Fête des Lumières

FINALLY!  After leaving my computer on overnight, I woke up to a fully loaded video.  This is fantastic.  And so now, without further ado, the Fête post.

            After the weekend when I went to Flo’s (not the time with my mom, but the time before that), I went into the office in the collège (middle school) to offer my services.  I said that since I wasn’t that busy (aka since I work only 12 hours/week), I’d be more than happy to help at the school.  They said, “We can’t pay you, though,” foolishly thinking that that would deter me.

            But I responded, “Ça ne me fait rien.”  (I don’t care.)  If only you could have seen their faces.  They looked like my head was floating two feet about my hot bod.  I guess it’s weird for French people to want to do something without a reason.  Is anyone surprised? 

After my mom left there was news!  Actually, there was news before she left.  It was November 30 (my mom’s birthday FYI), and I went into the secretary’s office for some reason or another.  Anyway, while I was in there, Chantal, one of the secretaries, told me that we were expecting a new assistant to replace Kirsty.  According to Chantal, the new girl was named Stephanie and she was from New York.  A place called “ee-tack.”  After later discussion with my mom, I discovered that maybe she meant Ithaca.  Srsly, though.  Chantal told me it was Eetack.  How excited was I?  More than words can say.  In fact, I was so excited that Chantal, after she sort of leaned back in response to my elation, had to tell me to calm down.  “Je suis trop excitée,” I told her.  (I am too excited.  Or, I am too sexually excited.  excité means both.  So maybe that’s why she leaned away from her.  Because I just made myself into a predator?)  Anyway, she told me not to get too excited because Stephanie was meant to arrive on December 1, but no one had heard from her yet. 

So I went about the rest of my week, hoping to receive word or see a new bestie in the halls of the internat.  Then the snow came and we kind of thought maybs Stephanie wasn’t coming because she was trapped underground in the snow like in Thumbelina when the mouse tells Thumbelina to marry the mole. (Wow.  I don’t actually know where that came from.  But we really did assume she hadn’t made contact because of the snow.)  The weekend with my momz came and went.  I got called fat.  Then on the following Tuesday night, I heard Michele talking to someone in her room.  I kind of pussyfooted around the area hoping to see someone.  Alas.  Twas some fellow.  A son, perhaps?  I was vair dispappointed.  But on Wednesday, as I was going to the toilet, I ran into a short-ish girl with dark brown hair and a bit of a Tina Fey face (glasses included!) coming out of the restroom.

I smiled at her because I’m so friendly. “Are you Jessica?” she asked. 

So I responded with, “Yeah.  Are you Stephanie?”  Calloo callay.  Twas.

Later we found ourselves in the kitchen together.  I basically summed up Kirsty’s peacing out and the ins and outs of internet usage.  She told me about herself, how she had been an assistant in Paris before, how she has a boyfriend there whom she visits most weekends, how unhelpful the teachers at the collège had been, how she’s studying English at one of the universities in Lyon, and then asked me how did I live in Belley? 

I told her it was tough but that I usually leave on the weekends.  Yeah, I spend a majority of time by myself, but it’s not too bad.  The students are really great and the staff is so friendly that I can’t really complain.  Also, what with rent being 33€/month, it’s much easier to actually make money in this program. 

Then Stephanie kind of paused and said, “I’m depressed to be in Belley.”

Immediately, I says to myself, I says, “Self, this is not looking good.”  Maybe the slogan of Belley should be “Belley: Only the strong survive” instead of “Belley la ville.  Belle est la vie.”  (This is supposedly what Bernod, one of the surveillants, says to himself every morning.)

Stephanie continues, “I think I’m going to keep my apartment in Lyon because I don’t think I could live with myself if I knew that I actually live in Belley.”  Oh good.  Too soon for this attitude, but okay.

So the next day when everyone excitedly asked me if I had met the new assistant yet [because everyone (quite naturally) assumes that the two assistants will be besties.  This might have something to do with the fact that last year, the two assistants (Waleska and Natasha) had gone to high school together. ], I responded perhaps less than enthusiastically.  As we sat in the kitchen and I tried not to judge her for her too soon judgment, we heard fireworks going off outside.  Oh right.  It’s Fête des Lumières (Festival of Lights).  I had no idea that there would be fireworks in Belley.  I thought it only went down in Lyon.  Welp, there goes my opportunity to enjoy the second night of wonder in this hamlet.  (The first was, of course, Les entretiens de Belley—the food tasting.)  Luckily, though, it wouldn’t be my last opportunity to experience the magic of the region of Lyon.

On Friday afternoon, I took the bus to Virieu le Grand and kind of had a panic attack because ah! there wasn’t anybody manning the station.  Was I surprised, though?  Nah.  Did I ever show you the opening times of the gare (train station)?  They are ridiculous.  And when I showed them to Jennifer, she couldn’t stop laughing for about 5 minutes.  Here they be:

TRANSLATION: Welcome to Virieu Le Grand / Belley Train Station
Opening hours at the train station and ticket window:
Monday: 6:10am-11:40am
Tuesday - Thursday: 6:10am-11:30am / 12:35pm-2:30pm
Friday: 7:10am-11:30am / 12:35 to 5:10pm
REAL TRANSLATION: We're never open!  Enjoy the outside!

So anyway, I got on the train, just kind of waiting for the controleur to come up and start fussing over my lack of ticket just so I could set him straight with a, “Yeah, guy.  There’s no ticket counter open.  So I don’t know what you want me to do.”  But, magically, even though it was the Friday afternoon train going into Lyon on the weekend of the Fête des Lumières, no one came around to see if I had a ticket or if I had composted it!  Free ride to Lyon?  Check.

            After I got off, I knew that Katelin was still at school until about 5.  Since it wasn’t yet 2, I set to wandering for some eats.  The problem with me is that I can never decide if I want to sit solo in a restaurant or if I want to get a sandwich on the go.  So I generally end up just not getting anything at all.  (And yet, I need to cut down on the croissants!)  Luckily, as I was stuck in this abyss of starvation, Lyon had arranged some lovely weather for me.

They have a restaurant boat somewhere along here.  I want to go to there.

I made my way towards Vieux Lyon (old Lyon) because that’s where all the pretty stuff is.  As I am my mother’s daughter, when I saw an old, church-looking building, I tucked inside.  Turns out it was Église Saint-Bonaventure, which is the only medieval building not demolished when they were creating the rue Impériale, which is not rue de la République, which is seems that every French town/city has.  Even podunk Belley.  

Paint the cathedral red!

I had a little sit while I watched them set up some stuff, presumably something for the Fête or Advent, until I looked at my phone and realized I had missed a call.  Legitimately, I can never hear that thing ring.  It’s gross.

            So I made my way outside and checked my voicemail.  As I did that, I received a voicemail.  Twas Katelin telling me that she had gotten off early and that I could come around earlier.  BaBOOM!  So I made my way back to Katelin’s but, this time, took a short cut through the Parc de la Tête d’Or.  I saw some people being romantic (and ecologically friendly!) on bikes:

Her: I love you!
Him: I love the Earth!

Saw people setting up for the night’s festivities:

Not as impressive during the day, but a whole lot better for the Earth!

And was stopped for directions (mistaken for a native!  This used to make me happy, but I’m fairly certain I don’t want to be French..  But I’ll take what I can get.), but I couldn’t actually help them.  (There is no picture of this as it brought shame on my family.)

When I got to Katelin’s area, I stopped for a sandwich at a little bakery in her complex and then went on up.  She watched me while I ate.  We also caught up a bit.  Then we sort of just sat around for a bit before going downstairs to get some grub to eat in her apartment.  We were to meet some Spanish guys she knows for the walkabout.

            We set out to our first destination, which was the Parc de la Tête d’Or and tried to go in.  But, for some reason, France thought it would be a better idea to force everyone to go in through the same gate even though there are many more entrances.  So, yes, they decided to funnel everyone who came for the event through the same massive set of gates instead of letting people go is as they pleased.  Way to go.  So, the Parc was basically the firepit.  When you first walked in, there as a guy moving fire from bottom to top:

I am the Great Oz and can move fire from the earth...

...towards the heavens!  Fear my fiery wrath!

Even though I thought this was sort of basic, we stood around looking at it for quite a while.  It’s amazing what fire does to people.  (No offense to burn victims.)  Katelin and I continued around the Parc, looking at all the fiery things they had.  We also noticed that the way to tell if someone was working there was if they were wearing a fedora and smoking a cigarette.  In other news, the Parc had some fire on water!

Fire on water!?  Is this real life!?

       We also spent an inordinate amount of time watching this contraption that had a fake duck flying in a circle and water balloons moving around and a bunch of other stuff, because I wanted to see why it was so involved.  And I was even making a video of it so that I could share it with you. What a waste that was, because nothing actually happened.  The thing just kept going at a snail’s pace in circles.  Great.  It was around this time that Jaume, Katelin’s friend, met up with us.  He’s 19 and talks basically incessantly.  Unfortunately, it’s hardest for me to understand Spanish people’s French—I think because of the difference in r pronunciation: Spanish is all about it and French wants to devour it.  Anyway, he luckily spoke good enough English/kind of insisted on only speaking English so that’s how that happened for the night.  We watched the fire tree before getting on our way.

       We made our way to the electric jungle, which is not to be confused with Electric Ladyland, which was being held in the garden at the Musée des Beaux Arts.  But on our way there, we naturally had to wend our way through the throngs of people in town for the event.  Nearly every street is lit up in some way.  Unfortunately, there’s a lot of jostling that goes on with a lot of people, so many of my photos didn’t come out.  Here’s one I did manage to get, though:

Paper cranes! (?)

            It’s just occurred to me that perhaps you lot have no idea what the Fête des Lumières is all about.  Well, listen, my children and you shall hear.  There was once a time when life was bleak.  There were no cupcakes.  There was no blogspot.  It’s known as the Middle Ages.  Basically, when there was that plague, the municipal councilors promised to pay tribute to Mary if the town was spared.  Unfortunately, Wikipedia doesn’t say if Lyon was actually spared or not, but the end result is the annual procession to the Fourvière on December 8 every year to light candles and give offering in the name of Mary.  It commemorates the day Lyon was consecrated to Mary.  How lovely, right?

            So Jaume, Katelin, and I got in line for the electric jungle.  Katelin and I sipped some vin chaud while Jaume talked nonstop about how much he hates it.  We were nearing the front of the line when we sort of stepped out of it because we were hoping to go through with our friend, Moira (assistant from Canada whom I’ve mentioned before).  So when it got too cold to just stand in one place any longer, we went inside.  It was pretty grool.  It started really slowly as they kind of painted trees on the wall with light:

Boring forest

And then they moved on to having it be a bit more exotic, comme ça:

Exciting one.  The colors, man!  The colors!

           When we got out, we ran into Moira, who recently moved to Lyon from a nearby suburb.  They changed her work schedule so that she only works 2 days per week, so basically she’s on vacation like all the time here.  Sweet, right?  So we went out and they have this fountain all lit up multi-colored and everything.  It was really pretty, but my photos came out crap.

           Don’t worry, though.  As we moved along to Cathédrale St. Jean, I did manage to successfully capture this photo of Moira’s favorite light spectacle:

People of America, I give you prophylactics in the sky!

            At some point, Katelin’s other friend, Theron (an assistant from Colorado), met up with us.  He insisted that we stop to see this massively amazing light show before getting to the Cathédrale.  Video!  (This is the video that has delayed the posting of this update.  So worth the wait, right?)

           We then saw this next video.  I have to admit that I didn't take the video.  But it's only because I watched this one through a tree.  But it was REALLY sensational!  My mouth literally dropped open as I was watching it.

           So we walked on towards St. Jean and stopped to look at this fountain that had rubber ducks in it.  It was pretty, but I was disappointed they didn’t do more with the ducks.  I wanted them to move or something.  That’s the problem with my generation: never satisfied.

Let's go fishing, pappy!

           On we walked to vieux Lyon to the Cathédrale.  We stopped for crêpes before heading in.  As soon as we got inside, we ran into one of the brothers of the church (he looked like a friar!) and were given a “Merci Marie” business card.  On each was printed a passage from the Bible.  I’ve been using one as a bookmark that reads, “Confiance, ma fille!  Ta foi t’a sauvée.” From Matthew 9,22 (“Trust, my daughter/girl!  Your faith has saved you.”  Also, this isn’t actually the one that I’m using as a bookmark, but it’s nicer than the one I’m using.  That’s right.  I just ranked the Bible.)  Anyway, all night Jaume had been just flinging around the word “fuck” and Katelin was supes offended by it, but I was like, it’s the only word that is so versatile.  But, I finally understood why Katelin was so concerned when he dropped it into the conversation with the religious brother.  My hand flew to my mouth in an attempt to stifle my gasp.  Everyone noticed—both the word and my prudishness.

We continued on towards the Fourvière, because we thought it’d be pretty to see the whole city lit up.  We probably thought right, but there was a long line to take the funiculaire, so we bounced.  Also, it was flipping freezing outside.  So we got on the metro back to Katelin’s.  She watched some of The L Word while I basically passed out.

The next morning (really, afternoon), we intended to go to the Musée des Beaux Arts, but Katelin was concerned about paying full price so we scrapped that idea.  We ended up going to the Cathédrale St Jean in the hopes of seeing the clock do its performance that it does 3 times a day.  (We also went because Theron had said how pretty it is during the day and that the effect was a bit lost at night.  All around the church, they had red candles:

Let's paint this cathedral red too!

Then we got ourselves situated to see the clock show.  Alas!  It was just like the British Museum, though.  Well, not exactly like it.  Since that clock at least did its thang after I walked away.  This one just flat out did nothing.  We went outside and watched an impromptu concert (there were a lot of street performances, actually).

Or is it me and the moon?

So we walked on to a marché de Noël that was the most crowded one I’ve seen yet.  An absolute mess.  Here is an umbrella tree they had at the entrance to the marché.  They also had some strange giant trinkets as lights that were replicas of little ones they had on display as decorations.  I still don’t understand. 

I don't know why France was all about umbrellas this holiday season.

Giant cell phone charms.

As we left, Katelin got some roasted marrons (chestnuts) and I got some candied peanuts.  The woman complimented me on my French.  She thought I was being super polite by saying a word that I didn't say (puis instead of pourrais).  She said that I must be from another country because foreigners are always more polite.  Hao nahce.  Anyway, when I bought the nuts, I thought that they would be almonds.  Mostly because I didn’t know that they did it with peanuts.  But, indeed, they do.  They were way too expensive.  But totes delicious.  (Though the ones I got in Berlin with Vicky 2 years ago were way better.  They were, however, heaps better than the ones that I tried to make last summer with Vicky’s grandmother’s recipe that ended in black smoke billowing up from the pan.)  It looked like this as we left:

City lights.

And so Katelin and I headed to the Fourvière to get a view of the city and to see what was up since the basilica is basically the focal point of the Fête.  So we got in line for the funiculaire.  When we were nearly first in line, the funiculaire shut down and they said it could be 5 minutes or 3 hours before they got it started again.  We decided we’d wait for 5 minutes and then, if there was no joy, we’d make the trek.  We were just about to turn away when it started up again.  Once we started to go through to the actual car that would take us up, I realized that there was nowhere inside to buy tickets.  So I hot-footed it back to the ticket machine and ran back to our spot in line.  When I got back, Katelin told me that they had come around selling tickets after I left.  Good.  Then the funiculaire broke down again.  Then it started back up.  

When we got up to the Fourvière, we went inside and had a bit of a pray during the evening service.  As my eye wandered around the walls, I noticed a mural that I am ashamed to say that I had missed my previous time there.  

Joan of Arc did not wear tennis shoes, contrary to what the LeeLee Sobieski movie might have suggested.

For anyone who doesn’t know (and shame on you), Joan of Arc is my favorite saint.  Ever since I was in seventh grade, really.  She’s also my confirmation saint.  Together.  Forever. 

We then went outside, where we could hear some smooth reggaeton beats with French lyrics happening.  On the side of the church, there was a concert going on.  I’m sharing some of the magic that was offered.  

Sorry I couldn’t get the vocalist in the frame.  Especially since I’m fairly certain she was mixed.  We also took some photos of the city, but all of mine came out blurry.  So, it’s nice to know that even though it’s crazy freezing outside, you get to fondly remember it with the blurry photos.  I did, however, manage to get this picture of half of the giant “Merci Marie” sign and the Fourvière.  Regarde!

Alliteration makes this prayer holier than thou.

At this point, Katelin and I got a hold of Moira who had invited us to a concert and she told us to head on over for some vin before going to the show.  So we made our way up to Croix Rousse, another area of Lyon.  This is one of the displays going on in that area:

Blip.  Bloop.  Bleep.  Game Over!

Lite Brite!  Making things with light!

It’s at the top of this massive hill, and as we were walking up, we heard some crazy music being played.  People were basically having a massive party in the streets, which was lovely.  And everytime you thought the music was over, you were wrong!  

When we got to the top of the hill, Katelin and I tucked into a covered marché.  We were immediately greeted by a drunk Corsican salesman with a lisp who was drinking wine and kept offering us samples of Corsican grub.  Who were we to say no?  We eventually managed to extract ourselves from his hedonism and went around the corner where I bought a bonnet that I’ve since grown to sort of hate.  But that’s not really important. 

We left shortly after and headed to Moira’s apartment where she had just finished eating with her co-worker, Spanish Ana, and her friend from high school (Isabel?), and Isabel’s(?) French boyfriend/roommate.  Isabel is also an assistant here.  Well, actually in Toulouse.  There were in town for the weekend.  So Katelin and I helped ourselves to some wine and then we (Moira, Katelin, Ana, and I) headed to the concert. 

As soon as we left Moira’s apartment, we ran into the moving dance party again.  We took part for a bit before continuing on.  This was when Ana revealed that she didn’t actually know where we were going.  So we turned down what she guessed was the street.  We walked pretty aimlessly for about a minute until someone came out of an unobtrusive, unmarked (unless graffiti counts) door and music came blaring out.  “This is it,” Ana said.  So in we went and paid our 5€ and went for some beers.  I was shocked to look around me and see what I can only describe as French hipsters.  I had kind of (aka utterly and completely) been missing hipsters.  French people totally missed that bus, and so I was glad to be among them in this smoky room.  The first band was alright, but the second seemed like they could actually get popular.  Both sang in English. 

After it was over, we decided to go with some of Ana’s friends (these French guys named Yohann and Bruno, as well as this Ecuadorean guy named Andres) to a bar.  We end up walking all the way back across town for some reason to this place where the bartender serves only 2 drinks: a Dark Cloud (kahlua and coke?) or a Singapore something.  It’s a bar that’s kind of 40s style décor but plays one hit wonders from the 80s and 90s.  Everyone gets Dark Clouds, which are kind of horrible and incredibly strong.  Actually, I think Ana gets the Singapore one.  Anyway, Bruno peaces out pretty early on.  Then Moira and Ana head back.  So it’s now me, Andres, Katelin, and Yoann.  But Yoann and Katelin had gone outside.  The bar starts to fill up with actual French people (before, it had been full of middle-aged Americans).  At one point, the people next to us left and Andres stole their drinks and started sipping on juice.  I was certain they were coming back, but a mixture of Dark Cloud and fatigue made me pick the other one up.  I was just sticking in my straw (this is actually really embarrassing and gross to write but what is this blog if not a completely honest portrayal?) when they came back.  I immediately set it down and put girl’s straw back in.  Andres continued to drink his pilfered cloud.  Then they really did leave (paranoid people were drinking their drinks?) and this group of French men came to sit down.  Katelin and Yoann come back up around now.  Andres starts talking to the French men about politics and then the guy asks what we’re doing there.  Katelin says we had a concert, but the guy thinks she said cancer.  Laughter.

The rest of the night I will recount to you exactly as I emailed it to my dear friend, Paula/DJ P-Tain.  (It’s more authentic this way since it was told shortly after the actual occurrence.)  So we're at this bar and it's like 3am/maybe later and Yoann's all, “let's go back to my place.”  At this point, though, I'm so ready to go home but Katelin’s digging him as she's newly in an open relationship.  Anyway, we end up going back to his apartment and we sit around talking (well, Yoann and Andres talk.  I start to fall asleep.  Katelin watches and sometimes gets a word in edgewise.)  

So at 6:30, Katelin's like, “Well, I guess we should go.”  

And so I'm like, “Yes!”

Then Yoann's all, "You guys can stay here."   So then Katelin hem and haws until she decides we should flip a coin.  I try to make the argument that I need to be on a 12:30 train to get the last bus back to Belley so we need to leave now so that we can sleep at her place and then go to Moira’s for breakfast with my stuff instead of staying at Yoann’s, then going to Moira’s, then taking the tram, then getting off the tram for my stuff, then me going to the train station.  I lose and so we stay.  

Then we go into Yoann's bedroom (Andres is sleeping on the couch, which I guess he does quite often.)  And Yoann goes into the salon where Andres is sleeping.  So I take this opportunity to ask, "Katelin, are you and I sleeping on the double bed?  Or what?"  He has a double bed and a single.  

So then she's all tortured-looking and says, “I don't know.”   So then Yoann comes back and nothing's decided so we all stand around looking at his books.  And then he walks out again and I'm like, “Make up your mind.  I'm effing exhausted."  So she says how she's decided that they can sleep in the same bed.  But then Yoann comes back in.  But he's clearly a child and doesn't know how to act because no one in this situation does since they're so obviously going to hook up while I'm sleeping in the same room.  So when he leaves again and I decide that I'll pretend to be asleep so when he comes back everyone can stop being awkward all the time.  So then i get into bed and pretend to be asleep.  And eventually, it’s true.  Don't worry, though.  They do whatever they do for the next 3 hours until my alarm goes off and it’s time to leave. 

My alarm goes off at 10:15 since we’re supposed to be at Moira’s at 10:30—an impossible amount of time to actually get there.  When we start moving around, Yoann offers us coffee, and I’m all, “Nah.”  But Katelin says yes.  I check my phone and see a missed text from Moira at 9:00 telling us we can come over for breakfast whenever.  I tell Katelin and she says, “We should probably get going, then.”  But continues to sit and drink her coffee.  We get out of there around 11:00.  Parting was not such sweet sorrow for me.  For the lovebirds, maybs.

When we get to Moira’s she’s got the crêpes and fixings ready, so we dig in.  Delicious goat cheese and apricot jam.  She had other combinations, too, but why mess with a good thing.  At 11:45, I say it’s time to go.  Apparently not yet.  So when everyone is ready to leave, we deuce it.  Apparently Lyon has far fewer trams running on Sundays (or maybe it’s just this Sunday), so I miss my train back to Belley.  I frantically text Marc and ask if he can pick me up from the next train, which will take twice as long get into Virieu around 8.  Thankfully, he can.  So Katelin and I just sit in her room poking around the internet, essentially, until it’s time for me to go.

When I arrive at the train station, I see a mother walking with her screaming child.  A woman walks by and says, “Quel precieux,” because the French are nothing if not kind to complete strangers.

Sarcastically,

Jess

P.S. Here's someone else's video of the Fête.  It gives a little bit of everything, including some stuff you've seen here, but also a lot of stuff that didn't come out in photos.  Profite!

I Ain't Lyin'--I Was in Lyon.

As mentioned before, my interwebs don’t work so on Friday (Nov. 5?) I decided to do somethin' about it.  Britney style.  So I made my way to the Carrefour et centre commercial (shopping center) to chat up my dear friends at the Telecom booth.  It took nearly an hour to buy a USB internet thingy.  I came out excited at my newfound information superhighway freedom.  I then went around the roundabout to get to the Macdo so that I could take care of some business such as uploading photos to dis blawg, checking Facebook, and purchasing train tickets to Paris for Thanksgiving.  Went off without hitch.

            I then booked it back up the hill to get to Belley center in order to purchase some cheese (Brillat-Savarin, as I had tasted at the food festival last month) and some pastries from the patisserie because, oh my, I had been invited to a dinner party in Lyon.  This came about rather suddenly, actually.  In my pathetic attempts to make friendships out of nothing, I had decided to email one of the girls I met during the stage at Bourg-en-Bresse.  Wouldn’t you know she was considering planning a dinner party for this past weekend.  Naturally, I encouraged her to do it as it would mean an excuse to get into Lyon (where she lives) for the weekend.  I do everything selfishly.  And so she invited people.  I mentioned to Carine that this fête (party) was a possibility but that I had not yet seen anyone respond positively or negatively to the email invitation and she insisted—insisted!—that I ask Katelin if I could come anyway.  This being France, I was less hesitant to impose myself that if I had been in Uhmerrica.  So I emailed and because everyone wants to hang out with me, she agreed.  Carine also offered me a free ride to Lyon and so I accepted because I’m not made out of money.  Carine said we would leave at 5.

            So, having left the Macdo at 3:30, I was a bit nervous about being ready on time.  Well, everything turned out fine and at 5, I was sitting patiently with my bags packed.  Around 5:17, I got nervous and thought that Carine had left without me.  So I started looking around the halls, but obvio no one was there because it was Friday after 5.  So I texted Katelin that I had potentially been left behind.  I went downstairs to do—I actually didn’t have a plan.  I suppose I thought that I would go to the teacher’s lounge and see if anyone was in there or if Carine had already left.  As I was walking to the main yard, though, I saw who I guessed to be Carine walking back with Camille (another prof boarder) to the building.  My paranoia abated and I nearly clicked my heels as I ran back to the building to pretend that I had nonchalantly been waiting in my room.  Even though I had been totally chalant.

            It’s possible that Carine and Camille saw my chalance because Carine said something to me after she returned, but it was honestly too difficult to understand so I just said something between a yes and a no and laughed.  That’s my default answer in many situations.  Unless they look at me quizzically and then I ask them to repetez (repeat for the second plural, vous.  As in Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?  Ce soir?)  Anyway, the three of us walked to Carine’s car (for she and Camille just started carpooling or covoiturage) and set off.  Not much to report about the car ride to Lyon except I felt kind of sick riding in the backseat.  Oh well.  It was fo frizzle.

            Blahblahblah an hour and a half later, I was deposited at the Clinique Tonkin bus stop to meet Katelin.  But since I was to meet her at the Clinique Tonkin tram stop, I waited until Carine drove away and then walked to the tram stop.  Katelin and I made our way to her apartment, which she shares with a 55 (or 75—she’s not sure) year old woman from the Congo.  She’s uncertain of the woman’s age because the woman has not been living there and will not arrive until December 10.  She’s on vacation.  Love France’s schedule.  So Katelin has a real apartment.  With washing machine, dryer, dishwasher, oven.  It’s maaagic.  On the other hand, though, she has an hour-long commute and generally doesn’t finish work on Fridays until 9pm.  So, there’s that.  She was en train de (in the process of) eating dinner when I arrived, so I ate the quiche au fromage (cheese quiche) I had gotten from the boulangerie downstairs.  We had a few glasses of wine before we headed over to her friends’ apartment.

           These friends are three gentlemen from Brazil whom Katelin had met while staying at the hostel when she first moved to Lyon.  Helder, Andre, and Ivo are studying film at one of the universities in the city.  They’re delightful and incredibly accommodating.  They offered us pasta as soon as we came in as well as bread and pesto.  Katelin recently introduced them to pesto, and they seem to think it goes with everything: pasta, bread, spicy barbecue potato chips.  The five of us spent the evening listening to music, drinking wine, and chatting.  Did I mention that all of this happened IN FRENCH?  Because I obvio don’t speak Brazilian Portuguese, and their English was better than my Portuguese, but not great.  They did manage to teach me two words: bottom=fundo and I miss you=saudade.  Isn’t that lovely?  A word to summarize being without someone.  English and French are lacking. 

            I honestly could have listened to their speaking Portuguese all night, though.  It’s such a beautiful language.  My next project?  Mayhaps.  We listened to some samba and it reminded me of some songs that marked my childhood.  Here’s one that has one of the buzzwords from above.  Around 5 am, once the trains and buses and trams had started running again, Katelin and I left for some shuteye. 

            The next morning afternoon, we got up when Livia called to say she had arrived from Bellegarde, another small town where they’ve placed assistants.  Though hers has a train station.  So we went down to pick her up from the train station.  We sat in Katelin’s apartment for a bit, trading stories of assistantship, before Livia and I went to do the tourist thing while Katelin stayed behind to go for a run and tidy up.  We walked towards the Fourvière, which is a famous cathedral of which I had never heard.  On the way, though, we stopped to peruse a street sale of old French books and postcards (with writing still on the back!).

Naturally, nearby, there were men playing pétanque (boules).  Since Livia takes about 500 photos of each place that she goes, we stopped for photos quite a bit.  One of the men playing pétanque posed for Livia.  It was endearing.

             We walked along the river.  Pretty, right?

Please take note of the graffiti.  I loves it.

We were nearing the bridge we intended to cross when we realized it might be a tad difficult.  Why?  Well, naturally, the grève continues and so there were hundreds of people crossing in protest.  Smoke, flares, flags, signs, and the like included.  (Though none of the signs were as great as the ones at the protests to Restore Sanity and/or Fear.)  

But it was certainly a spectacle.  I don’t know if they do this every weekend or not.  Or if it’s like only the first weekends of the months in which they protest.  By the turnout, it would seem like it’s not a weekly occurrence.  But by the French attitude, it could easily happen every day.  I really have no idea.  On the other side of the bridge, they all stopped and this woman sitting on top of a car seemed to be leading the whole thing while people waved different colored flags about.

Livia and I couldn’t be too mussed, though.  So we went through it to this giant flower tree that Livia’s been following around (or its following her around) the world.  There’s one in Shanghai, one in Singapore, and one in Lyon.  One of those is an imposter, but it’s not the one in Lyon.  I can’t recall just now.  Forgiveness?

            So we took the tram up to the Fourvière because Livia’s not too keen on hills.  It’s quite lovely.

    We went into the crypt where they have some statues and paintings.  For example, they have a BLACK Mary.

Livia then informed me that she was dying for a wee and so I finished the crypt while she went in search of a toilet.  I then went outside where nightfall was quickly approaching to take some more photos and wait for her.  Near the Fourvière is this Eiffel Tower imposter that seems to be covered in satellites.

I don’t know if it’s meant to be artistic or functional, but isn’t it delicious that they’ve combined the two?  Livia honestly seemed to be taking ages to come out so I started to do some tap, which has become my custom whenever I’m standing around.  Then these Italian tourists offered me money.  JOKES.  Wouldn’t that be kind of hilarious, though?  (And lucrative.)  But seriously, I considered peacing out because she must have fallen in.  But then she came around the corner raving about the fantastic panoramic view that was at the other side of the church.  So I went to take some photos but naturally, but this point, the lighting was awful and it looked like any other city at night.

          So we went inside the church itself and saw a bit of a French mass.  Sadly, though they weren’t at the one part in which I could have participated, the Our Father.  They were offering each other peace.  I still snuck some photos of the interior, though.  Since it was dark when we left, Livia and I decided to head back to Katelin’s straight away instead of going night-sightseeing.  We stopped to pick up a loaf of bread, some vegetables for les pâtes (pasta), and a bottle of wine (which I decided to get—even though Livia doesn’t drink because of Asian glow.  I’m not kidding.  She basically said she doesn’t drink because she feels like she’s on fire.  And mentioned that it specifically afflicts Asians.  Aka Asian glow.—because it was on sale).  We had a lovely pasta dinner, preceded by the Brillat Savarin cheese I had brought and followed by the pastries I had offered.  Prepare for Belley domination!

            The next day, we got up around 11.  I’m not sure why, but Livia peaced out almost immediately to check into her hotel for the second night because Katelin couldn’t host her Sunday night due to an early Monday morning.  So she left straight away, but Katelin and I went for a walk about Lyon.  We walked through the Parc de la Tête d’Or (bonus if you remember that that was where the assistant picnic had been) and stumbled upon a baby wildebeest drinking from mama.  

Please note that this is probs not actually a wildebeest.  I'm not a zoologist.  

 We were headed to Place des Terreaux and came upon a pavilion with modern art sculptures, including this fountain: 

It reads Permets m'Amour penser quelque folies. oooor "Allow me, Love, to imagine some follies."

Katelin and I crossed the street to find ourselves between the Lyon Opera and the Hotel de Ville, which each place in France has.  

Even Belley.  Hotel de Ville is city hall.  We went to the other side of the building where there’s an open square (actually, Lyon’s quite like Florence and its piazzas) with a giant fountain with horses whose noses sometimes spew smoke and that’s enclosed by the Hotel de Ville, Musée des Beaux Arts, and a shopping mall.  We could see that there seemed to be a small garden inside the Musée, so we went inside.  It was lovely and private.  

Just a small square, but really teeming with art.  It’s spectacular how much art is just lying around France. 

NBD or anything, but that green statue  not on prominent display is RODIN.  Also, note French girl smoking.  As usje.

            Katelin and I then went up to get a better view of the city.  I can honestly say that I was not disappointed. 

            Then we walked about this little carnival where Katelin got roasted chestnuts.  Her first time.  I had had them in York with Kawai and Greg while studying abroad, so I only had a few of hers.  Delightful and meaty and warm.  This carnival had some crazy prizes, though.  Like, iPads, cell phones, televisions.  It was a little ridiculous. 

            We then went back down to the main bit of Lyon and stopped for a pot of tea.  (Katelin had a glass of rosé.)  Naturally, stopping here made me miss my train back to Belley.  No bigs, though.  We went back to Katelin’s and I had a glass of wine and some cheese before getting on the later train.  Marc picked me up from Virieu and dropped me off chez moi.  And what was the best part about the weekend?  Probably when I got back to my room and realized that heat hadn’t been shut off.

Warmly,
Jess