Grenoble

You can't say I didn't try.  I gave it two months and a lot of hope, but last week I finally decided I'd had enough of small town living.  I'm a city girl at heart, and after spending an amazing weekend with Andrew exploring Lyon and Grenoble, I decided to move into a quaint and quirky French apartment near the Stade des Alpes in the center of Grenoble, and along with it a big cut in my spending money.  Mais tant pis, c'est la vie en la belle France (may tahn-t pee, say lah vee on leh bell Frahn-s: But too bad, that's life in beautiful France).

The truth was, I was afraid that if I didn't move soon no one would ever want to talk to me again.  Life in La Côte Saint André brought out a whole new breed of pessimist in me that I didn't even know existed. So, I'm really thinking of my relocation as a mental health investment.  Don't get me wrong: La Côte is just as full of friendly people and pretty rolling hills as it ever was.  But I've spent my entire life in small towns.  I needed a change of pace.  I'm one of those people who gets a secret thrill out of over-crowded shops, busy traffic, and strangers walking down the street who never wave or say hi.  Unfortunately, this sort of high-quality lifestyle is usually reserved for high-population areas, and definitely doesn't exist in small-town France.



This sort of urban gruffness does exist in Grenoble, however.  In fact, Grenoble is one of those rare cities that makes up for in character what it lacks in size.  The entire city is surrounded by desolate mountain ranges that, at this time of year, are covered in neige (neh-j: snow).  Luckily this makes for amazing views out your window no matter how crappy the rest of your apartment might be.  The ancient stone cathedrals, Drac and Isère rivers, and la Bastille (lah bahst-eel) guarding over the city are all within (reasonable) walking distance, and no matter which street corner you're standing on, you're never far away from a glass of wine or cup of coffee in a toasty warm café (kaf-eh) offering reprieve from the frigid cold.


My own personal favorite part of being a new resident of Grenoble?  In a matter of the three days I've been living here, I've managed to get all my Christmas shopping done at Victor Hugo Square's fabulous marché de Noël (marsh-ay duh no-ell: Christmas market), which is basically a crowded smorgasbord of Alsace-inspired wooden looking vendor's booths selling random knickknacks and, more importantly, mulled wine.


Of course, as any true dorky francophile would, I also christened my new place with a bottle of cheap champagne I bought at the local Casino supermarket down the street.  And you know what I realized as I toasted to my own smart thinking at becoming a Grenoblois (gr-uh-nob-lwa: inhabitant of Grenoble)?  Drinking a glass of champagne in my apartment while listening to drunken teenagers stumble down the street and grumpy French drivers crash into each other never tasted so good.  Vive la France (veev lah Frahn-s: long live France)!