La Vie Quotidienne... (Daily Life...)

Dusk falls like a curtain all around Grenoble.  The white billowing clouds have quickly swallowed the same-colored mountain peaks, those which surround the city tucked inside.  Today, my commute home was not much different than any other day, but for some reason my senses took in more than usual and set me in the mood to write.  So, here you have it—more an outlet for me than anything—2 hours in the life of Natalie Graf in France. ;D

Class finished today at 3:30, and afterwards, I board a tram and head toward the nearest grocery store with a simple list in my head: marshmallows and rice krispies.  A friend and I plan on making the famous American treat for our volleyball team tonight.  This grocery store is huge, and I lap the front aisles in search of marshmallows (Not knowing what the name is in French, I don’t bother asking… turns out it is “marshmallow” also, how original!).  I finally find some white and pink ones in the candy aisle.  Alright, that works.  Next, a 10-minute survey of the cereal aisle (people probably think I’m crazy for pacing it as I do) and all I come up with is a chocolate rice cereal that vaguely resembles what I’m looking for.  Good enough. ; )

It’s always insanely busy at the checkout at this time of day; surely I’d pick the aisle with the lady trying to buy the mysterious un-priced bag of onions!  Thankfully I am in good spirits so it doesn’t bother me when, after her delay, the cashiers want to switch out right before my turn.  I could have muttered il vaut pas la peine (which means ‘it’s not worth it’ and is my self-deemed “phrase of the week”), but instead I let my two items slide to the front and smile at the new cashier.  

I take a different route than usual home, thinking it will be faster. False.  But no big deal, because waiting for a connecting tram—again—gives me time to think.  When the A line finally comes, I grimace as the cars slow to a stop—I see that this one is packed.  I send up a quick prayer that more people will get off than get on, and it is only half answered.  Finding a small space suitable to stand inside, I look at someone no matter where I avert my eyes.  I feel like time is suspended as this tram car briefly unites people from all walks of life—a mother, wearing a burka, with a stroller beside her….. a teenager with his ipod, drowning out the world….a perplexed, tired looking middle-aged woman….. an older gentleman, seemingly a bit perturbed that I am crowding his space.  It’s a chance to step into their world for just a second, to bathe just one tram car in prayer, a prayer for hope and for true life found in the joy of the Lord. 

I get off one before my stop, hoping to catch the bus up to Rabot, and I watch it literally pull away and the driver shrug and give me a sympathetic smile. 

No sooner do I decide to walk toward home than a strong gust of wind blows the beginning of rain into my eyes.  I shiver inside my coat and walk more quickly. I often feel conspicuous on the streets of Grenoble; my always-rapid gait sticks out amongst the always meandering, never hurried French people.  I wish I could be like them: never be in a hurry.  But that’s for another day, I think, as the wind gusts grow stronger.  I clearly remember the first couple days in class, when my language professor told us that it was hardly ever windy in Grenoble.  Lies!  I smile.

I wait at the next bus stop until the bus comes around again.  This one is strangely empty, and as I head toward a free spot in the back, the jolt of the start sends me nearly flying to my seat.  And so it begins the zig-zagged route up.  This bus always feels like it’s about to implode, especially back here, where the buzz of the engine —no, the groan—can be felt directly beneath my feet.  This driver is good—he only has to back up around a turn once. 

We grind to a halt and I briskly head toward the five flights of stairs separating me from room 358.   Looking to my right, I catch a view of the city.  The journey is always worth it, that’s for sure.  No doubt the wind is stronger up here, but the sight of my window on the third floor consoles me.  I enter the building, pass by the front desk to see if my room number is highlighted…. nope, no mail today.  Up to the highest floor, down the pink hallway, two clock-wise turns with my key…and I am home. ; )