Atomic cats, vulgar trees and hijacking French karaoke
Let's see, what haven't I told you?
Today is February 17. In one week, I’ll be starting a new job, moving into a new apartment and living on my own for the first time. For the many MMLers switching city or country, this change must seem miniscule. However, for me, it feels like a sudden lurch into proper adulthood. Thus, I thought I’d take this opportunity to reflect on my first term in Paris before I forget what it’s like to be a carefree student living it up in the big city.
Cohabiting with three people I’d never met could have gone seriously wrong. Thankfully, Stella, Patrick and Hannah turned out to be three of the loveliest people on the planet. We’re all very different but fit together like a jigsaw.
“We’re all very different but fit together like a jigsaw”
Patrick is a French and business student who plays rugby with his brother for a team just outside Paris. He spent his first term studying in Saint-Denis and now interns at a cleaning machine supplier. Soon, he’ll be moving closer to his club. I can’t wait to visit him and enjoy a break from city life!
Also from Leeds University, Stella (like all the best people) studies history and French. Having completed a research project on French Resistance fighters from Indochina, Stella obtained an internship with the Defence Ministry. Half her week is spent giving tours at Mont Valérien, a military base in Suresnes where German soldiers carried out executions during WW2. Otherwise, she works at a memorial for deportés to concentration camps near Notre-Dame.
Stella’s tours are fascinating, if harrowing. You can see precisely where the executions took place, alongside photos for comparison. Writings scratched into the walls of a church convey the final messages of those killed. Some were part of the Resistance—many were communists or foreigners—while others were hostages: those deemed “undesirable” by the occupier, killed in retaliation for attacks on German soldiers.
It's a complex story, especially as our records of those executed were recorded by the priest who heard their final wishes. The changing wording of the memorials dotted around the site demonstrates France’s ongoing struggle to reckon with its past. Which victims do we remember? Who do we blame? Soon, Stella will start a new internship, researching Spanish and Polish résistants charged with cracking German codes.
Finding a fourth flatmate was a stressful experience. We went through many people before reaching Hannah through another Cambridge student, Imogen. This, plus the fact that she studies at the Sorbonne, means she knows as many Cantabrigians in Paris as me! Hannah and I are the same type of weird, always inventing strange characters and rage-baiting each other into political rants (Hannah studies politics and French at Queen Mary).
Originally intending to transfer to Aix-Marseille, she has ended up stuck at the Sorbonne—great for us, not so great for her! At least she’s no longer constrained to studying English grammar... Hannah is the one who keeps us in line, printing out rotas and checklists. She’s also a keen baker, providing us with sweet treats and an informed perspective on Bake Off.
Favourite flatmate memories
The long search for a fourth flatmate did have one benefit: ready-made friends in Paris. Our first group outing was to meet one such contact, Olivia, at 2bis café. A lively atmosphere and €4 deserts? Don’t mind if I Tirami-do!1
Our first family outing A performance of Fauré, Britten and Mendelssohn at the Philharmonie de Paris with Hannah. While admiring the stunning architecture, we learned that 23-year-old conductor Stephanie Childress attended Cambridge (there’s even a Varsity review of her concert at St John’s—you know it’s Varsity because it spends three paragraphs setting the scene!)
Another ENS win My ENS connections also got me tickets to an interpretative dance show about toxic masculinity at Le Grand Parquet, a community theatre in the 19th arrondissement. Hannah and I enjoyed the wholesome atmosphere, the singularity of it all (dirt on the floor, actors appearing from the audience…) and questions raised. We were less convinced by the visual effects. Nothing like badly green-screened clouds to disrupt your immersion!
Breakfast in Montmartre with Hannah and Stella. For €9, we obtained un crêpe, un viennois and un jus d’orange—plus the company of tourists taking our photo (the price of fulfilling Parisian stereotypes) and innumerable dogs. Montmartre offers panoramic views of Paris and an eclectic flea market full of old stationery, furniture and clothes.
Sometimes you have to treat yourself and embrace the touristy life (Credit: Stella Grover) This trio also visited the Orangerie, home to Monet’s Water Lilies. Once you get past the “vulgar trees” (Stella, 2024), the museum’s compactness gives time to properly appreciate the artworks, which are illuminated differently throughout the day by skylights. Our next stop was a café by the Musée d’Orsay for lunch and (you guessed it) more viennois.
No “vulgar trees” in sight (honestly can’t remember what that was anymore) The Christmas party we hosted for all our friends, featuring the dangerous combination of bread, wine, cheese and Twister! And the Christmas dinner we made the next day…
That week before going home for Christmas was hectic, with another Christmas party hosted by Cambridge students Ranulf and Harry. I had supervisions with Ranulf and Imogen in first year but most of the Cantabrigians I’ve met in Paris are new faces. Making friends with Millie, Flossie and Sacha has made fourth year feel much less daunting!
I promise I’ve ventured slightly beyond the Cambridge bubble, spending hours thrifting with other international students and miraculously making some French friends. Indeed, Millie, Sophie (from Oxf*rd) and I were tasked with scouting out the venue for a certain Lucie’s birthday party...
The epitome of overstimulation, Atomic Cat is an underground bar in the eighth arrondissement. Numerous screens display sci-fi scenes, accompanied by deafening electronic music—including a metal version of ENS favourite “Everytime We Touch”. The cocktails have horrifying names like “Cordyceps” (fungi that parasitise insects), while the décor is modelled on a nuclear bunker, complete with an atomic bomb crashing through the ceiling. A stone-faced DJ directs a group of “dancers” (if lunging back and forth counts). Behind him, a tattooist awaits unwitting victims.
Despite the impossibility of hearing English, let alone French, the party was a success. The dress code: fairy tales gone wrong. Sophie came as Shrek, Millie as Donkey and I as Puss Without Boots. Meanwhile, Sacha rented a €20 Peau d’Âne costume, attracting perplexed looks on the metro. Lucie obviously mastered the theme with a spooky Red Riding Hood outfit.
Parisian socialising regularly involves hanging in bars, although they’re not usually quite so niche! Our favourites are on Place de la Contrescape, near the ENS. I’ve yet to go clubbing but why would I when the ENS has such wonders to offer as Womanizer—a party of pop girlies, pom-poms and the chance to win a vibrator (or feminist literature)?
Favourite ENS memories
Thanks to Hannah’s artistry, for the ENS Halloween party, I went as Lumière.
Be my guest! (Credit: Millie Gordon) Cambridge hijacked a very empty karaoke night in the ENS bar, embarrassingly picking “American Boy” (“Who killin’ them in the UK? Everybody gonna say, ‘You, K’”) We did try two French songs: “Bruxelles je t’aime”, to which we forgot the lyrics, and “Voulez-Vous” (that counts, right?).
La Nuit is the ENS’s May Ball, except it’s in winter and only costs €18. I can finally reveal that Millie and Flossie are pom-poms, having guarded this secret so Flossie’s girlfriend could be surprised during her visit. Obviously, the cheerleaders stole the show. However, honourable mentions go to a re-enactment of Dune (worm included) and a seemingly sombre performance that abruptly cartwheeled into “Dance the Night Away”. Gorging on crêpes and inventing the tunes to French karaoke songs wasn’t bad either!
Nobody was as excited for the pom-poms as me... The tandem programme has nothing to do with bikes; it’s an hour-long weekly session, half of which is in French and half in English. My meetings with Arthur usually devolved into political rants—sensing a theme here? However, once, we visited the Christmas market, where the physics student was keen to explain how the rides couldn’t possibly claim to reach 5Gs!
A chance encounter outside the ENS reunited me with my college sister Héloïse and former bandmate Ann-Isabel, who did Erasmus at Cambridge in my first year. Soon, I was playing French Dixit with them in a boardgame café near Châtelet while learning about their lives as mastériens at Science Po.
Cramming into the back of an ornate Sorbonne lecture hall to hear former president François Hollande speak about AI and geopolitics.
To those (understandably) disillusioned by the Internet, let it be known that I made several friends online. Dalila showed me some excellent spots: the Parc Buttes-Chaumont with its artificial mountain and lake, the Canal Saint-Martin and a jewellery exhibition at the Hôtel de la Marine. She introduced me to her friends, one of whom works at a patisserie, resulting in copious late-night cake consumption in the Jardin du Carrousel.
We spent hours in coffee shops and cinemas, watching L’Amour Ouf (Beating Hearts)—a beautifully shot, if occasionally cliché, romance between a criminal boy and educated girl over numerous decades—and The Substance (clever but a bit much for us!). Lastly, I attended her leaving party dressed as an Australian before she went to study event management in Brisbane! Our continued voice messages are ensuring I don’t forget my French during this limbo period between placements.
Another friend I made online was Noora, a Chinese student at HEC. Together, we explored the city centre, bought ridiculously expensive “pizza” (otherwise known as a slice of bread) and visited the Musée des Arts et Métiers—packed with particle accelerators, flying machines and (by far the most remarkable invention) a Vélib’. We also ate at an authentic Chinese restaurant in the 13th and watched Wicked.
Of course, none of this could make me forget my UK friends. Indeed, halfway through, I visited London for a family gathering, featuring a ridiculous number of relatives packed into a tiny room, all furiously playing cards. I also dropped by Cambridge, where I can report that absolutely no French impressions or tile defiling occurred.2 The Cambridge checklist was completed by attending chapel and purchasing Jack’s Gelato. Nevertheless, my time there felt too short!
But then so do the six months with my flatmates. It will be strange not seeing them every day but I’m sure it will at least be every other day… With excitement and trepidation, I say, to new adventures!
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Any complaints about such criminal humour should be directed towards Hannah Morton
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