When I was five (1972), we moved to Porto, Portugal, and we were enrolled in the Oporto British School. This school mainly catered to ex-pat Brits involved in the port wine industry (once when I was eight I got a small bottle of port as a birthday favor), and they were reluctant to admit us because we were Americans...they feared we would lower the academic standard (we showed them wrong. So wrong. Ha!). Incidentally, there weren't many Portuguese students either, although that has now changed (thanks google).
But in any event, I vividly remember the day in first grade when my teacher announced that a new library for us students had opened in someone's home--"Go left at the roundabout," she said. I was thrilled--not only was there a new library (I was already reading just about anything) but there was a merry-go-round! Sadly, it was just a traffic circle, but the library was satisfactory, and I proceeded to binge on Enid Blyton for the next three years. My mother didn't exactly approve, but tolerated it (this was when she still kept an eye on my reading).
Here's the house in question (although I'm not exactly sure which of that row it was...):
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