The only way to get into the French hall of residence was to balance on wobbly podiums attached to the outside of the building, then leap from there into the dodgy lift. Once inside the lift you had to perform all sorts of acrobatics in a very confined space to ensure that you eventually reached the right floor and your room. This would never pass a British health and safety check.
There were some interesting young men dancing on the podiums. The first who tried to pick me up was a school boy in town for a University entrance test of his English. I discovered that the second was more to my liking when I felt his upper arm muscles under the fabric of his cotton shirt. He was a 28 year-old redhead who worked for Cisco. I followed him to his room not caring that I was married to someone else.