“No one had ever entered this Canadian tent. A forceful strom blew up. I was not used this kind of promiscuity; stretched-out, I feared the violence of the rain, the drops hitting the canvas. I was afraid the water would pierce the double roof and inundate me. Lying on my back, I insected all the recesses of the tent; there was just one window for ventilation and a humid smell.

They hand lent us the flat for one month. It was really a campus room, rather small, with a quite narrow single bed, an army cot almost - see - sixties-like. With the communal parts, if you wanted to take a shower, it was rather awkward having to move around in a dressing gown, you negotiated the cupboard that divided up the room, uou got to the bed, into the bed, in that dressing-gown, in the angle of the cupboard facing the window. But it was beautiful when it snowed. Besides, I remember that he was in Hérouville-Saint-Clair, the first year maybe; that was a tough place.[…]” Except, Without-title from F. Vigot