falsifications and so on.

I did seek advice, though. A lot of advice. More on that when the story is published in its entirety.

After a month in the first apartment on Rue Malebranche, I decided to move. Being a bit naïve, I had not imagined that the Danes and their buddies would be able to get into another building just like that, given that I knew by now that this was not a thuggish and rough police investigation - too many private citizens and criminals involved!

But the monsters did get in.

The minute I heard the voice of a specific Dane and saw this same Dane chatting it up with a person from my past in the courtyard, I decided to document instead of giving in and going to the police, a police force I am sure would have exhaled, taken a report, and been glad to see me walk out the door.

I wanted to once and for all prove who these people were, what they did, and how they did it, and the building was perfect for this, given its much smaller size than the former and only one way in. Plus, the Danes spoke Danish amongst themselves, which was easy to distinguish. I only wish the locales could have understood the Danes. And not because I found these people pleasant. Oh no, they were rude as can be.

I remember entering this second building one evening, and a woman I had never met before hissing at me:

Foreigners like you are the ones ruining France!

Evidently, she was okay with criminals in her building, given that they were there and she seemingly believed their lies. However, a single working woman was too much for her rude, uncultured, gullible attitude!

However, as every other time, this time too, I chose to say nothing. I may have recorded her statement and thrown a stink eye or two, though (read: The mother of all stink eyes was thrown!).

Of course, she didn’t talk to me first and ask me if any of the crap she must have heard was true. No, she just blew off her unrefined and primitive steam in my face, most likely thinking that I had no idea what she was saying – the Danes had, to my knowledge, informed the inhabitants of the two buildings that I didn’t speak French. This might explain why people were so willing to state things to me in passing:

Putain du merde !

Vous êtes complètement fou !

Casse-toi putain !

You know, standard niceties and primitive human behavior!

I only mention this because that encounter was my friendliest encounter with anyone in that building, the absolute most amicable! That should give you an idea of how the situation was. So my wish that the inhabitants of this building in Rue du Montparnasse could understand the Danes is not because they were nice; no, I just wish they could have understood how they were played and used by a bunch of thugs and their French buddies!

I spent 2 weeks recording, photographing, and writing. When things eventually got entirely out of hand, I left.

Thanks for reading! I hope you found it valuable and worth your time! Until next time, remember to get your facts straight and that whatever good times you have will never come back as bad times,

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Fact Box

If you haven’t read my posts about stalking yet, here’s a bit of personal knowledge acquired through experience:

1. In my experience, stalkers see themselves as above the law and see other people as objects, animals, and entertainment.

2. In my experience, stalkers feel entitled to hurt, humiliate, and terrorize others, and their violent, narcissistic, and voyeuristic nature destroys people’s lives.

3. In my experience, stalkers are monsters!

My overall experience also shows how dangerous and destructive gang-stalking is. Gang-stalking is where a group collectively targets a victim and hunts in groups. Stalking groups can be anything from 2 – 3 creepy bastards to groups of more than 100 individuals, where some may abuse their jobs in the public sector, including the police force.