Life as a Postgrad Scholar

The inevitable has occurred – after living in a house with two sick people for a week, I myself have fallen ill. I find it rather ironic, given that I just moved into a new apartment a week ago, which is only a few blocks away from my workplace. This will prove to be quite convenient in a number of ways, once I feel well enough to stir outside the apartment for more than an hour at a time. As it is, my activities are currently restricted to the necessary, or, in the case of yesterday, the spiritually fortifying, as when I visited the Basilique de Fourvière. It was not quite as peaceful a visit as I would have liked, because of the large crowds of people who seemed to have the same idea in mind, but I was still very much impressed by the church (see photos) and the view offered from the top of the hill on which it was built.

My new home is located at the top of a different hill, also within the city limits, an area known as the Croix-Rousse. It has been likened to the Montmartre in Paris, formerly populated by lower-class silk workers known as Canuts, but now become trendy for its perpetual atmosphere of bohemian chic. There is a trompe l’oeil painting located barely a block away from me, “le mur des Canuts,” which is quite possibly the largest in Lyon (supposedly there are some 150 trompe l’oeils in the city – I can only hope to find them all before I leave in May). While the buildings do not exude the same seasoned grandeur of those located further downtown, I became quickly charmed by the area, and the friendly personalities of its inhabitants.

My flatmate is one such example. A country boy at heart, he has been living in town for the past five years while he works for SNCF, the French railway company, and is accustomed to welcoming foreigners into his humble abode. One of the first indications that we might share a few things in common was the sight of a large Moulin Rouge poster in his room (a favorite film of mine). I was also delighted to find a row of genuine Dijon mustards on a shelf in his kitchen (10 flavors total), which is only one indication of how serious he is about his cooking. My sole complaint is that he doesn’t appear to be very discriminating when it comes to bread. I was dismayed to discover that he buys it from Auchan, a supermarket of Costco-like proportions, rather than from a local boulangerie. It may very well be less expensive, but one must have principles nonetheless, especially when one is France!