"Homeless"

OK, wow -- I've been majorly negligent in updating the blog. Let me recap the last week:

• Tuesday - French roommate Angelina departs from reality, I depart from her apartment and go to stay with another girl from ASU and her French boyfriend in a Grenoble suburb called Echirolles. I soon lost count of how many times I profusely thanked them for their hospitality.
• Wednesday - Much of the day was spent lounging about, reveling in my narrow escape. In the late afternoon we drove around looking for apartments, but didn't see much. My main problem in obtaining an apartment of my own stems from French banks' insistence on every potential customer furnishing proof of residency (aka: lease contract, electricity bill, gas bill), and every housing and real estate agency insisting on an open bank account before discussing any business.
• Thursday - Went to campus and waded through the muck of French bureaucracy, successfully obtaining my "carte d'etudiant" - my student ID card! In the evening, I went out with my friend and his girlfriend to a bar where we met several of their friends. Most of the conversation took place in rapid-fire French and I was frequently lost - but my companions were quite sensitive and repeatedly helped translate or explain things to me.
• Friday - I continued the housing hunt, with little success. French bureaucrats keep the most asinine hours ever. Secretaries are the worst. Their typical work week is as follows: Monday through Thursday, 9:30am to 11:30am, then 2 hour lunch break, followed by a bit more work from 1:30pm to 3:00pm. Arghhh! Oh! On Fridays, they only work from 9:30am to 11:00am. It's maddening! Friday evening I went out with several Germans I had met earlier in the week. There was a free ride on the telepherique, celebrating the one-year anniversary of making the famous cable-car system handicapped accessible. Before I rendezvous'd with the group, I ate an enormous kebab sandwich - at least as big as my skull. Unfortunately, with a full stomach, it was thus rather difficult to gauge the effects of the seemingly harmless wine we later consumed... We danced, took pictures and talked with Brits and Canadians. Then, I woke up at 1:40am, slumped against a mountain railing and absolutely befuddled as to what had happened in the previous two hours. The telepherique had closed at midnight and I felt doomed - the only other way back to the city was an hour-long walk, in the pitch black, down narrow, winding switchbacks. As I walked/stumbled around, I noticed that there appeared to be others who shared my fate - in fact, five others. Including me, that made six, just the right amount that one cable-car could hold. Apparently a technician was still awake at the top of the mountain, and he contacted his colleague down at the bottom, and they agreed to open the telepherique to us, for one last ride down. Whew. As we passed over the city, there were scores of honking cars and cheers and whistles. There must be some reputation for late-night telepherique trips...
• Saturday - I made it back to the Germans' apartment successfully and spent the night on their pull-out sofa. It was exquisitely comfortable. In the morning, I was invited to go on a five-hour hike. Though dressed in the same clothes I'd worn the day before, I accepted - what better way to start the recovery process? The hike was incredibly intense and ranks in my top five "most grueling workouts ever" list. I was utterly drenched in sweat. The Germans were total machines and kept hiking, only occasionally stopping for a quick rest. I kept up... barely. Saturday evening, I went to a British flat-warming party that a girl I'd met while looking at classes and housing had invited me to. I had debated whether to go or not, because I was so exhausted from the hike, but gritted my teeth and went... and I was quite happy I did, because there I met another British girl who told me she knew of a French couple who rented rooms to students and had an open room! I got her contact information and soon left, eager to catch up on lost sleep. (Entering the flat was like entering a mini-UK - EVERYONE spoke English, and there were at least 40 or 50 people milling around.)
• Sunday - a laid-back day, I mostly cleaned up the apartment and re-arranged my hastily thrown together suitcase and bags. I also did a few loads of laundry. It's so nice having clean clothes (even if dryers are incredibly scarce, and almost everyone just hangs their clothes outside).
• Monday - Running more bureaucratic errands, trying to find classes and the relevant information regarding their inscription policies - some classes, you just arrive at the first session and say, Hello, I'm here! For others, you have to go to bizarrely-placed offices, like "B-324bis" and stand for several moments in the door until an older Frenchman notices your presence and beckons you in the room, then hands you a piece of scrap paper and instructs you to simply write down your name, e-mail and home university -- not the classes you want to take. Apparently that information comes later...

And now I'm off to call the older French couple to see if they still have a room left (the British girl mentioned they gave preferential lodging to girls -- argh!). In case that mission fails, I'm off to CROUS BLEU, the regional housing agency, to see if they could potentially aid me. If that strikes out, I'll have to continue to trespass on the hospitality of my hosts for at least a few more days.