Les P'tits Potins

Rue de Stalingrad

On Thursdays my gym opens at noon. Unfortunately I arrived at 11:45, the coldest day, so far, of the year. I headed directly to a bar kitty cornered to the gym and had one grande cafe (which is still sort of small).

I sat at the bar next to a gentleman doing a crossword puzzle. Behind me an elderly couple with hearing problems discussed their bill. The door to the kitchen was open where I could see the cook slicing a loin of pork. She held the loin in one bare hand, sauce and oil dripping all over it.

She reminded me of my grandmother making turkey gravy. Her spoon spinning in clockwise motions while she added flour and pepper little by little and her bright red lipstick smile. What was she thinking? How much happiness did she get out of making comfort food?

This year I'm spending Thanksgiving with friends, rotisserie chickens replacing stuffed turkeys. No pumpkin pies, instead French pastry. And no grandmothers making gravy. Except in my mind, while I drank my coffee, waiting for the gym to open.

Brik Doree

Off of Place aux Herbes

Grenoble is usually quiet on Sunday afternoons. Shops and most restaurants are closed. Some kebab shops do open however. Today I met Eve (again) and Toni for coffee. Toni is another English Assistant, living in St. Marcelan. It's a small city about an hour away. Small and quaint, but without the quaint. She says that if there was a Worst Placement Contest among the language assistants she'd win hands down. She survives be escaping to other cities on the weekends. This week it was Grenoble.

Eve had a kebab with white sauce, sans frites, and Toni ordered the same but changed it to a couscous and chicken dish with a bowl of vegetables swimming in oil/fat after spying the same thing at the next table. I had two cups of coffee. We all had baklava and dates after.

JS Cafe

Up the street on Rue Thiers

Friday afternoons I have two classes of post-bac 22 year olds. In a nutshell, they're too cool for school. And having passed their baccalaureat already, they don't have much need for my expertise in English. It's two hours of everyone knowing we could be somewhere more fun.

So, afterwards I met Eve at JS Cafe, where we trash talked our students. Eve works for three elementary schools in St. Egreve. Her challenges revolve around 8 year olds who can't retain the rules for BINGO. It's hard to feel sorry for her. We each had an espresso.

Joan Rivers in the Elevator

My first week at the Lycee, my students asked me a variety of interesting questions about life in the US. "Do you have a gun?" and "How big is your car?" were common, class after class. My favorite question though was "Have you ever met a celebrity?"

-- Well, my real favorite was the kid who asked me if I smoked crack. I pretended not to understand his accent. "What? I can't understand you. What are you saying? What is that word?" It's a neat trick. --

Anyway, they were thoroughly unimpressed that I haven't met Eminem, Tupac, or Puff Daddy. But here's my Joan Rivers story.

This summer, in New York, I was in an office building elevator on a hot day. Very hot. No AC in the hallways or elevators. And the elevator was slow. SLOW. Finally it arrived and I pushed the lobby button to head home. Almost immediately, the elevator stopped on the very next floor, with me sweating and cursing. In walked a short woman and a fat man. She was blabbing away asking him about their schedule. "When are we in Atlantic City?" and it occured to me that I know the voice. Out of the corner of my eye I look down and see the taut skin of a thousand facelifts. 'That's Joan Rivers!' I think. Suddenly the slow elevator and the heat weren't so bothersome.

We continued down, she continued to babble, and the elevator stopped again, this time on the 3rd floor. She moved to exit, her companion (manager? attorney?) stopped her, "Not our floor Joan" and she looks at the man getting into the elevator and says, rapid fire, "You can't come in! It's too hot!" He smiles (who wouldn't at the shock of having Joan Rivers yelling?) and she says "OK! but hurry up! This guy's been waiting even longer than me" and she points to me.

And I said ....... (drum roll please)

"I know! I was thinking of making you wait."

which made her laugh.

and that made me feel good.

Watch Where You Park Your Car

This week I've been asking the students to tell me what's going on. "Explain to me the situation in France," I say. Blank stares, confused looks. "The rioting," I say. Minds turning, "what is rioting?" someone asks. Finally some recognition. "Ohhhh, the burning of the cars!" The smart kids translate to the rest of the class and they'd be off. Shouting, jumping, slamming desks. "In English, please," I say, "and one at a time."

For two nights now, there has been "rioting" near Grenoble. I put it in quotes because I only know one person who actually saw anything and no one is acting concerned about it. The French are cool as cucumbers. And even though Grenoble is a small city (I can walk the width of it in 45 minutes) it appears that any unrest will stay within a one block radius. It appears.

The overall attitude from my students is not to worry and to stay away from Paris. And that the Interior Minister, Nicolas Sarkozy, is a bad man. He's in charge of the national police force. In televised comments about the death of two boys running from the police two weeks ago, Sarkozy used street slang to refer to them. Imagine Dick Cheney calling angry, displaced Hurricane Katrina survivors "niggaz" and you get a pretty close comparison. Add a good dose of media hype and international attention and it's easy to see how anger spreads.

One class today told me only to worry if i own a car (apparently burning roller blades isn't on anyone's agenda) and that I should avoid the outskirts of town. They also said that there is alot of media hype. The only burning cars any student has seen was on TV. A large portion of my students live in "hot spots". And there is one near the school.

Which I visited Monday during my lunch break. It's called Mistral. It's a grouping of 5 or 7 high rises (maybe 12 stories tall) around a green square. It has a cafe, a small market, a hairdresser, a bakery, etc. About one third of the balconies have satellite dishes. It also features a fair share of anti-Sarkozy grafitti.

A rumor I heard last weekend had it that the rioting is being masterminded by a hidden source. The spreading to other cities is calculated, the weapons and supplies warehoused and waiting. The students and teachers at Lycee Vaucanson don't give this much validity. One student compared the spread of the rioting to a competition. If Lyon and Marseille want to gain some street cred, they have to out do each other and try to catch up with Paris. With a largely hated man in charge of quelling the riots, unemployment in low income neighborhoods as high as 50%, and images on television showcasing even the smallest disorder it looks like the game is on.

Not Yet

After ten days of rioting outside Paris, the hooliganism has spread to other cities. But not Grenoble. Lyon, Lille, Toulouse, Nice, even Cannes and Annecy have had burning cars in their streets. But not Grenoble. "Not yet," Laurianne says. Laurianne works at the art house theater around the corner from my apartment. I sought her ought Sunday night to get her opinion. "Not Grenoble," she said, "not yet."

Douglas and his classmates told me the rumors they heard. "It's an organized national effort" and "there's a puppet master orchestrating everything" they said. "Paris is just the beginning, they haven't started in Grenoble. Not yet."

"When it starts in Grenoble it will be in Mistral," say my students, referring to a housing project near the school. "But don't worry. It hasn't started. Not yet."

During lunch a teacher told me she watched cars burning near her home in Echirolles Sunday night. "We're not panicking though," she said. "Not yet."