Cultural Awareness

Ok, something more serious. I submitted this for a cross-cultural communication assignment.

Although the United States and France are both highly developed, G-7 member states with significant cultural, economic, and linguistic ties, Hofstede’s model reveals significant cultural differences.
These differences are most dramatic in power distance and uncertainty avoidance. In terms of power distance, French society is more hierarchical than is American culture. French organizations, according to Hofstede’s model, could be predicted to be more vertically-organized than organizations in the United States. This is because the model predicts that power is less-dispersed through an organization in France than it likely is in an American organization.
The higher sense of power distance in French culture manifests itself in several ways. First, it manifests itself linguistically. At the very least, to vouvoyer is expected with those in authority in France. The direction of the causal arrow in this sense can be debated, but it is clear that the French language reflects and reinforces the idea that authority figures be given not just respect, but also an additional verb tense to describe their actions. Although most languages in the world have such a tense, it is interesting to note that English, whose American speakers are noted for their flat organizational structures, simply does not contain a notion of such a tense. English speakers such as me awkwardly try to create one (you all in the North, ya’ll in the South), but still do not encapsulate any of the respectfulness of “vous” in our attempt to pluralize the second person singular.
The relationship between French and power distance also manifests itself in the form of linguistic institutions. For example, the Academie française is charged with the definition and preservation of the French language. This cultural authority, to which millions of Euros are required to be given every year, guards the linguistic gate against the barbarian menace of foreign lingo creeping into French expressions. In 2003, email was officially made into courriel (with the acceptable usage of mél as an abbreviation for message électronique). Although courriel is used rarely in France, the presence of such an institution and the spirit under which it operates suggests vastly different idea of the authority’s role in social institutions than that of the United States. Witness the late 1990s and 2000s in American English: website, to blog, blogging, to surf (the internet), surfing, to friend (someone). Such verbs and nouns becoming accepted rapidly in American English attests to the flexibility (for good or bad) of English to a changing world whose words need not be approved by elites.
Perhaps I have made too much of these linguistic considerations. Few French speakers, in my experience, use the word “courriel” (Though our friends in Quebec do). However, the existence of a linguistic body such as the Académie française and a native French person’s innate distinction between those he/she uses the vous-form and those he/she does not suggests something powerfully different in the way French citizens regard their relationship to others. English’s Mister / Mrs, “Yes Sir,” and “No Ma’am” still do not reach across French’s power distance between a person whose very actions constitute a different pronunciation, spelling, and the very sense of being that verbs encapsulate.
Beyond linguistic manifestations of higher power distance than is characteristic of the United States, French culture also exhibits its preference for power centralization through its governmental institutions. I have personally experienced this in my application process for my Carte de Séjour. In order to be a legal student in France for over ninety days, I have to submit myself to a two-stage medical checkup.
The second of these stages was particularly interesting. After waiting for a few minutes in a state-run medical clinic, I was greeted by a doctor and escorted to a consultation room. There, I was interviewed for 30 minutes regarding my family’s medical history, my medical history, and my personal habits.
It was a linguistically interesting process --- describing medical problems in the past tense, trying to achieve some subtlety in French as I described my diet and why it really was not as bad as it sounded – was challenging.
However, I perceived an immediate disconnect between myself and my doctor in terms of the doctor/patient relationship I was used to in the United States. I did not seek out this doctor for medical treatment or advice, as I would have in America. I was assigned this doctor by the state in order to both certify my health in the country and something far more interesting: to give me counseling.
I mentioned that I have seen doctors in the United States for counseling, so what made this session any different? It was the fact that I was assigned this person, a complete stranger, to describe my personal and family history to. She was looking out for my best interests, it seemed, or at least those interests deemed the best according to the French state.
This is the most interesting dimension in terms of power relationships: I was (and still am) a ward of the state. She imparted medical wisdom on me, not as a counselor in the traditional sense, but as a learned person, walls full of degrees and with a long waiting list, to whom I was required to report.
Yes, many people in America have similar doctor-patient relationships. The doctor sits at the corner of the room, listens occasionally, and leaves after fifteen minutes. But many do not. The family doctor, with whom there exists a voluntary relationship, counsels many counsels well, and counsels as a friend.
And it is not as if I did not appreciate the advice of the state-provided doctor. She was friendly and listened attentively. But I can no more call her my medical counselor than I can call a stranger my friend. Power distance expresses itself in areas outside of the boardroom.
Elements of individuality differentiation, another point in the model, also exist in this medical example. As a foreign student, I was assigned this particular doctor, as I have mentioned. I had to attend a session with her, regardless of the state of my health. Because a level of medical care is provided to all in France through taxation, it makes sense to consume this health care because it has already been paid for.
Broadly speaking, the American medical system does not contain this notion. This is well known and not interesting in itself. In terms of individuality, however, the American system reflects the individualist notion that people are not obligated for the health needs of other people.
In France, however, the individual is obligated by the state to pay for the health needs of strangers. These strangers, such as me, may not have paid a single euro of state taxes into the national treasury. So, the French system reflects the idea that people, regardless of income or need, should be provided with a level of health care by other individuals who do pay taxes.
Finally, the French tax system reflects the notion that individual efforts are, in percentage terms, more subject to the needs of others than the American tax system. Because French citizens are taxed at a higher marginal rate than Americans, the state has determined that individual labor ought to be redistributed at a higher rate to other individuals. Thus, in terms of Hofested’s own analysis, French people project their feelings of collective identity more strongly through a taxation system that links their productive labor more highly to other individuals.
As such, one could say that the individual works less for himself and more for others in France than in America. Put another way, because more taxes per hour of labor are incurred by French workers, French citizens work more hours per year for the benefit other people than do Americans. Judging by higher French marginal taxation rates, I find this to be a tenable conclusion independent of one’s ethical judgments whether or not such a system is ethically good or ethically bad. Such a judgment, while potentially interesting and certainly desirable, is outside the scope of this paper.
This idea of more apparent concern for the poor, or at least, less-well off, is also a characteristic of relatively lower level of masculinity in France. Thus, less masculinity, though not as differentiated from the United States as power distance and uncertainty avoidance, is also a characteristic of France vis-à-vis America. French express a preference for more equalization between the sexes through positive gender discrimination laws in areas such as political parties. Specifically, a 1999 French law mandated equal men and women in all but the smallest elections throughout France. Due to the higher preference for masculinity, such as law would have been less likely to pass the legislature in America. Because sexual inequality in France is not seen as beneficial, traditional barriers for women in the workplace have gradually been eliminated in order to equalize their participation in society. Taxpayer-funded crèches and payments variable to the number of children a family contains have freed women to work outside the home away from their “traditional roles,” as such. Laws such as the 1999 gender equality law have allowed them, at least de-jure, better access to elected bodies.
Finally, having examined the differences between in the United States and France in terms of power distance and individualism, I will now move my analysis to uncertainty avoidance, the other drastically-different characteristic the model predicts between the two countries.
I have already discussed how the state acts as an arbiter in medicine in France and how this relates to power distances. But the state also plays an important role in minimizing uncertainty in French society. To the extent that individuals in France support this idea and maintain it through voting for representatives who keep uncertainty-minimizing policies around, the idea that uncertainty should be minimized to a greater extend that allowed in the United States reflects French values in this area.
French contractual law is a perfect example in this arena of uncertainty. The typical French contract requires three signatures of the same document, each with “lu et apprové” written near the signature line. Additionally, to minimize even more uncertainty in contracts, significant portions of the contract must be re-written by the contractee in order to assure absolutely that they have understood the terms of the agreement. Such time-consuming procedures reduce ambiguity in order to control social and legal behaviors.
This practice is different in America, where boiler plates, though extremely long, are rarely read and never re-written. Mortgages (though perhaps less so now!), tenant agreements, and sales verifications are many pages long yet frequently contain post-it notes indicating where to sign. “Read and approved” is simply not as values as signed in the right places as quickly as possible. Reading, then, is really not practically mandatory in so much the deal terms were clearly discussed and both parties trust one another. Of course, the higher the dollar value, the more such contracts are scrutinized.
Thus, the French appetite for risk is less than that of Americans. They demand contracts that are well-read in order to maximize both parties’ knowledge of the contractual terms.

Strasbourg Two

This clock inside the cathedral depicts Peter's denial of Jesus through moving figures and most shockingly, a crowing rooster. At 12:00 sharp, the show starts. A huge crowd gathered for the event. The silence was interrupted by the crowing rooster, and the quiet of the cathedral was broken by laughter each of the three times. The rooster noise was in need of some repair.












If I ever slip into a coma, at least I can design car color patterns.

Strasbourg

Sorry for the lack of posts. I've been unable to upload pictures to the blog, and as you will see, I had a few! This past weekend, I visited Strasbourg, France for four days. It's on the German border, north of Switzerland. Results below...

Strasbourg's Petite France just after sunset. This is the Rhine River flowing through the center of town. Because of its position on the river, Strasbourg houses the Commission for the Navigation of the Rhine. Unfortunately, I could not find a museum dedicated to this privilege. However, I did see this group of people yawning, which would have had the same effect.

Despite the fact that I couldn't find that museum, the city had a delightful other museum dedicated to the city's own history. There, could wear a variety of ancient helmets, but my head was generally too big. Clearly, this is due to the amount of knowledge I accumulated during my visit, or perhaps, my toasty toboggan. Global-warming types should visit Strasbourg in November.

I only have a picture of the second-best restaurant we tried in Strasbourg. Sorry I don't have one of the first best. Here, I had French-onion soup, prime-rib cutlets, and French fries. Dessert? Creme brulee.

Of course, although I reveled in this meanl I was impoverished afterwards and lived on bread for the next three weeks to make up for it.






The Strasborg Cathedral, completed in stages between the 14th century and the 18th century. It is one of the most impressive structures I've ever seen. No photo could capture the detail. It is truly shocking to round the corner I pictured here and to look up at the cathedral looming above.

Problems with Blog

I have some pictures to upload, but can't! My blog is hors de service! Give me another day and I'll try again.

One more Dr. Pepper Picture

I wanted to quickly upload this other picture of the Dr. Pepper incident.

We wanted to celebrate our gastronomic victory, but we needed a critical component: ice.

Ice is not in fashion around here, so we had to find somewhere that lacked European sensibilities. That place was McDonalds. After waiting patiently in line, I ordered a cup of ice water at the counter only to discover that the ice machine was broken. If this had occured in America, the building would have been on fire.

So, I had to go looking again. I finally found a Starbucks in Geneva, and after more waiting, I ordered a cup of ice (I couldn't afford any of their drinks....). I brought the cups back to McDonalds, where we degusted le Dr. Poivre.

So, we had Dr. Pepper out of Starbuck's cups in McDonalds.

The little things...

Experiencing and (more importantly) appreciating local culture and gastronomie is important, but from time to time, we foreigners need to delight in the little things that remind us of home.

While in Geneva last weekend, I happened upon a stock of a particular item that I had long given up on ever tasting again. The product, a simple drink, is the subject of much dégustation back at home. None can be found anywhere in Grenoble.

However, in the Coop supermarket in downtown Grenoble, I found it: the elixir, bottled lightning: Dr. Pepper.

I bought all of the store’s 45 cans and packed them in “les cartons” regularly reserved for wines. A store employee was hesitant to give them to me, but once I explained (as I regularly have to), that foreigners are a little bizarre and that I had come a long way for this product. Packing them carefully, I marched towards the cash register with a sense of accomplishment, and, more importantly, a sense of the enjoyment yet to be.

Somehow, I only lost one of the Dr. Pepper cans on the way back from Geneva and Evuan les Bains. It managed an escape route through my well designed confines of cardboard and shopping bags.

Nonetheless, I can degust Dr. Pepper for at least 45 days. Maybe I’ll manage another day trip to Geneva sometime soon…

French in Action

I thought it would be a good idea to wait until I was in a foreign country to be robbed. Cambriolage. There, I said it, and I think that this is the way to get past it. Sorry that I have not posted in a long time; you know why now. My one personal corner in France, my one enclave, was violated by someone I don't know (or do I?) and emptied of everything of value.

I am fine, physically, and most importantly, mentally. I was not earlier last week. I came back from a day-long, Rotary conference constituting the very reason I am in France, to discover behind my still locked apartment door that the most cowardly crime, robbery, had been committed in my absence. I found my balcony door open, the rain pouring in.

The value of the things I lost number in the 1000's of dollars. Camera, video equipment, my telephone, and even my paper towels. Apparently the thug needed super absorbency. Among the lost items most precious was my laptop. Gone forever, it contained those things most unable to replaced: memories, in the form of photos, songs, and documents. Maybe the robber was especially interested in my photographic documentation of my last trip to Grindewald, Switzerland.

The coward left, however, my external hard drive, which I believe will enable me to recover some of what I have lost.

Only once did I think that I wanted to come home --- as I waited for the police to arrive. I wanted to be back home to express my range in my native language.

The police responded quickly and through a professional, thoughtful assessment of the situation, concluded that the coward had indeed entered my balcony via the roof through a window at the end of my outside hallway. He had accessed both my balcony and my neighbor's. The coward struck both of us, which means that my vitriol can be shared, but only unfortunately.

I can, and have, repurchased most of what was taken.

One might say, then, that no one suffered any real loss; it was an insured loss, and save for the emotional pain and loss of an intangible sense of security or naiveté, I come out the same.

Because this blog is supposed to be about economics and ethics, I've thought about this reaction from many whom I have shared my situation with. Many friends have said that time is, in the end, the only thing really lost in this situation due to insurance.

But this is not true. Putting aside the intangible losses, thousands of dollars were still lost, in net. The positive outlook espoused by many people in this situation makes me feel better, but expresses the broken window fallacy. The coward took value without paying for it, creating a net loss. He probably, on top of this, is using my assets inefficiently. Thieves have a way of being inefficient at all things except, apparently, acrobats in my 8th floor apartment.

For example, the coward took my video camera, with which I used to make youtube videos. I have an outstanding 353 views for a particular video, most of which consist of me pressing the reload and replay keys. Still, for the 5 people other than my family or me who did watch a youtube video I made, some value was provided by something I made with the camera. Because cowards and thugs lack creative capacity (and destroy creative capacity), they take value. I will rescind this comment if the user IstoleAndysStuff creates an interesting video.

In short, I have accepted my robbery. I have moved past my self-loathing: what if I had taken my computer that morning? What if I had put my camera in a locked drawer? What if I had rented a rabid attack-tiger to guard my stuff?

Though I still have no such pets (cats are illegal in my apartment complex), the coward did not succeed. The thug did not take my health, my joy, or my clothes. They would be difficult to replace here, and I really, really like my clothes. Thus, though the thief may be rich from selling all of my other things, I know that he is not stylish. In this situation, this is maybe the most I can ask for.

A Serious Post: Rent Seeking and CAF

I mentioned yesterday that I would post something serious. I am a liar, but I will anyway.

The French government maintains a public welfare program called “Allocation Etudiante.” Allocation is an excellent word (for those who receive it), because it has an excellent English connotation that the word welfare lacks. Le gouvernement français allocates particular benefits for students to support their housing costs through the program. The support comes in the form of a monthly payment whose amount is indexed to the individual student’s cost of rent, earnings, family situation, and housing condition.

This program sounds odd to me as an American (what doesn’t sound odd from the viewpoint of the Island of America?) because welfare benefits there typically do not directly cover housing-expenditures, but government support of housing stock can be generally seen in the form of things like Section 8 housing, mixed-tenancy agreements, and the bizarre, quasi-governmental authorities of Freddie Mac and Fannie May through the government’s implicit guarantee of their mortgage based lending. Lately, these programs have been criticized and the moral hazards Freddie and Fannie represent in their “too big/important” banners will come to nest in the pockets of future generations of Americans. Students loans, in that they confer sub-market interest rates to students by tapping the wealth of American taxpayers, also count indirectly because they offset payments normally reserved for tuition towards housing and other living expenses.

While these programs exist in America, their function is indirect. The French welfare system for students is direct. The allocation is referred to directly as CAF, the acronym for the government agency managing the payments.

Now for the first policy position I will take on the blog, besides my stated admiration for French driver welfare: CAF payments are unsound economic policy. As any good hypocrite, I will benefit from them as a student attending a French university. However, to mitigate my hypocrisy somewhat, I propose a way of viewing the CAF system in order to evaluate it. First, I will evaluate the system’s goals. Then, I will subject these goals to basic economic theory. Finally, so as to be not too contrarian, I will offer what I see as a better solution.

First, the CAF is a transfer of wealth from the old to the young. Precisely, the old, who are already educated, to the young, who are being educated. Because there is a positive correlation between level of education achieved and earning, this transfer of wealth is possible and, in theory, is warranted to spur future additional earnings of the younger generation. The CAF’s monthly payment attempts to compensate partially rent because students are less able to pay for housing than those that are older. In other words, the CAF is justified for lawmakers because young, non-educated people are less able to pay for rent than older, educated people.

This idea alone is difficult to dispute.

Second, the CAF provides that with additional funds, students should be able to access more housing stock because they can afford more housing stock with the monthly payment from the government. Both of these ideas support students in indirect ways as well: students can live closer because of increased, accessible supply of housing.

“Accessible” is key – overall supply is, of course, affected only building or demolishing housing. The CAF functions to supplement income that would have otherwise gone for rent by freeing up cash for buying books, paying for school, and eating (hey, we are in France; good food is required). In doing, students can choose more housing options because their budget curve has shifted rightwards.

However notable these two goals are, several difficulties emerge. But one argument needs to be set aside first: the argument of efficiency. I will disregard this argument not because it is wrong, but because it is not interesting. A transfer of wealth from one group to another, to be sure, involves paperwork, time, and most expensively, warm bodies. The overhead involved thus has a variable and fixed component, and is costly.

But the argument from efficiency is not interesting from the standpoint that simply because something is efficient does not confer on it moral quality, or draw a teleological arrow between its processes and the stated goal. For example, families are perhaps inefficient: the notorious process of deciding whose house we will use to celebrate Christmas this year, transporting the kids on vacation. But, we do not say that these processes, as inefficient as they are, somehow drain the family of value. We could more cheaply contract an event planner to organize our Christmas family dinner and gift opening time in a hotel conference hall. We could also more cheaply contract a Greyhound bus or Amtrack train (ok, probably not the Amtrack train) to get the kids from Memphis, TN to sunny Florida. However, both of these more efficient options using market solutions miss the point. They lack the intangible (though initially frustrating) processes involved in planning together, cleaning up together, and making five bathroom stops together on the way. In summary, simply being inefficient does not mean being without value.

Instead, the idea that the CAF is bad economic policy rest in the fact that the system distorts market process, and then commits the second, and arguably worse crime of advertising that the system helps students in the first place.

The average CAF for my apartment is €200 each month. For the year, this amounts to a USD 2600 transfer from old to young. As we have seen, it would be naive to conceive that individual renters and apartments owners would not take this significant sum of money into both rent budgeting and rent setting.

How does the CAF distort market processes in these two processes? The CAF has the effect of raising the price of units of housing supply. This is because landlords, just as students, factor in the housing benefit in the process of rent setting. Landlords can do so precisely because the CAF is easily calculable by third parties. Thus, full information exists to all parties. Landlords build the CAF function into their rent-setting models because it is rational to do so. Students calculate the CAF into their budgetary considerations, so why wouldn’t the landlord? If they did not, landlords would miss out on significant additional profits proportional to the CAF payment. Because renters are price takers, landlords set prices below equilibrium by not factoring in the CAF. Therefore, a landlord who does not factor it in prices inefficiently to his or her detriment. Underpriced housing as the additional effect of being over demanded, and flush with dreams of over one thousand additional euros per year on housing, students would demand both nicer and more accommodations that the apartment market could bear. In short, the rational landlord prices in CAF in rent setting.

An overlooked element of CAF now comes into play. I had discussed earlier the family not being judged on the basis of efficiency alone. In the national sense, a nation of those who share a common culture bear transfers of wealth in practice for the general benefit of that common culture. Each summer, tax dollars go to pay for cultural events that showcase regional dancing and cultural pride in Fetes de la Musique in cities all over France, including Grenoble. Perhaps for all of its economic fallacies, the CAF functions under this banner.

However, I am not a sharer of the French culture. My background is something different entirely, which is why I am an étranger no matter what I wear, what I blog about, and how much I try not to butcher the French language with my bouche américain. But more importantly, I have never shared the burdens (taxation) with French people to benefit now from the allocation. For me, the CAF payment represents a direct payment of USD2600 to a foreigner from the pockets of older French citizens. This is, in the most literal and economic sense, rent seeking.

I have now complained, so I must offer a solution. Rent seeking does not seem to be economically, or ethically, justifiable. What about tackling the supply side, then?

If rents are too high for students, as the CAF suggests they are, the supply of housing ought to be increased by those that provide housing. Perhaps a PILOT program, or reduced property taxes for students-only residences, would accomplish this effect. But, it must be student-only residences that receive such benefits. With diverse managements competing, more housing stock, and more wiggle room for margins, prices ought to decline towards a more palatable equilibrium. At least an equilibrium that considers previously unseen consequences and does not allow clueless foreigners to benefit from the French state unduly, and more importantly, unjustly.

Some Details

Some have commented on my lack of real detail. So:

• There is either a white/green delivery van that looks like a back to the future prop that sits outside of Café 17 every morning until approximately 5:00PM, then it is replaced by a BMW SUV until 9:00PM.
• In my apartement (flat), I prefer the left elevator due to its smudged, yet introspective glass mirror and attractive spiral plastic light covers. They remind me that were I to become comatose, I too could be an elevator interior designer.
• I saw my first Hummer today. It was ridiculous. It was a monster truck among micromachines.
• A woman with bleached blond hair (fake, because only Swedes or the Swiss have les cheveux blondes in la France) had a spirited discussion with a grey traffic barrier today. She stormed off in protest. She really ought to just be herself and make less superficial friends.
• A stream of a people, imitating the Tour de France, inundates my street every morning on their way to work. Their ability to survive depends on the graciousness of drivers, their use of honky horns, and their level of caffination or drug use that morning.
  Death is for the ill, or those who drive rue Pierre Sémard, the road directly in front of my residence. At any given time, cars rocketing off an “overpass” converge with cars coming from a tunnel into a single “lane” whose width is suited for exactly one stroller, two Olsen twins, and three wet Q-tips. But, for added danger, at precisely the convergence point of the two roadways, there is a pedestrian walkway. And a bicycle lane with colorful paint. In the US, this gauntlet would be spattered with blood, burning gasoline, and panting trial lawyers. However, all Euro-drivers have survived it, as I have seen. Few (marked) pedestrian graves exist, and bicycle-based maimings are quickly handled by the French universal health care system. All bikes are recycled, and turned into overpasses.
• A good way to lose something is to leave it in a public place such as a thief convention, or to ship it via Chronopost. More like chronic-losers-of-stuff-I-need-post. That was a good insult. This enterprise demanded a telephone number from me for a shipping alert so that I could be at home and waiting attentively for my shipment’s arrival. Only, see, they are shipping my French telephone. C’est une paradoxe, but I am not interested. I would inquire as to where my package actually is, but I know. It is in a splinter-filled crate laying in an unmarked tile-factory in Burma, labeled “Nuclear Testing Supplies.”
• I will certainly complain about Chronopost more, after taking a sedative. Perhaps, in the meantime, US driver’s license stations can advise Chronopost on matters of efficiency.
• A real, economically-oriented post will follow this one. And if you don't sleep through it, email me.
• I weight x.1x kg and am ?? m tall.

Expecting Malendendues

I think that half of learning a foreign language lies in expectation. But this is a new discovery for me. When a stately, older woman just getting onto the tram (a different tram, a different time than Ben Kinsley’s) asked me about my sanity, I because convinced of the importance of context. Projecting a range of possible expressions, possible words in an upcoming situation is necessary when one’s ears are not fully habituated.

So, startling questions from strangers about one’s sanity are difficult to expect, by default. I had just come from the “Grand Place,” whose appellation is fitting and I need not expound. But I really should: it is a Home Depot, Bed Bath and Beyond, Chinese Grand Buffet, and Mall of America all housed in a decidedly soviet-inspired architectural theme, a multi-level smorgasbord with interior street names complete with sign-posts and a post-apocalyptic façade greeting guests. And there are a lot of guests. I fought my way around them, using the convenient street names to point my way. I managed to find le CocaCola, on sale, no less, and j’en ai acheté beaucoup. To be caffeinated is to be American.

I was rather laden with Cokes as I boarded the tram back to civilization. So, it was with some difficulty that I cocked my head as I tried to both understand the stately lady’s question, and also to not look like a person who pauses between intra-cranial translations of foreign languages. I was unsuccessful at both, and my cover was blown. I was either foreign or, lacked sanity. In my case, both. My linguistic delay caused some consternation to the lady, and those holding onto the fluorescent yellow, convivial rail in the tram. I pursed my lips, and began my standard, “Je suis désole, madame, mais je ne comprends pas.” Ok, good so far --- “I am sorry, but I don’t understand.” That makes sense for someone who is potentially insane or, perhaps, just doesn’t understand the question. But what rolled out next, I just don’t understand. Not only did I not understand, I then added, “je suis américain. As if that explained the phrase that preceded it. No translation necessary here. No reason for it; it was just additional information to strangers, and in this situation, like additional information to the IRS.

My effect was chilling. Silence. Luckily, a Ben-Kinsley-in-waiting did not rise up and verbally assault me with a anti-étranger soliloquy. The stately, inquisitive lady did not respond. Maybe they thought I was about to snap? So, I was faced with contemplating my impertinence en silence. Well, of course an American wouldn’t understand.

When the stately lady left the tram, she still said nothing. It was after the doors closed that I realized something, something rather important. Context: What was I holding? Ah yes. She didn’t say sanité; no, she said something quite different. She asked me how my health was: my santé. Les CocaColas: not good for your santé. Well, good; she had not been concerned for greater psychological well-being. Maybe I don’t have a perennially insane air after all.

I do realize, though, that maybe my nationality-based response wasn’t so bad. Les CocaColas aren’t good for your santé. But, I am an American, as I told her. We are all in bad health, so one Coke more won’t matter. Context, context. Expectations, for me on a tram and for the stately lady when she meets me again.

People You Meet on the Way

I dislike excuses --- unless they are made by me. Nevertheless, I did not make an excuse in my last post about the extremely long delay in my first blog post and my arrival in Grenoble. But I really wanted to. The excuse goes as follows: “L’internet est hors de service.” This sign, announcing that the internet was out of service, was my first greeting at my apartment complex as I moved in last week.

As one addicted to the internet, this announcement was a bit of a let down. I had looked forward to logging in and to making an “all’s well” call back home, for free, using a voice-over internet device called a magicjack. Instead, the ‘hors de service’ led me to make an ‘all’s well’ call back to the States and to be price gouged on international roaming. In theory, my magicjack allows me to avoid international calling fees. In theory. Currently, the non-theoretical fees amount to $1.00 / minute on my phone plan, which is at least € .01 / metric minute. See my previous post on my knowledge of such metric conversions.

These conversions, which are useful for physical measurement, are essential for budgetary management. Accordingly, I understand that the euro is a convenient way of reducing my buying power, whichever European border I happen to cross over. This feeling of a lack of borders is codified in a graffiti statement on a nearby bank: “les frontières sont dans nos têtes” --- borders are (only) in our heads. I wish I could tell my American cell provider this important information.

I would call to tell them, but it would be too expensive.

Political statements are not confined to graffiti here (though one wonders if political philosophers moonlight with spray-paint). In a particularly daring move (for me, anyway, who is content in his flat), I decided to take the tram last night, for no real reason. Though, I do enjoy the beeping sound made when one validates their tram card.

I hopped on the train at Saint Bruno and knew immediately I had made the right decision. An armchair philosopher rode with me, and I was treated with his verbal graffiti all the way to Echirolles (the ancien Village Olympique from 1968).

Pushing 70, he had distinguished spectacles, a Bergerac-esque nose, and an in-decipherable accent. Actually, he looked like a diminutive Ben Kingsley. I see this in hindsight, which is good, because I like Ben Kingsley enough that I would have wanted to take a picture with ‘him’ and tell everyone I was on a tram with Ben Kingsley.

Luckily for me, every proclamation was both loud and occurred several (read: several) times. His emphases occurred predictably at the end of every sentence as if he bottled up his outrage for a grand finale at the conclusion of each thought. No periods, only ellipses between finales. His audience was large, and unwilling. He did appear to direct most of his pre-finale thoughts to an equally-old woman sitting across from him. She seemed completely disinterested. But Ben would bellow, first to her, and then adjust in his seat slightly to the rest of us as he completed encore… after encore.

In fact, I used the woman as a template to feign disinterest as Ben crossed into subjects I would have reserved for theses. He was far too difficult for my still-adjusting ears on his first proclamation, but second and third proclamations became progressively clearer. Apparently, the tram was an appropriate soap box for subjects ranging from the Iraq war, to French imperialism, to bourgeoisie capitalism.

I say that I feigned disinterest. I was very interested, but ‘j’avais l’air de’ disinterest because each thesis, no matter how it began to his disinterested conversational partner, eventually ended in a finale against the United States. Repetition: “What have the Americans gained in Iraq? (slight turn, always more volume) What is the value of money?” Same answer to both, always more volume: “nothing.” Finally, a non-rhetorical chorus emerged: “Good Americans criticize their government.” Several times on this point.

He believed this one quite strongly, a polemic that demanded he stay rotated and gyrating in his tram seat. I had to smile. Perhaps he should have told it to an American, instead of his disinterested audience. Maybe he needs a blog. Perhaps his internet is always hors de service as well?

At the very least, I should have asked Ben a favor. Could he please call my phone company in the States? What about my internet service provider here? Two things to ask, preferably in the form of dual rhetorical question, which he has perfected: what is the value of money? What do borders mean? Rien, nothing. So, no more roaming fees, and fix the internet SVP.

But in the meantime, until Ben does make this call (for me, he would do it because I am a … Canadian), I am sorry if I don’t call back more often, or blog more often here. That’s my excuse.

Settling In

150 pounds is exactly 6.0 kilograms. Actually, I don’t know how many kilograms it is, but it is the amount of luggage I brought into Grenoble last week when I arrived via train from Genève. It may as well have been 6000 kilograms, though. “C’est un peu lourd,” I would say to inquisitive people as I slowly dragged this load through the Geneva Airport, down to the train station, and through two connecting southbound trains to finally reach Grenoble. This 150 pounds and its equivalence in the still-enigmatic metric system is what remains of my past American existence now supplanted to Grenoble. The days spent packing, stuffing, thinking about packing, and more stuffing have now come full circle and the fruits of the labor were now opened in a corner of my twenty-four square meters.

I say my, because I finally feel ownership of my flat. I formerly would place apostrophes around the word flat because I am used to it parading around as an adjective. Maybe the success of it working into my vocabulary over the last week has made me less of an American. Now that I have a good name for my 24 square meters, I have to set aside unpacking priorities. Priority one: ice. Well, I guess I still am an American. Priority two: leave the unpacking behind and enjoy some ice water while on the balcony. And what a view. Each morning, I am treated to an Alpine sunrise over the Belldonne. After 5PM, every detail can be seen on the west-ward facing mountains because of the slowly setting sun. During this time, I also have a view, though far away, of Chamrousse. It was my time there in the summer of 2006 that I first learned of this wonderful city. Grounding oneself in reference to the past is always a good idea, and to have such tangible evidence of it makes me grateful for the long, and often difficult, train of events that have lead me to this wonderful year ahead.

I have my first rotary meeting on Monday, the 25th of August. I would be nervous at such an event in America, but in French, anything is possible! Sometimes my bouche américain (my American mouth) just won’t open in quite the required ways for French pronunciation when I need it to. Just yesterday, a new friend at the university complimented me, in French, that my French was good. I tried to respond to her “j’essaie”, which means, I try, but I actually said “je sais,” which means, I know. So much for my attempt at humility. Luckily for my nascent reputation (and for not adding to the stereotype of American bravado!), every one laughed, thinking I was simply being sarcastic. I, of course, went along with my joke. After all, I’ve got a nice flat, 24 sq. meters, to come back to while I practice some pronunciation. Too bad none of my 150 pounds can make my bouche américain move any better!

Bienvenue!

I've started this blog to keep my friends, family, and sponsors up to date on my time in Grenoble. Thanks again for all your support.

I had a chance in June, 2008 to come through Grenoble and get a lot of practical matters out of the way. I rented a small apartment Les Estudines right next to the Grenoble Ecole de Management. The management went out of their way to help a clueless americain like me and I found a great apartment overlooking the city on the 8th floor of the building.

Here's a shot looking off my balcony into the Alpes around Grenoble :

And here's a shot of the school. This is their newest building, completed in 2002:

This is a test of the blog.