In picture one, you can appreciate the desk from which my nighttime activities of Skyping with Matt, Skyping with Matt, emailing, surfing the web and Skyping with Matt are conducted. And where I sit as I write this.
Snapshot #deux shows what YOU would see when/if (hopefully) YOU Skype via webcam with me. (And, if YOU were Pablo Picasso during his cubanism period.)
Notice in other pictures the purple wall that came with the room (even Paris dorm-style apts have character!) and the impressive magnet collection on my less-impressive, but tres-cute, mini-fridge that was amassed during the days in my dear old lab. Food from this mini-fridge is toted, on most nights, down the hall to the community kitchen.
My hygiene standards have slipped. In the beginning, due to the poor upkeep of the kitchen, I frowned upon any cooking beyond defrosting frozen dinners in the microwave. You can get that sense, I think, from the picture of me in the kitchen. Now I cook, though I still cringe when guys (it’s all guys on my floor unfortunately) use MY pre-soaped sponge or the hotplates to light their cigarettes.
Now before you off to say, and I KNOW you want to, that my flat is so “charmant”, let me tell you that other “real” Parisian apts are TO DIE FOR. Small, yes. But with more kitsch and character than could fit into a mansion. Whereas most Americans reserve the “theme-style” of interior decorating for their vacation/weekend homes, Parisians go hog wild, “full foie gras” if you will, on their full-time residencies. I have seen a Moroccon/Impressionist theme, Theatre/Maritime theme, Algerien theme, all working for its inhabitants. Still my dig is cozy, and I am afforded great views from my window of dogs on walks, en route to the park across the street. (So far, only one pug spotting. Zero Italian greyhounds. Terriers, poodles and labs are more a la mode, alas.)
My apt is tucked away in the campus of La Cité Universitaire, or Cité U, in the neighborly 14th arrondissment. (www.ciup.fr) How do you know that it is neighborly and not touristy?: NOTHING is open on Sunday. (Save the Chinese takeout and Jewish café, probably trying to compensate for Saturday closing. I frequent these lovely est.) A walk around the campus (which I have not done entirely), and past the residency halls representing each country gives you (1) a representation of that country’s architecture, or rather the Cité U founder’s impression of it (I feel bad for Mexicans!), and (2) an idea of which countries have money. The latter I say because only countries that are more, and usually Western, economic powers have buildings here. Because my building also hosts a lot of events for its residents (brunches, dinners, parties), I would say that Britain funds its hall here plentifully. And, oui, I have picked up more than one complimentary croissant at said brunches! As I am not British (despite the suspiciously inbred-like small hands and feet), I am part of the required 50% "outsider" contingency. This mandate applies to all halls to keep things international. However, French is the predominant language spoken in my building.
In addition to the residency halls, Cité U boasts a theatre (featuring more than your college musical), “salle de masculation” (gym either for your muscles or masculine people or both), swimming pool, restaurants, etc. About the restaurant, I explained to a kitchen mate that I only eat at that rest. when I am “sans espoir,” meaning literally “without hope.” I meant to say only when I am desperate. She told me that “sans espoir” is a most dramatic way of saying that your soul is devoid. Well, that too is an accurate description of the rest. situation here. They are not listed in Zagat's Paris. Hence, I cook. Or eat out out.
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