Since my return from France in January, life has sped by so fiercely that now I find myself at the tail-end of August. I left the sluggish (but beautiful) French Alps, I returned to the rat race of the U.S., and I dove in headfirst. I did this instinctively, in spite of the way Grenoble filled me with a desire to adopt a more carefree attitude towards living. As an American/English speaker, it was sometimes incredibly frustrating inside the tightly sealed envelope of Europe. There would be no cracking the code of the inflexible French customs in the ten short days I spent there. My boyfriend, who spend a good five months in the country before I arrived, had only very recently cracked it himself. During my stay, I was subject to a lot of unanswered questions and tons of misadventures, even with the companionship of my boyfriend, who was unrelenting in his attempts to show me a good time in the country. The dramatically different way of life was concerning to a young American girl, and shit, it was SLOW. It was backwards. It was new and confusing. But you know what? I loved it. I had the time of my life, though sometimes my boyfriend suspects otherwise. I’d give anything to go back and stay. That desire is becoming more and more apparent to me. It is reigning my daydreams.
Nine months after my first venture out of the country, it’s still as close to my heart as it ever was. Now that we are approaching the one year mark, I am reminiscing about the minute details of the trip more than I ever have before. When the men at baggage claim asked me if I could speak English, when I sat with a Caribbean med student at the bar and let her believe that her determination was inspiring my own, wandering around the industrial park that is Heathrow International and crying and hoping that I would make it safely to Lyon–and then that moment. The moment I saw one familiar face among the assemblage of strange travelers, and the relief that came from feeling his hand finally in mine.
I think the reason that a lot of my feelings and memories about the country are incredibly romantic is because I had the good fortune of spending most of my time in a quiet, yet reasonably bustling, mountain community. Grenoble is where I truly left my heart, not in Paris as most would say. I spent a grand total of three full days, one evening, and one morning in Paris. During my stay, I was able to traipse leisurely through the palace of Versailles in a sea of people from all over the world. My senses were overwhelmed there as I took in priceless works of art and so many interesting faces. I ate in sweet little cafes and sipped tiny cups of espresso. I walked around in the winter chill that was nothing compared to what Chicago had prepared me for. I saw the Louvre, though I did not step inside (I was sick of waiting in lines after my experience at Versailles, tourism is really what made Paris irritating for me). I watched the Eiffel tower light up on every hour, and saw the trees along the Champs-Élysées glowing like thousands of fireworks simultaneously set ablaze while we downed several glasses of vin chaud. I saw fireworks shoot out of the top of the fucking Arc de Triomphe on New Years Eve. I saw some incredible and truly unforgettable things in Paris.
But Grenoble is what captivated me. Grenoble is where I fell in love again, and every day walking down the crowded sidewalks smoking a hand-rolled cigarette was a gift. Grenoble was the true site of my life changing vacation.
Still, I am (by nature) a bit of a pessimist, and I feel that maybe my affection for the country is just because of the saying about the grass always being greener. Since my return, I’ve been overworked and stressed. My job holds dominion above all else, including my child. My self esteem has been low as I have still not made a commitment to returning to school. I’ve experienced irrefutable happiness and sadness alike. I’ve been at odds with everyone I’m close to. I’ve stretched most of my relationships as far as they can go, as though I’ve purposely been testing the resilience of my loved ones. Their elasticity has equaled their tolerance for my bullshit, and it leaves us all wondering why it’s so high.
It’s okay. There’s plenty of time to work on eliminating that bullshit.
caitlin adair 