As I was getting ready to meet a friend for a goodbye drink at my favourite cafe tonight, I realized that this is the last night I'll be staying in my apartment.
I've been extremely privileged to live in this beautiful place for the last two years. Everything about it is lovely: the marble heated floors that the cats (and I) couldn't get enough of, the exposed beams and brick wall, the seven skylights on the top floor, the beautiful (yet terrifying for many) open staircase, the large arched windows, and the loveliest bathroom I'll ever have.
I love all of the views. From one side I can look down at the street life and the action in the neighbourhood jazz bar. From the other I can check out people feeding the pigeons, walking their dogs, or just relaxing in the small park. From that window I can also check out the line up, or the occasional protest, at the nearby embassy. But to get to my favourite view I need to stand on the bidet in the bathroom and open the skylight. I am just tall enough to peek out over the sill and see all of the rooftops. To me, that view is quintessentially European. I feel like an artist in a garret (okay, an extremely lovely, luxurious garret).
The space is large, bright, airy, and stunning. Everyone who enters it stops a few steps in from the doorway and exclaims. A few of my favourite quotes: "It is so beautiful, I think I'm going to cry", "What a grown up apartment" and the most apt for tonight, "Your place at home is nice, but how will you ever leave this one?"