I reached the apartment without a problema dn as promised the concierge had a key ready for me. The spot is accessed by tunnelling under a high rise and emerging in a charming alley of brick, wrought-iron furniture, and brightly-painted door frames. Voilà alors 105, rue Haxo:

That's the view left (or outward) from my front door. I seem to have walked past a studio or two and the inhabitant(s) of my place (I can't yet tell if it's my flatmate — a self-described business school student — or his cousin I am temporarily replacing or both) seem to be arty as well: photographs, pen sketches, and pieces everywhere. There's a small kitchen and living room downstairs and two bedrooms and a bathroom lofted above.

The best part is the huge-ass skylight in the middle of my ceiling:

Better yet, it's in the sloped part and I can reach to open it in a way that lets a nice ruffly breeze through but keeps the rain out. The room and the lane are dear, and I like that I'm in a neighborhood where people live rather than visit. I spied a café's sign announcing coffee and croissant for 1,50 Euro and I suspect I will become a frequent haunter there. Also for the same handsome price, tarts!

Okay, just got a breather from a whirlwind meeting and grocery shopping with my flatmate Arnaud. Via email he seemed to write decent English (in fact sometimes responded in English when I'd written in French) but since I've been here has only spoken to me in rapid, rapid-fire French. I understand the gist of it but nuances are probably lost in the Channel somewhere.

This afternoon as I went along my get-to-know-neighborhood errands (phone card, stamps, browsing, a bite to eat) I met with mixed success in blending in. The simpler exchanges went swimmingly but at one point I went looking for a very specific phone card and the South Asian (?) proprietor quickly got me flustered about minutes, rates, etc. and then seemed proud to show off his English (about on par with my French). Also a kind and gallant old gentleman at the mentioned as he started to ring up my purchase of letter-paper (lush vellum that everyone here seems to take for granted and 1,50 Euros as well. Maybe that's my lucky price.), "I suspect that you speak English better than you speak French," but carried on gallantly in French regardless. Whatever, his fault for being so gallant that one was at odds trying to reply with equal elegance. I can't imagine that this excessive blathering in English is helping with this language immersion thing either, but I have to record my thoughts and this way I don't have to do it twice to share with everyone. Hey, there are 5 weeks and 6 days yet!