Grenoble

Every now and then I get nostalgic for certain places, and one of my favorite places to get nostalgic for is Grenoble, France. I think the reason Grenoble is so special is because I had absolutely no plans to go there, nor had ever heard of it before taking the train from Lyon to Grenoble with Epp in early November 2002.

The background to this visit to southern France is a bit convoluted. Epp and I were in London and had Ryanair tickets to Italy booked for November 5. The only problem was that sometime in early November we forgot what the date was. So sometime on November 5 Epp approached me with a worried face and said she had bad news. We had missed our flight that morning.

We decided that the best option would be to go to the airport the next day at the same time and see if they would honor our tickets. We spent the night preparing for our trip. I remember there were a lot of pancakes made, and we packed the jar of peanut butter I bought at the LIDL supermarket near Thornton Heath, a jar that would keep me satiated many times in the weeks ahead.

At the airport though we learned that we would not be able to board the flight to Italy. So we weighed our options. We could wait one more day and see if we could get on the next flight -- this was my preference. But Epp started checking the counters to see where we could find a cheap flight. She approached me and said that there was a flight leaving to Lyon, France that would only cost us around $50 or $60. After some discussion, we decided France it would be.

When we got to Lyon, it was dark and raining. We walked to a few hostels and hotels trying to find a place to stay, but every where we went, all we heard was "compleat!" -- which means "full" in French. And nobody spoke English with us, so I had to learn some French from our guide book. We finally would one warm room in a nice hotel in Lyon with a skylight (!) and spent the evening there.

The next day we took a train into Grenoble, where we spent the next few days. Grenoble is situated in the foothills of the French alps. It's a mountain city with a well-known university. The mountains are literally so close that you can walk to the end of one street and the side of the mountain will begin.

Some memories of Grenoble: huge dogs sleeping on the floors of cafes. And I mean giant animals, beasts even. Late at night in our hotel in Grenoble we could hear a hell hound of a dog on one of the lower floors barking into the dark. It was a bit scary.

Cheese and wine: I know, how French. But the weekend markets had huge blocks of different kinds of cheeses, some so soft they would melt at the touch. We kept ours cool by leaving it outside the window at night. There was nothing like buying cheese at the market, some fresh loaves of bread and subsisting off that. The wine, too, was local and *cheap*. I think a bottle might cost something like $6. We had several.

But the thing that brings me back is the mountains and that clear, cool, Alpine air. We got it into our minds that we wanted to climb the mountain in town with the castle on top of it. That is the one with steps to the summit. Getting up to the castle though was no easy task. There were a great many steps. By the time we reached the pinnacle, huffing and puffing, nearly delirious with exhaustion, Epp was ready to pour us a glass of wine and open up the wine and cheese we had stored for our picnic at the top.

While up there I took a long look at the beautiful city below and watched a bird rise up from out of nowhere, hover about equal with the castle walls, and then dive back down to find a nice public park somewhere in Grenoble.

When I was in France, I was delighted when the people called me "Justin" the French way, "Zhoo-steen." It seemed closer to the way the name should be pronounced (the Greeks, where the name originated, say it like "Yustinos"). And when we climbed into the nearby hills we found a cemetery where there actually was a person interred named Justin.

This is so uncommon. My name is quite new in the US. I don't think I have ever met an old person named Justin. But this Justin had died many years before and had been born in the 19th century. I took a photo of Epp to commemorate the discovery of this very special cemetery where there were beautiful views, fresh air, and guys named Justin taking an eternal rest.

I love Grenoble. I want to go back.