Grenoble Welcome Week culminated in an out of the blue call from Madame P., who I thought was going to be my savoir. She had seen the ad I had posted on a slightly higher class, French version of Craigslist and she had a room that she thought I might be interested in. Finally, my homelessness was coming to an end!! I set up an appointment to see the room at 10:30 pm, which to some people might seem bizarre, but after a bottle of wine I thought was totally normal. Done. I agreed to sign the lease the next day.
When I showed up the next morning, I was ushered to the table to sign the papers and give Madame P. all my damn money. Once that minor bit was taken care of, she gave me a second whirlwind of a tour of the place. Here you will find a list of new information given to me by Madame P., only made available to me after my lease was signed:
1. "Your bedroom door doesn't really stay open so if you just find something to shove underneath, that will fix that problem!" she said as she searched for an example. She showed a plastic bag under my door and that was that.
2. "Oh, and the lever to flush the toilet is broken, so to flush you have to reach inside the tank, feel for the lever and pull it." Cool... and sanitary!
3. "There is a window in the shower. Please open it after you're done to let some of the humidity out since there are no vents in the bathroom." Additional pleasant surprise, that window leads directly into my bedroom, giving me access not only to gusts of steamy air -- great for the skin -- but also allows me to have full conversations with my roommates while they bathe. It's a bonding experience...
4. "And lastly, don't turn the heat up higher than 70 degrees, even in the winter, and don't shower for longer than 3 minutes. Otherwise, I'll charge you extra for utilities! Okenjoylivingherebye."
Since this informative day, I have received several phone calls to add new rules.
5. "No bikes in the apartment because they destroy everything."
6. "Never leave sponges on the countertop. Rest them on top of a glass so that they aren't touching any surfaces. Sponges also destroy everything."
7. I received a call just for her to let me know that I should probably keep the windows closed when it's raining. Ummm..... thanks for this innovative idea......
8. "Don't go into the cabinet in the hallway. My things are in there and it's private." As if her belongings weren't left behind on every surface, in every cabinet and in every drawer of the place.
9. "I will allow you to use the ladder if you need. There is one in your room..... And other in the other bedroom." TWO full-sized, clean-the-gutters-style ladders up in this sitch!
Aaaannnnd I was graced with a visit, during which time she smelled cigarette smoke in the hallway and the woman went absolutely ballistic, knocking on every door in the building to see who was smoking. She also went through my refrigerator to assess my diet. "Doucement avec la bière !" When I asked her about fixing the toilet she said, "Oh I've spoken with the plumber and his health situation is not improving. He's been hospitalized, so you'll just have to wait." France and her one and only plumber are suffering at the moment! Send help!
Needless to say, there is an unmatched sense of peace and tranquility here. The nuances of renting have exceeded all my expectations and past precedents. But home is where the heart is.... So I guess, despite my lease and my rulebook, I'm still homeless.
Thursday, October 16, 2014
Saturday, October 11, 2014
I drink red wine for my health
Bienvenue aux Rhônes-Alpes, where the discount grocery store supplies a minimum of eight labels of côtes du Rhône wine -- that's about seven more labels than you'd find pretty much anywhere else on the planet! If you happen to come across this blog and you aren't my mother, I will stomach my utter surprise and introduce myself. I am currently an American expat in Grenoble, a little-known French city, about an hour away from both the Swiss and Italian borders, and often only recognized by middle-aged fans of winter sports. Now, don't beat yourself up if you can't recall any of the gasp-inducing highlights of the 1968 winter olympic games... Seeing as the US only took home one gold medal for women's figure skating. Vive Peggy Fleming! Grenoble, though, is a small but beautiful city, ominously walled in by the western-most peaks of the Alpes. To give you some reference points -- and potential Jeopardy answers for the future -- I have done some light wikapedia-ing about the city and will use this forum to educate both you, my dear reader, and myself.
Fun facts about Grenoble:
Grenoble, or Cularo as it was known back when it was was founded in 43 BC by the Gauls, has had a relatively calm 2057 years.
It served as the backdrop for various scenes of French 16th century military glory during the Religious Wars.
The city first gained notoriety for being governed by Protestants, and subsequently gained wealth when the super Catholic, Louis XIV put all the Protestant glove-makers out of business -- thus allowing the price of Catholic gloves to soar whilst eliminating the competition of those infamous Protestants whose command of the glove-based economy in southwestern France is the stuff of legends! I for one get chills when I think of this phalangeal drama each and every time I ready my hands for winter weather.
These centuries of tantalizing history have now culminated in my arrival. Let me, first of all, fill you in on how I came to be a resident of the city of Grenoble, as it wasn't easy and bears explanation.
I moved to France approximately 9 months, 12 days, 9 hours and 34 minutes ago as an undergrad of the Francophile persuasion. Finishing up my degree at a Parisian university wasn't always easy, but it was a fucking piece of cake compared to moving from Paris to Grenoble by myself (more details on this subject to come). Back in April, I found out that I got a job to teach English in Grenoble for the 2014-2015 school year. I immediately inquired about the visa renewal process at the police station, where they told me it would be very simple: one quick visit to the préfecture with the necessary documents and they would hand me a new visa on the spot. J'ACCUSE, French authorities! LIES!! The authorities informed me that I would need to move down to Grenoble earlier than expected to deal with my visa issues from here, as apparently immigration laws vary depending on region in this country, and Grenoble is not in Paris' jurisdiction. Totally logical. Flash forward 5 months to me, crying on a foam mattress topper that doubled as a couch in a stranger's living room, searching skyscanner.com for the cheapest flight back to America.
Note: The tale of the bureaucracy hell that is my visa situation is still being written....
Anyways..... Let me give you the (believe it or not) abridged version of my Paris-to-Grenoble moving process:
1. After I wasted about 15 minutes struggling to move my giant suitcases out of my apartment building and onto the road, I hailed a cab. I told the driver that my train is leaving in 20 minutes and that I would appreciate it if he could get me there on time. As we inched through the city, he periodically turned around, just enough to catch me in his peripheral vision. He then proceeded to make a bitch-you're-screwed clicking noise with his cheek and shook his head. He did this about 50 times between my apartment and the station. By the time we got to the train station, he threw the doors of the cab open, grabbed all my shit out of the trunk and told me to run. I said, "OK thanks so much!" and he said, "Let's go!!" Leaving his cab open for the stealing, he gallantly helped me haul ass through the train station. Well kind of.... He got winded and needed a break... When I said I could go on without him, he wheezed out some incomprehensible French and I took that as a signal for I'm all good and we kept the party rolling through Gare de Lyon. It was all for naught though, because the train conductor blew his whistle as I ran out onto the platform and threw me what I would deem a particularly bitchy wave goodbye. So 50 euros and 2 hours later than expected, I arrive at my airbnb's house to start what will be remembered as the hardest week of my life.
2. Now that I was in a new city, I needed to find somewhere to live. I already had some places lined up to see, so I decided to put my visa situation on the back burner for a day and peruse the real estate situation in this city. And so, let the ghetto-est version of House Hunters International commence!
House #1: I stole a tram ride to the suburbs to see this gem! The building was located in the rear parking lot of an Office Depot. The room was unfurnished, roughly 9 square meters -- or about 30 square feet -- and an abrasive shade of electric blue. Obviously, I was taken by it. But I had to play it cool and not seem too eager, so I told the landlord I would call her by 7 with my decision.
House #2: I went to see a second apartment, right in the middle of the city. Great location, the building had an elevator, and my would-be roommate assured me that there was no lead in the paint that was peeling off the wall in sheets so large you could wrap children's toys with. He had even set up a home garden! And by that I mean, mushrooms were growing from the ceiling of a vent-less bathroom. Really, a stunning home.
House #3: I trammed my ass back to the burbs to see a pied a terre overlooking a small park where a gang of schoolboys were violently ripping the clothes off of one of their clearly respected peers. What fun they must have been having! I was greeted by one of the residents of the apartment in question. Certainly in his 40s, I'm sure he had years of roommate-ing experience because he aced this showing! "This is my room. This is a bathroom. Here's another room, I don't know who lives in here. That's a room too. The guy who lives there is black. And this would be your room. I just bought a WiFi subscription that you can share with me if you want. Just don't watch any porn because it really slows down the connection. Plus, tugging on it too much is bad for you," he wisely advised while pantomiming a vulgar gesture around his crotch area and laughing.
Clearly, I had a tough decision ahead of me, but I ultimately went with Icehouse (if you couldn't follow this horrifically obscure reference, Icehouse is the band that sings the Australian classic, "Electric Blue," aka House #1).
3. Having chosen my palace, I now needed furniture. And of course, the préfecture is closed on Wednesdays so I used this opportunity to avoid bureaucracy and hit up IKEA; the one place is France where I wouldn't have to think about my legal status. Several hundred euros later, the delivery services representative told me that I couldn't take my furniture from the premises without a valid visa in my passport. IKEA, the visa police! Fine, I left with a vengeance to sort out my visa tout de suite. I called the man from whom I was renting a room to see if I could extend my stay at his house. Having already rented out the room to someone else, he graciously offered me his couch, which, as I mentioned before, was a piece of foam on the ground, not even as long as my body. The night before, it was literally a dog bed when his friend slept over and her dog slept on the couch. So at least I had that.... And he had WiFi so I could look up prices for flights back to America.
4. Thursday, I arrived at the préfecture at 8:30 for a 9 am opening. Waited an hour. The guard wouldn't even let me inside the door. "Come back earlier tomorrow," he said. After throwing a Lindsey Lohan-style freakout from "The Parent Trap" when she finds out that her dad is planning on marrying the evil, Meredith and the bitch starts rambling to herself in French, I got a call from my landlord asking why I hadn't moved in yet. She was not excited about the prospect of me potentially being deported, and half an hour later I was at her house tearing up my lease and giving back my keys. And hour after that, I was standing outside the doors of IKEA peddling furniture to the exiting customers because the store refused to give me a refund for several pieces. I made half my money back.... Not a bad day's work for a homeless person, I'd say.
5. Friday, I arrived at the préfecture at 7 am for a 9 am opening. What appears to be the most heavily used school bus stop in the city lets masses of children off directly in front of the immigration line. Hour after hour, hundreds of Grenoblois school children and their parents suppressed their melting pot curiosity and fell into a deep concentration so as to not make eye contact with us immigrants. I had never felt better about myself. High off the buzz of sitting in the immigration line, I was (obviously) sending out positive vibes to the universe. It paid off, because by 2 pm my dossier had been taken off my hands for central review, which basically means that the French government can shock me with the Christmas gift of deportation this year! I just have to wait and see what news I can receive in the mail on any given day up until mid-December.
I decided this was good enough news to let me actually settle down in this city and start my life. And as you can imagine, after my warm welcome to the city, I was eager to call this place home! To revitalize myself after my week-long ordeal, I regained my adventurous spirit by heading back to my airbnb, drinking a bottle of wine and watching "Under the Tuscan Sun." Classic.
Fun facts about Grenoble:
Grenoble, or Cularo as it was known back when it was was founded in 43 BC by the Gauls, has had a relatively calm 2057 years.
It served as the backdrop for various scenes of French 16th century military glory during the Religious Wars.
The city first gained notoriety for being governed by Protestants, and subsequently gained wealth when the super Catholic, Louis XIV put all the Protestant glove-makers out of business -- thus allowing the price of Catholic gloves to soar whilst eliminating the competition of those infamous Protestants whose command of the glove-based economy in southwestern France is the stuff of legends! I for one get chills when I think of this phalangeal drama each and every time I ready my hands for winter weather.
These centuries of tantalizing history have now culminated in my arrival. Let me, first of all, fill you in on how I came to be a resident of the city of Grenoble, as it wasn't easy and bears explanation.
I moved to France approximately 9 months, 12 days, 9 hours and 34 minutes ago as an undergrad of the Francophile persuasion. Finishing up my degree at a Parisian university wasn't always easy, but it was a fucking piece of cake compared to moving from Paris to Grenoble by myself (more details on this subject to come). Back in April, I found out that I got a job to teach English in Grenoble for the 2014-2015 school year. I immediately inquired about the visa renewal process at the police station, where they told me it would be very simple: one quick visit to the préfecture with the necessary documents and they would hand me a new visa on the spot. J'ACCUSE, French authorities! LIES!! The authorities informed me that I would need to move down to Grenoble earlier than expected to deal with my visa issues from here, as apparently immigration laws vary depending on region in this country, and Grenoble is not in Paris' jurisdiction. Totally logical. Flash forward 5 months to me, crying on a foam mattress topper that doubled as a couch in a stranger's living room, searching skyscanner.com for the cheapest flight back to America.
Note: The tale of the bureaucracy hell that is my visa situation is still being written....
Anyways..... Let me give you the (believe it or not) abridged version of my Paris-to-Grenoble moving process:
1. After I wasted about 15 minutes struggling to move my giant suitcases out of my apartment building and onto the road, I hailed a cab. I told the driver that my train is leaving in 20 minutes and that I would appreciate it if he could get me there on time. As we inched through the city, he periodically turned around, just enough to catch me in his peripheral vision. He then proceeded to make a bitch-you're-screwed clicking noise with his cheek and shook his head. He did this about 50 times between my apartment and the station. By the time we got to the train station, he threw the doors of the cab open, grabbed all my shit out of the trunk and told me to run. I said, "OK thanks so much!" and he said, "Let's go!!" Leaving his cab open for the stealing, he gallantly helped me haul ass through the train station. Well kind of.... He got winded and needed a break... When I said I could go on without him, he wheezed out some incomprehensible French and I took that as a signal for I'm all good and we kept the party rolling through Gare de Lyon. It was all for naught though, because the train conductor blew his whistle as I ran out onto the platform and threw me what I would deem a particularly bitchy wave goodbye. So 50 euros and 2 hours later than expected, I arrive at my airbnb's house to start what will be remembered as the hardest week of my life.
2. Now that I was in a new city, I needed to find somewhere to live. I already had some places lined up to see, so I decided to put my visa situation on the back burner for a day and peruse the real estate situation in this city. And so, let the ghetto-est version of House Hunters International commence!
House #1: I stole a tram ride to the suburbs to see this gem! The building was located in the rear parking lot of an Office Depot. The room was unfurnished, roughly 9 square meters -- or about 30 square feet -- and an abrasive shade of electric blue. Obviously, I was taken by it. But I had to play it cool and not seem too eager, so I told the landlord I would call her by 7 with my decision.
House #2: I went to see a second apartment, right in the middle of the city. Great location, the building had an elevator, and my would-be roommate assured me that there was no lead in the paint that was peeling off the wall in sheets so large you could wrap children's toys with. He had even set up a home garden! And by that I mean, mushrooms were growing from the ceiling of a vent-less bathroom. Really, a stunning home.
House #3: I trammed my ass back to the burbs to see a pied a terre overlooking a small park where a gang of schoolboys were violently ripping the clothes off of one of their clearly respected peers. What fun they must have been having! I was greeted by one of the residents of the apartment in question. Certainly in his 40s, I'm sure he had years of roommate-ing experience because he aced this showing! "This is my room. This is a bathroom. Here's another room, I don't know who lives in here. That's a room too. The guy who lives there is black. And this would be your room. I just bought a WiFi subscription that you can share with me if you want. Just don't watch any porn because it really slows down the connection. Plus, tugging on it too much is bad for you," he wisely advised while pantomiming a vulgar gesture around his crotch area and laughing.
Clearly, I had a tough decision ahead of me, but I ultimately went with Icehouse (if you couldn't follow this horrifically obscure reference, Icehouse is the band that sings the Australian classic, "Electric Blue," aka House #1).
3. Having chosen my palace, I now needed furniture. And of course, the préfecture is closed on Wednesdays so I used this opportunity to avoid bureaucracy and hit up IKEA; the one place is France where I wouldn't have to think about my legal status. Several hundred euros later, the delivery services representative told me that I couldn't take my furniture from the premises without a valid visa in my passport. IKEA, the visa police! Fine, I left with a vengeance to sort out my visa tout de suite. I called the man from whom I was renting a room to see if I could extend my stay at his house. Having already rented out the room to someone else, he graciously offered me his couch, which, as I mentioned before, was a piece of foam on the ground, not even as long as my body. The night before, it was literally a dog bed when his friend slept over and her dog slept on the couch. So at least I had that.... And he had WiFi so I could look up prices for flights back to America.
4. Thursday, I arrived at the préfecture at 8:30 for a 9 am opening. Waited an hour. The guard wouldn't even let me inside the door. "Come back earlier tomorrow," he said. After throwing a Lindsey Lohan-style freakout from "The Parent Trap" when she finds out that her dad is planning on marrying the evil, Meredith and the bitch starts rambling to herself in French, I got a call from my landlord asking why I hadn't moved in yet. She was not excited about the prospect of me potentially being deported, and half an hour later I was at her house tearing up my lease and giving back my keys. And hour after that, I was standing outside the doors of IKEA peddling furniture to the exiting customers because the store refused to give me a refund for several pieces. I made half my money back.... Not a bad day's work for a homeless person, I'd say.
5. Friday, I arrived at the préfecture at 7 am for a 9 am opening. What appears to be the most heavily used school bus stop in the city lets masses of children off directly in front of the immigration line. Hour after hour, hundreds of Grenoblois school children and their parents suppressed their melting pot curiosity and fell into a deep concentration so as to not make eye contact with us immigrants. I had never felt better about myself. High off the buzz of sitting in the immigration line, I was (obviously) sending out positive vibes to the universe. It paid off, because by 2 pm my dossier had been taken off my hands for central review, which basically means that the French government can shock me with the Christmas gift of deportation this year! I just have to wait and see what news I can receive in the mail on any given day up until mid-December.
I decided this was good enough news to let me actually settle down in this city and start my life. And as you can imagine, after my warm welcome to the city, I was eager to call this place home! To revitalize myself after my week-long ordeal, I regained my adventurous spirit by heading back to my airbnb, drinking a bottle of wine and watching "Under the Tuscan Sun." Classic.
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