8. Lyon

Hello and welcome to a 2-part series documenting my movements during reading week. This post concerns Lyon, the next will be on Lausanne and Turin. 

I am so sick of reading simpering city guides for places I'm going to visit. One I found for Lausanne goes: "From a morning coffee in the sunshine to a pre-clubbing apéro, or just a hard-earned pick-me-up after a strenuous shopping spree, Les Arches is the perfect place to sit and watch Lausanne go by". I cannot proffer a guide as such to any of the three cities I visited but I shall share my limited and brief experiences in each, as a compromise. I extend my apologies that they will not be particularly informative, but hopefully they'll at least be less nauseating than that extract. Enjoy!

Before coming to Lyon I didn’t know that 1½ person -sized beds existed but on my first night I slept in one, in an Air BnB with a friend. We had 24 hours there together and were both in contemplative moods, so barely spoke. I'm never usually like that with people I don't know that well; usually the slightest dip in conversational intensity zaps me with adrenaline that comes out in the form of half-finished sentences or pointless, unnecessarily voiced observations. However, we spent most of the day in silence and I was glad. She suggested we were feeling odd because we're coming up to a new moon (luna plena in Italian... yes, yes, I am now trilingual). But I wondered if it had more to do with our kip (or lack thereof) in the aforementioned (petit) prince-sized bed. (Antoine de Saint-Exupéry is from Lyon in case you didn’t get my ~quip x). Anyway, the lady who owned the flat also had an adorable puppy. It was 3 months old and looked like a toy. It also had David Bowie eyes and really liked licking my water bottle, which I was put off using after his sesh with it… until I forgot about it... and now I feel germy.

I had arrived in the evening and we ate at Les délices du Liban which I highly recommend. The food was yummy and fresh and a-plentiful. An excellent start to the adventure. #Foodie

In the morning (we were kicked out of the Air BnB at 9am) the roads of Lyon were quiet. It's like Marseille in that respect and it's nice to witness the momentarily peaceful streets. It's very different from bustling Saturday-morning Balham (where I grew up) with its snotty toddlers and obnoxious young adults brunching and screaming and pontificating. First thing, we had a much needed caffeine stop in La Croix Rousse, at a hipstery sort of cafe with expensive teas and a lot of pot plants (to be clear... the picture above is of ' the botanical garden... there weren't that many pot plants). This quartier is très cool, it has lots of independent shops and restaurants, and a funfair where we favoured getting churros over a beer after our Lebanese meal, wholesome health goddesses that we are x

Anyway, we wiled away our day, strolling through the classically French streets: narrow, cobbled avenues framed by flat fronted buildings; the odd sandy-coloured church or occasional botanical garden to jete a coup d’oeil at... our knapsacks (for the entire week) on our back... which really got quite heavy... but fortunately Lyon have a 24-hour transport ticket for 6€, so we used that like there was no tomorrow (!) 

We priggishly boycotted the African zoo section of the Parc de la Tête d’Or (- how is it legal to keep zebras and giraffes in freezing cloudy Lyon?) And instead visited two really beautiful churches. The Basilique Notre-Dame de Fourviere is particularly stunnin’. Puis, our transport ticket allowed us to take a funiculaire up to a Roman amphitheatre. It’s cool, but I must confess that a) même si my interest in history is great and sincere, it doesn't seem to extend any further back than about 1850, and b) I had recently visited Arles where there is, frankly, a superior version, so I found it difficult to feign much interest. Riding a funicular is always fun though, I like to feel like cargo... and it reminds me of home: Marseille and its all too ubiquitous petit train up to the Notre-Dame de la Garde. Oh, sweet nostalgia. 

Aesthetically, Lyon is incredibly different to Marseille, but in terms of its (Jesus I hate this word but what's a millennial to do?) ~~vibe~~ it’s kind of similar. I think it’s telling that both of us tried pretty hard to find a host on Couchsurfing, but most people came back saying they already had guests staying. And also that where we stayed ended up fairly pricey. It’s hip and happening is what I’m getting at. Like in Marseille, there are loads of posters for loads of different kinds of events going on (I saw one for an empanada competition, por ejemplo). There are groovy young bars, cafes and clubs and lots of Yoofs out on the streets in the evening. I think I would be happy to live there for this reason, except my body temperature has now adapted to the Marseille climate and I felt freezing in the 13° mist. 

The hostel I stayed in for my second night was great; friendly, super eco (they had dry toilets) (I now regret not having a go with them) and well located. As it should well have bloody been: it cost me almost €30 for just one night (this was cheaper than paying for a solo Air BnB & although I had sent out increasingly desperate requests, heart-breakingly, still nobody on Couchsurfing had accepted me). Upon arrival, I installed myself in the pleasant communal area, pretending to read my book and hoping that someone would approach me. An hour later I was kicking myself for being excessively friendly to a North American lady with hot pink acrylics. During our first chat she told me that her name was Ashley and that she didn't speak any French; she also seemed a little fixated on the possibility of people or situations being "sketchy" (men, taxis, bars, quartiers... in fact the whole country at one point). I speedily profiled her as someone I didn't want to spend my evening with. I was wrong; she turned out to be really lovely.

The two of us got a beer at the hostel bar which came with hummus n a thicc slice of bread for alcohol licensing reasons. A French guy who she had met the day before came to join us. He's set up a podcast of "travellers" sharing their "stories". He asked us to share any "hilarious anecdotes". I told him that nothing remotely funny had ever happened to me while I was travelling and he nodded solemnly, turning back to Ashley. She shared her saga of cancelled or absent Ubers in France. Apparently, the app just doesn’t work as well here as it does in Minnesota. Sacré bleu! I sit with the two of them hoping that the microphone he has set up and switched on is of a low enough quality that it doesn't pick up the unnatural force behind my laboured laughter. It’s Saturday night and I begin to wish I had never left my sweet Marseille.

I zone out for several minutes while my two new acquaintances indulge in passionate soliloquies about how open their minds are thanks to travelling, punctuating their flow occasionally with condemnations of people who don't want or like to travel: ("I just don't get people with no curiosity!") This also followed a sincere conversation about how we're not doing enough for climate change... but I CBA to point out their hypocrisy or the fundamentally self-indulgent nature of travelling (that I am evidently guilty of... je pense, donc je suis hypocrite...) and cause controversy. Let's not mince words, I didn't want to spend Saturday night watching Ruby Granger vlogs in bed.

When I (angelically, it would seem) suggest that the two of us split a bottle of red from the offy after our pint of beer, Ashley seems shocked, and (only vaguely hesitantly) proposes that we get a bottle each. She tells us that in America she doesn't drink very much but that in France she's been profiting from the incredibly affordable wine. It transpires she had single-handedly emptied a bottle of rosé earlier in the day. I'm still reeling; she seemed totally sober when I met her.

As we sip, or rather gulp, our wine, we have a genuinely interesting discussion about the differences between our three countries. Ashley is shocked that people actually take the ‘subway’; in Minneapolis people just drive. She is also appalled by the fact that yoga pants are a current trend in Bristol; TBF we are way behind the Americans with that one. When I revealed that I have used (the well-established) Blablacar in the past, she playfully punches my arm, complimenting my adventurous spirit. I think she did clock that that last one was borderline patronising. En tout cas we talk, sitting by the river, for the whole evening; the conversation interrupted only by Ashley's enthusiastic exclamations at just how awesome it is to have “these kinds of Real Chats”. I did really like her… but she is very American.

The next morning, I pie off breakfast with them and instead amble slowly along the Saône, peacefully passing Sunday morning joggers and trying not to vomit (having dutifully polished off my personal bottle of wine the night before). You've got to hand it to Lyon, it is very pretty. I go through a busy market with colourful organic local veg and stinky cheeses. There are some more unusual stalls - one with Turkish food and another with Lebanese – and for some reason about ten of those things that look like they should be puppet theatres displaying a dozen chickens slowly spinning and dripping fat as they roast. It is all very lovely and man does it feel French-French... However, what this market sadly lacks and good ol’ Marseille’s never do (you may notice I’m becoming a little territorial...) is all the *stuff*. I'm talking the kinds of things found in Lidl’s infamous Isle of Shite, which have clearly tombé’d from the camion, if you catch my drift x. I always find it intriguing to see what useless things exist, that I don't want and nobody could ever need... We all know what a courgette looks like by now.

In the end have to run for my coach to Lausanne and spill coffee all over my hand. It's time for a change of scene. Stay tuned to find out if I successfully make it across the border and out of the EU :D - à la prochaine, reader!