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!
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!
No comments:
Post a Comment