Grenoble is beautiful at night. This is a bad picture, but Place Victor Hugo, in the center of downtown, is one of my favorite, especially when it snows.

Laura and Rachel walking in the snowstorm.

This picture should win a prize.

Random square!

This could be the moon... or a streelight.

Germans and Italians and Swedes and Quebecois

One of the first nights out, I went out with Mathis, Ana and Yannick to L'Art-Scene, a live music club near campus. We were pleasantly surprised to find a band still playing at midnight, and they kept going past 2am! Really, French bands are to be commended on their stamina; once they start, they just keep playing and playing!


We have an excellent party communication system on the floor. Whenever there's a party, little notes are posted to everyone's door a few days in advance - impossible to miss (and no reason to!). This one says "Floor Party Wednesday January 18 at 7pm - bring what you want."


Jenny and Johanna, two new Swedish girls on the rez-de-chausse (the ground floor where everyone spends most of their time). Swedish people are a little slow to warm up to non-Swedes, but they speak English like none othe, so we're confident they'll come around soon.


There is no one on the planet who parties like Moroccan Zach. He spent several years in Liverpool, England, and has an awesome English accent, especially forceful when he's listing the merits of his favorite football club... the Liverpool Reds.


The guy on the left is a random French fellow, but after him are: Maxim, Jean-Ives and Patrick, the Quebecois Three - absolutely inseparable and hilarious to hang out with. It's so difficult to understand them, though, Quebecois French is drastically different from regular French. Sometimes it almost sounds Germanic, so we often have to ask them to repeat things.


I was invited to a German-Italian celebration with Silvia, Beatrice, Matthias, Karin and Ana-Lina. I wasn't sure how I qualified for the invitation, but I accepted and we had a fantastic time eating German cookies and sweets that Matthias' grandmother had made, and a deliciously soft Italian Christmas cake the girls had found in a shop here. Matthias is explaining to Bea the culinary intricacies of the fantastic Elisen-Lebkuchen cookies.


Ana-Lina and Karin, the two nice and funny German girls. We went on the Font d'Urle excursion together last November and didn't talk much but now Karin and I have a class together and we've all gone to the same parties recently.


I had to fake Silvia out to take this picture. The only word I understood out of the stream afterwards was 'paparazzi.'


The aftermath!


Some spicy French mustard found its way to the table... and Matthias boldly consumed spoonful after spoonful until we begged him to stop, fearing that we'd be charged for negligence if he died from overheating.


The Italian and German girls eventually left, but more friends soon rolled around.

C'est la vie

Classes have begun! Though I dreaded the thought before, I'll now most likely have - gasp - three days of class a week... and I think I'll really enjoy them. The lineup:

• Theme and Version - Translation classes. Very easy. An hour of French-English and an hour of English-French.
  
• Ireland: The Transformation of a Society - Like all other political science classes here, trivial and not terribly interesting. However, it should hopefully help to fulfill some requirements still needed back home.
  
• Techniques d'expression francaise - Also continued from first semester, this is the most difficult class to stay awake in. 1:30pm to 3:30pm, sunlight streaming through the windows, the faint buzz of noise outside and the most tearfully boring subjects imaginable... Mais c'est pas ma faute, je suis narcoleptique!
  
• Mythologie - A literature/mythology class, this promises to be one of the most interesting. The professor is a remarkable speaker and captured my attention the entire time. Very engrossing. It'll be difficult, but I'm planning to stick it out.
  
• Grammaire francaise - I spoke too soon. It's really this class, taught by dear Monsieur Guichard, that's the most painfully boring. Oooof.
  
• Contemporary American History - Super-liberal American professor, but this course holds great promise. Though slightly pretentious and enjoyed dropping names like Zinn and Chomsky, he's intelligent. Next week Megan and I are debating the merits of values socialization in schools. Fascinating!
  
• Professional French - Another Guichard class. He's very nice, but I think it's his sonorous voice and the gripping subject matter that makes it so easy to drift off.
  
• French Literary Methodology and Analysis - A short, 80-minute class designed to assist exchange students with adapting to French analysis of literature. The first session was really fascinating and the professor went off on a 50-minute discussion of existentialism and absurdism. I loved it!
  
• Recits et spectacles de justice - Taught by an energetic and friendly French professor who spent quite a bit of time in the US. The first session didn't really cover anything ground-breaking, but hopefully it'll pick up.

Those last two classes are on Thursday afternoon, though, and a friend told me that there might be windsurfing (planche a voile) lessons at the same time, so... ahem. Another not so difficult choice to make.

I hope I don't come across as overly critical of Monsieur Guichard. He really is, as all the girls say, a sweet man. He single-handedly keeps Stendhal University functioning. It would crumble in a day without him. There are 10,000 secretaries and combined they don't come even close to the amount of work he does. He's knowledgeable, friendly and accessible - qualities severely lacking in almost every other administrative position. But oh man, not even two espressos can keep me awake in his classes.

I'm going to see Oasis tonight, along with almost every other English-speaking student and most of the German ones. I can't wait!

After almost a week back

The laissez-faire routine has returned, for the most part. Classes are yet to begin - or even finalized - but I'm confident I'll have a fairly similar schedule to last semester's: brutal, agonizing Tuesdays followed by two easy classes on Wednesday. There'll be more literature this time around, and fewer fluffy translation classes, but I should have enough downtime to survive. A quick summary of the past several days:

• Tuesday - Took TGV from Paris to Lyon, then traditional train to Grenoble. Met a nice South African humanities student studying in Grenoble for the semester. Shared all the little tidbits of knowledge I'd gleaned from my travails. Assured him that, "Yes, the water is quite safe to drink and actually tastes good," after he expressed worries about being exposed to a non-English speaking country's water supply. The flight from Johannesburg to Paris was his first, so I suppose it was a legitimate health safety question. Purchased my monthly tram and bus pass. Convinced the Accueil ("Welcome" Desk) to give me a spare key to my room. They wanted my passport as ransom, but I convinced them that a driver's license was an acceptable substitute. Success! They mentioned something about returning the keys within three days (it's been almost seven), but I can't do that until the FedEx package from home containing them is properly delivered. That was supposed to happen today, Monday, but I've come to accept that nothing ever works like it should here, especially if it involves communications, transportation or finance. Should you have the misfortune to require something demanding all three... oh la la.
  
  
• Wednesday - Slept at least 13 hours. Started to improve the disastrous state of my room.
  
  
• Thursday - Paid the monthly rent. Room slightly less disastrous. Think New Orleans, post-Katrina.
  
  
• Friday - Little bit of grocery shopping at the dreaded Monoprix yieled an excellent find: Tomme de Savoie cheese. Reasonably priced, yet delicious, I ate the entire thing, about the size of my fist, in one sitting.
  
  
• Saturday - Went skiing with Emma and Pippa (yes, lots of jokes were made about "Salt 'n Pippa" and the "Pied Pippa") at 7 Laux - a beautiful ski resort in the Belledonne mountains. Huge, expansive runs. We played in incredibly dense fog for a while, with ten feet of visibility at the most, then took chairlifts higher up where we were greeted with some AMAZING views. I'm bringing my camera next time. Skiing in France is very different from skiing in Colorado. The runs are rated more conservatively (i.e., a "black," their most difficult, isn't quite as hard as a black diamond back home), but there are hardly any boundary markings and you're expected to have much more common sense than resorts in the US demand.
  
  
• Sunday - Woke up at 1:30pm to a phone call from Tarek inviting me to play football. Mumbled agreement, but wasn't able to roust myself from sleepy haze in time. Watched episodes 3 and 4 of 24. I'm hooked. Afternoon filled with laundry duty. Went to McDonald's, the place I have to go to if I want Internet access after 7:30pm or on the weekends, then to O'Callaghan's Irish Pub to watch the Steelers-Broncos game. No sound, tiny TV and enough smoke to signal the moon, but we still had fun. Politely declined challenge from heavily intoxicated Irishman to fight outside after he thought I laughed at him. Caught the second to last tram back to campus at midnight, talked with friends until 2am, then fell asleep watching Reservoir Dogs.
  
  
• Monday - My temporary residency permit expires in three weeks and I was concerned about re-entering the country after its expiration, so I went to the Prefecture to inquire about the status of my medical exam forms (supposedly the last remaining hurdle in my carte du sejour quest). Harried desklady told me that it typically takes several months for the forms to arrive, so I should be patient. I reiterated my fears about re-entering after the expiration, so she stamped (ahh, stamps) my temporary permit with a two month extension.... now it's valid until April 22, so I only need to have my full permit for... three weeks. I would just forget about it, if it wasn't required to receive the not insubstantial government housing assistance, around $1400 USD in total. Indulged myself with a few on-sale items at H&M. Wardrobe is still seriously deficient, and if I didn't have jeans... yikes.
  

Interspersed in there are a few nights spent with my floormates, all French. I'm finally starting to get to know them, and it helps to put a name to all the bonjours. The cast includes Marc, Karim, Jean-Paul, Aurelie, Virginie, Sophie, Michel, Youan, Mathis (German, and not even from our floor, but seems to always be around) and then one aloof fellow who's extremely nice, looks like a Turkish prince and seems to maintain the corresponding royal distance. Sometimes I just want to bow and say, "I offer my humble services to the Almighty Pasha." They're all great fun and we routinely just talk, hang out and tease each other about our respective crazy politicians.

Unfortunately, many of my friends from first semester have left, either to return to their home countries or to work elsewhere, like my Swedish friends Lina and Isabelle, working in Chamonix for the ski season. Maria went back to Colombia, Gabriela to Mexico, Silvia to Italy, Marc to Canada and Jeff, Eli, Kristin and Brandi to the US. Sad, sad, sad.

I'm not sure if I'll sneak a trip in this week, since I'm not 100% sure about the class schedule, but I'm definitely planning one for next week. Greece seems to be surprisingly affordable to get to, so that's moved way up on the to-do list. Something closer might come first, though.

I'm cursed

The travel gods are angry. The flight to Chicago was uneventful and my connection to Paris was only four gates away, so that wasn't rushed. Only as I was laying down on the three middle seats (the flight was almost empty, with perhaps 40 people total on the 280-passenger jet), somewhere south of Greenland, did it hit me: I forgot my keys. The search is on at home, but meanwhile I'm about to go to campus to beg the residence hall matron to at least let me use a duplicate key (if they have one) to drop off my bags. I'm staying optimistic: my semesters always start out like this. It can't get worse... can it?

My Winter Break: A Photo Essay

After taking 2,500 pictures in four months - around 20 a day - I decided my camera needed a rest, so I've only taken a few during my long pleasant winter break. Here are some of the highlights:

A groggy Dad, Christmas morning.


An amazingly cheerful and chipper Mom, opening a small mug I purchased in Geneva.


Daniel and I combined forces to get this monster truck for Sean. Of course, Dad had to inspect it first...


Dad's favorite present? A furry balaclava, probably because no one could pronounce it and it made him look like Emperor Palpatine...


...or an Abu Ghraib prisoner.


I told Dan it was a mistake to get Sean a blowgun. A mistake rectified only by purchasing two for ourselves. The ensuing carnage is too shocking to be displayed.


A winter wonderland right outside our front door. Everyone enjoyed the Christmas snow, even if didn't arrive until the afternoon.


The sleekest and swiftest transportation in the Midwest. The blue snow saucer, I mean.


An evening at Applebees with fellow HCS alumni, mostly youngsters merely in their second year of college.


The Colts preparing to crush the Cardinals.


Margaret and I went to a rave...


...where we learned how to use glowsticks.


I might snap a few more pictures before I leave, but those sum up the break fairly well: home, family, Purple Bubble, Colts, friends. I love Indiana.

Besides having to say goodbye again to everything comfortable and familiar, another downside of the next semester: I dread returning to the tight confines of my tiny dorm room... I don't think our Christmas tree would even have fit in it. And the shower? Oh no... I've been so spoiled by being able to move more than one limb at a time. I need to go into shower detox to prepare me for the coming shock.

The Last Party... and a bit o' Korf

At one of the last Berlioz parties, chatting with William from Senegal.


With my usual friends and... Canadian Marc; we met on the trip to southern France and usually talked a couple times a week while passing on campus.


Saying goodbye to Colombian Maria.


On the tram to downtown... Tarek displaying his usual cool reserve and Maria marveling at a Wint-o-green mint. (The best way to win friends and influence people, of course, is through American candy.)


Eli was the only other guy from ASU and we hung out often. Unfortunately, he discovered a required class back at ASU for his major, so his year in Grenoble... became a semester. Though we have dramatically different personalities, we got along well and enjoyed complaining about Grenoble's tragic lack of adequate NBA/NFL coverage.


Lina tried to spike my hair like hers, but failed, so we crooned in Swedish instead.


After the party at Berlioz was shut down at 11pm by the night "guardian," we headed to Couchetard until 2am, then went to the Vieux Manoir nightclub. That's a pace that one can maintain for only so long before trying to take a nap in the coatcheck line.


My second wind arrived, however, after I realized it was the last real festive night in Grenoble with many of my friends. So, with renewed energy Brandi and I stayed at Vieux Manoir until 5am, talked until the first tram of the morning arrived at 6:30am, then at 7am had the most unhealthy breakfast of my life...


...particularly unhealthy was the main course, a pre-packaged Texas Pork dish a few days past its expiration date and several miles beyond the threshold of human consumability. "Texas Pork" in France is definitely not from Texas and definitely not pork.


This, by the way, is my All-Star korfball team. We're going to win the World Cup. Of korfball. Front row, L-R: Loic "Nice", Unknown, Brigitte, Clementine, Emilie; Back row: Isabelle, moi, Tony, Jaws (he's Italian, we don't know how to pronounce his real name... Giousevie), Christophe, Laura and Amanda (English and Scottish, respectively; even though we're the native Anglophones we try to stick to French for the rest of the team).

The Countdown, Part Two

The past three and a half weeks have slowly but steadily marched by and I now face the prospect of returning to Europe in less than a week for the second installment of my European adventure. I am, above all, thrilled. My time home has been remarkably fun, quiet, relaxing, nourishing and full of warmth as I spent weeks with my family after months of separation. I enjoyed seeing old friends, reveled in Mom's amazing cooking and constant affection, worked a little with Dad, joked and played games with my brothers, went snowboarding and skiing, attended two Colts games (I think it's my fault the streak stopped at 13, I'm very sorry), appreciated the ability to minutely customize an order at a restaurant and lamented the outrageous gas prices. In every aspect but the weather, it was summer. And I love summer.

Even though actual summer lies four months away, I regard with eager anticipation the ensuing time and the enormous promise it holds. I've yet to formulate any firm travel plans to exotic locales, but Croatia, Tunisia and Greece have all been considered. I'd be happy to make it to just one of the three and I'm determined to visit more accessible destinations like Spain (hello Matt and Ross!), Normandy/northern France (hey Sean!), Ireland, Berlin and at least one former concentration camp in Poland or Germany. Amsterdam is absolutely worthy of a second inspection and I wouldn't have any problem stopping in Brussels on the way up. I've also promised the French family that so warmly welcomed me in August that I would try my hardest to visit them again, too. Initially, I'd envisioned spending every afternoon on the ski slopes, but I think I'll have satisfied that urge after a few visits (and the price of lift tickets and rentals) add up. Two skiing and snowboarding trips to the mild southern Indiana ski "resort" Perfect North also forced me to face the painful realization that I am not the Olympic alpine star I remembered. If any opportunity arises to attend an Olympic event in nearby Turin, Italy, I'll seize it immediately. Supposedly there are still large numbers of tickets available.

I fear I won't have the same luxurious two-days-a-week class schedule I enjoyed last semester, but I'll settle, if I must, for a grueling three. I'll need therapy if I have to endure four days and five, well, is simply out of the question. I'll spend my added time in the city wisely: a rigorous exercise regime has already been undertaken, I plan to frequent the French cinema more and I might, just might, do some preliminary thesis work into the remarkable phenomenon of optimistic young gentlemen overcoming rampant rudeness and bureaucratic obstacles during their physically exhausting and mentally demanding exchange programs. Speaking of classes, the earliest I'll learn about last semester's grades will be sometime in February. I hear oddsmakers are taking bets as far out as August.

Mid-February also marks the expiration of my provisionary residency permit, the "recipisse du sejour." If I don't have a medical examination, complete stacks of more paperwork and submit it all to the monolithic Prefecture before then, I'll be an illegal alien and also ineligble for the generous - but thus far invisible - governmental housing assistance. Fortunately, the next most serious problem I'll face is how to squeeze all of my European-acquired possessions into the same little suitcase I arrived with. I hear faint echoes of FedEx in the distance... and Dad's booming "throw the junk away!" in my ear.

A bevy of random pictures is coming soon.