Following my surprisingly delectable introduction French cantine cuisine, Niau and I made our way over to my logement. In preparation for my period abroad, Monsieur Niau and I had corresponded via e-mail about my future job as an English language assistant. One of our correspondences centered on a discussion about housing and whether or not it would be possible to receive assistance in the housing search. Our conversation resulted in the proposal of an establishment that was located within the grounds of the “Collège la rose des vents” (the middle school which neighbors the high school) and that I would share the apartment with the two other assistants—another English assistant from Scotland and a Spanish assistant from Columbia. As a means of quelling any anxiety over the housing issue I graciously accepted the offer without even seeing the proposed apartment.
When Niau and I passed through the gate that lead us into the “Collège,” I frantically scanned over the buildings in search of something that looked like a housing facility. To my surprise I located nothing of the sort—or so I thought. After meeting with the principal of the collège as well as the gestionnaire—the gentleman in charge of building management and other odds and ends—the four of us—Niau, Madame Lefebvre, Monsieur Ramay, and myself—walked to the apartment. We walked past all of the buildings Niau and I had seen as we entered the school, and Monsieur Ramay led us to a building that I had previously assumed to be an abandoned classroom trailer—you know, the ones that are readily constructed in American schools when class sizes get too big or over population occurs.
As we passed the long, rectangular, metal structure, I gazed at it with searching eyes trying to reveal some underlying “hominess”. Instead, I saw a one-story, green trailer that was equipped with several industrial sized windows and metal door that was large enough for the admittance of a baby elephant. After struggling to open the Dumbo-sized door, we filed into a large hallway that opened up to an immense dining/living room. The inside of the establishment was cold and it felt as if the heaters had not been running for about 45 years. Along the entrance hallway were four doors. The first door on the right housed the heater, the electrical box, and shelves for storage. The second door on the right was a pantry of sorts that currently held cleaning supplies, a mop, a bucket, a broom, a small roll of garbage bags, and two rolls of toilet tissue. Across from the utility room was the kitchen. Upon my arrival the kitchen was very sparse—two long sink areas in which one of them was no longer functioning and had been converted into a countertop through the addition of a plank of counter; a classroom cabinet that had been converted into a food and storage pantry, several small cabinets that held dishware and utensils from the previous English assistant, a small refrigerator, a tiny convection oven that could easily be mistaken for a toaster oven, and a dish rack.
The second door on the left led to the bedrooms of which there were four. In one of the bedrooms there existed a baby crib that again served as a memory of the former English assistant’s life in Friville—she had very daringly brought her baby with her on her journey to France. The other three rooms were identical with the exception of one room which came equipped with a sink. At the end of the hallway was a large bathroom that was furnished with a sink, mirror, and an elevated shower/bathtub. I may have to get a running start in order for my short legs to clear the edge of that thing! In a separate room next to the bathroom was the toilet. At first I found it very odd that the toilet would not be in the same room as the sink—primarily for hygienic reasons—but I learned after frequenting several French homes that this was normality.
Although I would not claim the house to be a chateau in any regard I was happy with the establishment. Upon my arrival nothing in the house had been arranged in any sense—some of the furniture was left askew and there was not any bedding. Despite its appearance and the absence of some essentials, the flat was clean and had the charm of a dormitory—which I had grown accustomed to after spending three years of my life in Wolfe Hall at The College of New Jersey. To make myself even more “at home” I was fortunate enough to select the only bedroom with the sink which made me experience déjà vu and the good ol’ days of my Freshman dorm—Wolfe and Travers halls are equipped with sinks inside the dorm rooms; a commodity that is initially overlooked until you realize the benefits of being able to brush your teeth and wash your face in privacy. So, I began to establish my life in a place that felt familiar amidst the foreignness of culture, country, and language.
No comments:
Post a Comment