my first grenoblois night out

I could not have imagined a better way to spend my second weekend in Grenoble.

On Saturday, a few other assistants went on a six hour hike around the bastille, seeing incredible views and bonding over their ‘love’ of walking. I, however, had a much-needed lie in, returned to the amazing quiche café for some poulet and casually went to an Egyptian ‘party’ (definitely shouldn’t use the literal translation of fête in this case) at my lycée. After staring blankly at an arrogant French man, who frequently reminded us that he was in fact a journalist/writer/creator of the ever so popular Pharaon magazine, us lazy few assistants took a cable car up to the Bastille to meet the sweaty, tired hikers. There, we sat with copious amounts of wine and cheese (oh so French), watching the sunset and appreciating great company. It may sound cringey, but it was bloody brilliant and cold. After there was no more wine, cheese or light, we stumbled back to the bubble and reached normal altitude, where we made a mad dash back to our apartments for a change of clothes and for some, toilets to be sick in. Some people just can’t handle the French ways, no more wine for you!

We met an hour later at my studio (now the designated pre-drinking location), to teach the French, Americans, Spanish and god knows what other nationality, to play the apparently oh-so-British ring of fire. After being moaned at by my neighbours for our shrieking English voices, we headed out in search for some sort of bar/club/a bit of both. In the end, we found ourselves in McDonalds where the lightweights ate a fat burger and went home for lack of single vision, whereas, the heavyweights (comme moi) hunted down a bar. It was called Couche Tard (I think?!) but I like to call it Sleep Late, because I love being literal. It was rammed full, so we danced a bit, got squashed, sat down. I asked for a beer, got a straight bacardi and sugar. I spoke to french people, in french, got replies in english. Brilliant.

I did have a great night though; laughed off the arrogant frenchies wanting to practice their english, downed the bacardi because it was so vile, and could dance as much as I wanted because I didn’t really care who I was squashing. I did not appreciate, however, the TWO different groups of french boys who insisted on opening my bag, attempting to rob me and pulling my arm to get me to come home with them. Firstly, who do you think you are, you arrogant little boys? Secondly, don’t touch me. Thirdly, do you really think that after you tried to steal my phone and purse, I’m going to agree to ‘come home’ with you?! Sort it out. According to the french friend who walked us home, it was because “english girls dress like sluts" - while pointing at me. I’ll have you know FRENCH BOY that you have a moustache that makes you look like an 80’s porn star, so you have no right to an opinion on my ‘slutty’ dress sense (which is, for the record, not slutty whatsoever).

Next time I will wear jeans and a ridiculously baggy jumper. Plus, I’m currently practicing my karate skills from 8 years ago.