It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.
On the way to Lyon, I had by far the best bus experience of my life. I know, I didn't think bus rides came in the "good" variety either. After watching Ratatouille (what else could you ask for?!?!!?), I opened the bus window curtain and found myself skating through the creamy center of the french countryside. Never before having looked upon the majesty of varied elevation, my mouth gaped. I stayed sitting perpendicular to my seat watching small mountains and cottage-speckled valleys whip past me. When we started to pull off the road, I was momentarily sad until we stopped at a rest stop on a hill. Kendall and I ate baguette sandwiches on top of a big-rock pile overlooking a valley. Well, a highway, then a valley. It was one of the best unexpected experiences I've had on the trip.
Lyon was the final side of France we were able to see, and was a nice contrast from the the two cities we'd seen previous. It was on the big side, the third in the country behind Marseilles and Paris. Built around two rivers, the city was a headquarters during the roman empire and the for the french resistance during World War II. It's residents are intensely proud of themselves. That night I caught up with a group to go to the downtown area to grab dinner. We found an Italian place to eat.
There are a surprisingly large amount of "Italian places" to go to eat. They have got to be the most abundant restaurant of foreign influence. Good, except when they put goat cheese on your pizza. Backwards people.
The place was cute, for the first 20 minutes. Then it started to rain so they moved us inside... to the restaurant next door. They had no room for us. After about an hour went by without receiving our starter salads, we realized something was up. We oscillated between being starving and not wanting to offend french customs, but finally a member of our group, normally a reserved quiet boy, spoke out asking about our food and ended up threatening to leave. We got our entire meal within 10 minutes. Our waiter had forgotten about us. We left extremely disgruntled and mad that the service fee was included.
The next day was our bus tour of Lyon. We had a lady from Wisconsin giving our tour, the first completely fluent english tour guide we'd had. We drove up the massive hillside to a church for giants at the top of the hill. There were a lot of Catholic things. The Virgin Mary is a big hit there. Friends and I went shopping and stopped at a foyer that someone made into a cafe. I had my first salad in three weeks. We went to a medieval store on our way back that sold old French swords and armory. When I'm rich, I'm going back there.
Returning to the hotel I found myself restless. I didn't want to stay in that night. I went to the super market and got a few groceries including coke and a small bottle of Jack Daniels. That would assure I could go out affordably. My roommate and I joined a group who were going out to celebrate a birthday. We took the metro to the riverside and sat like homeless sailors. It was an awesome experience. The river was lit beautifully by the reflections of the buildings and the church on the hill. After drinking and regaling, a group of the group decided to party hike to a bar. I and a couple others, ducked out and cabbed back to the hotel.
The next morning I slept. Too long. It was grand. We had wonderful baths in Bordeaux and Lyon, and in Lyon, our shower door almost covered our shower. A wonderful novelty since the 1/2 doors in both Bordeaux and Paris which were cleverly constructed to moisten the entire bathroom. After my waking process, I met with Kendall and we left to have adventures in the old roman ruins of a theatre. We played in them, finding mostly that people used to be quite short, and that if we were neighborhood children, this would be our under-the-bleachers. We had to take a short metro up a giant hill to get to them. It was like being on a ski lift on the ground. Slanty.
We finally caught up with our friends at the church on the hill which we actually got to enter and walk around. I maintain, lots of catholic stuff, big fans of VM. The church itself was ornate in its grandest meaning. I would love to know who mister moneybags was who put the funding for this behemoth into the collection plate.
Hunger strikes!
We go back towards our hotel. We see a Subway. no amount of french pastries could have strayed me away from that meatball sub and ice-filled Coke. It was (quite possibly) the most satisfying thing I'd ever eaten. I went back twice more before we left.
That night we had awesome plans. We got tickets to go see a Lyon soccer game vs. Caen. Lyon has had the top soccer team in the league for like, 8 years, minus this one. They came in third this season. Though I don't generally follow soccer, I was thrilled to be experiencing something so culturally necessary here, (thinking of you, Skyler and Spencer). Waiting by the stadium for our group to regroup, a fight broke out next to us and a guy's face got bloodied. It was terrifying, but awesome. There were a a shit-ton of french police around the stadium. The Lyon team was clearly better than the opposition, who was placed near 16th (always fun for the home crowd, or the bandwagon tourists). I was actually able to discern a few of the french chants. "Allez Lyonnais!" was fairly common, as well as one for their star Brazilian player Juninho. Much to our surprise the game we attended happened to be their last home game for the season, and Juninho's last game before retirement. This made the fans extra excitable and belligerent. Each play was either devastating or received like a gift from God. The people in the stadium went through more emotions than most people do from birth to death. The opposing crowd on the opposite side kept lighting of flares and throwing them onto the field. A) I have NO idea how they got flares inside the building, after I got patted down and my friend got frisked because of her camera battery. B) I have NO idea how they didn't get thrown out, because the kept doing it!
I could only tell it was the opposing crowd because of the fence built out of crowd control police stationed around them. Soccer is super fierce. There was a huge celebration after the game (we won) and a firework tribute to Juninho. The fireworks lasted for (not kidding) twenty minutes. It was one of the best displays I've seen live. COOL. Juninho paraded around the field with his adorable daughters and super-hot wife afterwards. It was cute. Turns out the whole Lyon team was staying in our same hotel for two nights. A couple of the girls got to meet them/get autographs. I saw a few of them in the elevator but couldn't bring myself to do anything but smile. I'm a big creep. I made it home through the treachery of post-game celebration.
Market Day! Sunday mornings are time for market day. Our tour guide told us about an art market open on Sundays, so we decide to seek it out. We mistook a produce market for it, thinking the two might be connected, but we were wrong. So we strolled through some produce. It was packed and very amusing. I didn't ever imagine it to be a good idea to sell giant cheese wheels on a hot day under a tent. Turns out there's a market for it. There was an especially large number of booths selling produce, dairy products, rotisserie chickens (yep), and flowers. So many beautiful flowers. I wanted to buy them all but I was purposeless. I would have bought all that I could and smashed my face in them, if only I'd had a better excuse than feminine instinct. We found the art market. It was adorable and made me think of my Auntie Rae and my cousins. You guys would love it!!.
This would be the last three days of my classes. My ethics class was insightful. It was interesting to take the class in a foreign setting; I think it made for some applicable learning. My writing class was curtailed, but I hope our product will still be worthwhile.
Monday we had our next/final chapter of the team olympics. It was tournament spoons and it was not nearly as fun as it sounded. I lost in the first round, but my team went on to win (thanks Kendall!). I was a great support.
It was another friend's birthday that day as well, and she wanted to picnic by the river, so picnic we did. Friends Kendall, Bridget, Lindsey and I ended up chillin by the river until nightfall taking weird pictures and creating inside jokes. I made a band called "Katie and the Cranes" because we discovered that when I bend over, my 90 degree angle made me appear quite similar to the construction cranes on the horizon. We're a metal band.
In Lyon we got a special treat. Instead of only having CNN International and the BBC, we also got a french version of MTV that played 60% english music. This was cool for about an hour. The fourth time I heard Lady Gaga's Disco Stick an Britney d Spears's newest less-thn-disguised sex plea song I was just about done with that channel. While my friend and I were shopping, she asked someone local what kind of music was popular in France. They said "American! The French make terrible music!"
Wednesday was our last day in Lyon, and I was able to fit in the French Resistance museum before I left. It was 1/2 French Resistance, 1/2 Holocaust. As soon as you were feeling supremely hopeful and spirited about the fight for freedom, the museum bat you down with stats of crematories and gas chambers. By the time I left the museum, I was stricken with the distinct urge to punch an authority figure in the face and jump off a bridge. Instead I went to a chocolatier and got french chocolates.
To celebrate our last night, we went on a dinner cruise. I wore the awesome dress I bought in Paris, and my four year old Tevas. Telecom doesn't prepare you to have pumps at the ready the way PR does. They served us a raw salmon salad, wine, scallops and a cheese substance, followed by cottage cheese and fruit, and finally a delicious warm brownie thingy for dessert. The scallops and cheese were absolutely divine. The people who opted out got pasta, nothing fun or scary for me to laugh at this time. I ate with my roommate and the popular crowd. I fell in a bit, somehow over the course of the trip. I'm going to say it was my roommate's affability and coolness, not my standoffish humor and ill-timed smiling that got me there.
Retournons a Paris! -Intermission-
Thursday was our journey "homeward." This time we were taking a train and having our accouterments meet us there in a van. This time I strutted in to Paris. After spending enough time there to be familiar, I felt like the big girl on campus. Walking back into the Pars metro system, the accordion players begging for change didn't scare me. The woman who uses her stroller more fiercely than Ty Cobb used cleats didn't phase me. I was a woman with a destination, and I knew how to get there. Pardon my ass.
At the hotel I met up with Kim and Liz.
At the beginning of the trip, my father told me to find a girl named Kim on the trip. She had interned with the Times previously and had done a good job, so she was probably a worthwhile person. He turned out to be quite right, and I was sad that I hadn't gotten to know her sooner/better. She ended up doing me the extraordinary favor of taking my suitcase back to St. Pete. I was/am extremely grateful still, because mailing that sucker home would have cost hundreds of dollars. My Dad was so happy he'll probably try to muster up a job for her at the Times.
We went to a market (again) to bide time until our suitcases arrived at the hotel. The market was at the Bastille, which is now only marked by a giant column with a statue on the top and cheap leather vendors. Kim and I walked back to the hotel from the market instead of taking the metro. This was preparation for the tremendous amount of walking I'd be doing in London. We chatted and my muscles began their growth spurt of a lifetime.
Our next adventure for the day took us to the Père Lachaise Cemetery to see Jim Morrison's and Oscar Wilde's graves. Why? Well, I've read a few of Wilde's plays and I've heard plenty of Morrison's songs, but beyond that, I wanted to be a part of an artistic pilgrimage. So I went. The cemetery was the eeriest place I've ever been. The graves are crowded, and the ones that aren't giant monuments with statues are beaten, old and desecrated, if not some combination of the two. It had a morbid beauty. Jim Mo's grave was fairly standard, it was the surroundings that made it distinct. There were cigarette butts, lyrics written on bits of paper, and picked wildflowers scattered around the grave. The tomb in front of his was covered in markings by mourning visitors. The markings included names and dates of visit, lyrics, and professions of love. Moving on to Oscar's grave proved equally romantic. The big stone monument was covered in lip prints of every shade of red. There were all kinds of love statements and confessions accompanied by play quotes and personal messages to the author. It was definitely a worthwhile trip.
We were ushered out of the cemetery by today's modern grave-keep, who walked around in a dark coat ringing a bell. He stopped us on our way out and asked our group of 5 something in french. Unable to respond, he then asked us in slow deliberate french where we were from, and if we'd like a private tour of Paris. As tempting as the gold-toothed grave-keep of about 45 was, we declined and left. I laughed afterwards, wondering how successful that pick-up line, accompanied by the cemetery badge and shovel, ever is. Guilt pang.
We stopped by the Moulin Rouge on our way to eat dinner up near the Sacré-Cœur church. It was a lot more done up and modern than my mental image from the movie allowed me to believe. People were lined up for the show that night in their Sunday best. The shows cost around 100 euros to see, so I took a rain check, and took pictures of its showy outside. We grabbed hot sandwiches and hopped the metro to the church. Its the only church I've ever found to be a popular hangout for teen drinking. But come on! Everyone's doin it! We ate, toured the church, and left. The Monmartre area is the red light district of Paris and gets a little tricky after dark.
Friday was the final day and Paris and thus, a marathon day. It began with Kendall and I taking a morning stroll through the Luxembourg gardens of Napoleon, where we watched children play with ducks and men play tennis (it was the first weekend of the French Open, after all). We walked on grass we weren't supposed to, and then left. We went to the Hotel des Invalides, the place Napoleon built for his injured soldiers during war, and what is now a military museum and his final resting place. We chased pigeons and then went to get picnic materials at a convenience store. For me, that consisted of a baguette, salami, vanilla coke and chocolate. We walked to the Eiffel Tower, following like the north star. Kendall and I got harassed by children and beggars alike, but finally made our way to our friends picnicking beneath the tower. Apparently the cool thing to do is take your third grade class to the Eiffel Tower during the lunch hour. There were billions of children, running about picnics like locusts around Egypt. We ate and left for the Louvre. On the way there we passed a nine man band in the metro. It was by far the most impressive metro music I've ever heard. A crowd had gathered in the halls of the transit system. We couldn't stay, but we wished we could.
The Louvre went by too quickly. I saw all of the big things and was made giddy by our teddy bear of a tour guide. A rotund englishman who had clearly had been living in France long enough to break his fluency just a bit. He kept repeating himself, saying "And we go this way," every time we moved on to a different exhibit. My favorite statue was "winged victory." I think its because it reminded me of the statues constructed on the front of old ships. I like ships.
This was one of those times you pause and realize the age a magnitude of the things around you. It was very cool and humbling. Oh, and the rose-line doesn't go over the inverted pyramid. I checked.
After the museum everyone went to get ready for our final group dinner. It was back up near the Sacré-Cœur church, where I'd been the night before. We had musical accompaniment with our dinner by a fun old guy who sang Frank Sinatra for us. It was awesome. We were served escargot and steak. I tried and liked it. It was a bit salty and chewy, but I'm no worse for it. I got over the mental image of snails by telling myself I was eating steak. It was a bit of a disappointing steak but delicious compared to the idea of eating the dead things covered in table salt next to the elementary school cafeteria. Last night in Paris, I was glad to do something exotic.
We stopped by the Arc du Triomphe before we headed back to the hotel, just so I could take a couple pictures before I left. I was up until 5 in the morning that night, readying my suitcase and deciding what I needed to take backpacking and what I could go without. I got two hours of sleep before my alarm went off at 7:30 so Kim could get my suitcase from me before she left to go shopping. I had a bit of time before I had to leave, so Kendall and I made a final excursion to Notre Dame and my favorite bookstore. I returned to the hotel, put my massive backpack on and headed to the train station. I was nervous and looked foolish. These nerves were compounded when I got to the metro and found that they had closed the metro line I needed for the day. I had to take 3 different metros to get to the station, only to arrive 5 minutes before it had to leave, and I hadn't gone through customs yet. Yes, I missed my train to London. Naturally I started panicking because I was alone, didn't have Kevin's number on me and didn't speak the language very well. Not to mention I could not afford to pay for another train ticket. I went up to the ticket counter, crying and hunchbacked, and got myself a ticket on the next train, no charge. Things worked out just fine. I waited in the station for an extra hour, but I was able to get food so I didn't mind.
I was on the chunnel to London, to arrive by dinner time. Kristen and Kevin would (now begrudgingly) be there to receive me. The backpacking adventures begin.
Listen to Champs Elysee by Joe Dassin
