Bienvenue à Lyon

And so it begins.

After spending a few days relaxing in Southern France, I have now officially arrived at my final destination; Lyon, the city where I will be spending the next four months of my time. It’s one of those days that I had circled on the calendar long ago, but never thought would actually come. However, the time has flown, the summer has passed, and the new semester is here.

I was able to stave off thinking about classes and work and all those other bothersome things for a few more days while spending almost a full week in the cities of Aix-en-Provence, Avignon, and Montpellier. Thanks to a missed connection at the start of the trip, I was unable to drop my bags in Lyon, and thus was lugging around everything I will need for four months through the streets of medieval cities, not exactly designed with an overweight L.L. Bean roller bag in mind. My exploration was distinctly hindered thanks to that deadweight, but I still was able to see plenty of the three cities.

Aix-en-Provence was easily the largest and most tourist friendly of the bunch. Every sign was in English, the town squares were mobbed, and sidewalk cafes were everywhere. Most of them had single chairs and tables on the very edge of the restaurant’s property facing the street that were strategically placed to improve people watching. As such, every person utilizing said seats gave us a dirty look as we walked by; “stupide Americains.” But this was a town you could spend three or more days in, as there was plenty to do.

Avignon was a day trip for us, and that seemed like the perfect amount of time to spend there. The highlight was the “Palais du Papes”, which during parts of the 14^th and 15^th century served as the seat of the Catholic Church. Very impressive indeed, with intricate paintings, imposing walls, and cavernous ceilings. The second biggest tourist attraction was the “Pont d’Avignon”, loosely translated as a bridge built in the 1200s which then connected Avignon to the world, but now does not even cross half of the river. So as you can see, a day was plenty of time to see all the sights. One not to be missed was in the middle of this historic town. A couple of retailers lined the square, and outside of one was a Chicago Bulls jersey of Joakim Noah. For those of you that don’t know him, consider yourselves lucky because he is a tried and true bum. Yet, he gets prime sale space in Avignon, France? Ah, globalization.

Montpellier was the final stop of the trip for us, as it was west of Aix and right in the middle between Barcelona and Lyon, our respective destinations. Because Brian and Spencer had to rush off early to Spain to get to their orientations, I had some time on my own to get a walking tour of Montpellier. Again all my bags were with me so I may have sweat a bit, but I definitely saw a large majority of the city, both good and bad. I still cannot get over the narrowness of the streets, and the prevalence of town squares; it is a testament to the age of the cities I suppose, but there is simply no comparison from what I have seen in the States (far from exhaustive, but perhaps representative). These cities have been very conducive to wandering, and almost dare you to drive a car through them. Anyway, the highlight of the central square in Montpellier was a man playing and singing his guitar. No, not that rare, but as I got closer to him I realized that I recognized the famous chords of “Sweet Home Alabama” coming from his guitar. Of course, this is France, so when he got to the chorus, he started off with “My home in Alabama”, and continued on from there with his butchering of the song. Just reminded me how far I actually am from Alabama.

My travels finally came to a close this afternoon as I boarded the train to Lyon. I realized that even as I felt the same relief as when I board a train for Philadelphia in the sense that it is where I belong, I had no clue where I was going. Considering how much time, effort and agony went into choosing a college out of high school, with the numerous applications, interviews and school visits that went along with those shenanigans, this time I had chosen Lyon out of the blue, especially the Universite Lumiere-Lyon 2. Right now, I could not tell you how many kids go to Lyon 2, what type of school it is or even what their mascot is (a very important factor), if they have one. Yet, for some reason, I’m not that nervous.

After a few delays on the TGV, which is really letting me down these days, I met Mme. Rossi (my host Mother) at a very crowded train station in the heart of Lyon. We made the drive over and then under the city’s two rivers, and then up a winding road to their house. Tomorrow I will head into town to sort of get my bearings, so I’ll give you a full recap of Lyon once that is complete, but let’s just say that Lyon is a city of 3 major hills, and my house is near the top of one of them, looking back over the city. Amazing.

When I got to the house, there was (surprise!) another student already staying with the Rossis! Henry is a couple years younger than I am, from Columbia by way of Miami and Toulouse, and knows how to relax with the best of them. But for now I will just say that the three others were very nice and welcoming to me, and I’ll leave the full description to another post. Upon my arrival, Mme. Rossi made dinner for the four of us, and Henry had warned me that she was a good cook, yet still I was blown away; after spending four days in a foreign country constantly focused on not killing myself and not necessarily enjoyment, this meal was perfect. Food coma quickly set it, and I had earned it.

Finally, I’m here in Lyon, the “city of light,” and, for the next four months, my city.

Je suis ici...finally

Je suis ici…finally

Yes, finally, I have made it to France. It took a lot longer than expected, and included a lot of ridiculousness along the way, but I’m here. I arrived to my hotel in Aix-en-Provence last night and intended to write this then…but promptly fell asleep. So now, here is the full, dramatic saga that is my travel experience.

It started last Friday, the 14th, with a last second showdown with the French Consulate Visa section: would I get the Visa? Phone lines are only open there between 3-5pm, so I drove down to Georgetown and parked my car right outside the Embassy and started calling them at 2:59pm. And calling. And calling each minute. Finally, someone answered the phone at around 3:25, so I (in English thank God) explained my situation about leaving that night, and could he just get me that Visa, and sure enough, he told me that I was not yet “authorized.” At this point we got into an argument that I won’t go into the details of but let’s just say that even though I was on home turf (in English), it did not end well, and he hung up on me. Flight was cancelled, fellow travelers were informed, dreams were dashed.

I did keep calling the Embassy until Tuesday, when I spoke to the Embassy operator, and she promptly told me to “stop calling!” My thought was that I could bother them so much that eventually they would have to give me the Visa…and it worked. Two days later, got the letter in the mail saying my Visa was ready (yes, they actually used Postal Mail), and I went back to the Embassy Friday to have said Visa inserted into the Passport. No physical confrontation with the guy I spoke to on the phone, we were very polite to each other, although he clearly recognized me and my voice. I think he was scared.

Anyway, my new flight was scheduled for 7pm Sunday night, and I was booked from Dulles to Heathrow, and then direct from Heathrow to Lyon. In Lyon I was then to meet up with my host mother, who had offered to drive me from the airport to the train station and take some of my bags while I went off to Southern France for the week. Exciting, right? Well, I made it to the airport, said goodbye to the parents (who were more than happy to see me go after 9 unplanned days together), got to the gate, and then we were delayed an hour and a half due to some battery issue. Fantastic. Flight was fine, first time on a 747 (although they did not let me go to the 2nd deck, disappointing), but we showed up at Heathrow about 20 minutes too late for me to make my connection to Lyon. So much for meeting that host mother.

After such a huge flight was delayed there were obviously hundreds of people needing to be rebooked, and British Airways had an army of people ready to help. Standing in that line though was an experience: in front of me was this big guy from Dallas talking about healthcare and taxes (I did not want to get beaten up in public, and thus refrained from interjecting), I was next to this huge (in numbers) Italian family chattering away about who knows what, and a couple more in front of me were these two families not next to each other yelling to each other in French. Once I reach the front of the line, British Airways comes through, and even though they can’t get me to Lyon in a reasonable hour, they do fly me to Nice, and give me a voucher good for 5 British pounds anywhere in the Airport! Amazing. As to how I spend the new cash money, I do what every other starving, exhausted (I cannot sleep on planes), overwhelmed passenger would do: buy fruit. I figured I should not mess with food on the plane considering the potential egg-induced side affects, and could not recognize any of the other things that were offered to me, so I devoured some fruit.

Anyway, make it to Nice, and now I officially was in France. But, of course, still over a hundred miles from my ultimate destination. But, this part went relatively smoothly. Made it by bus from the airport to the train station, and bought a TGV ticket to Aix-en-Provence from there, all in somewhat stumbling French. Each time I busted out some French, the people looked at me a little oddly, but conceded that they mostly understood what I said, and then finally helped me out. The French are so nice.

TGV was not as exciting as I hoped, it kept stopping in random places along the track, and the conductor would come on saying “the TGV you are on has stopped not near a platform. Please, for your safety, do not attempt to get off.” Great advice. But a pretty amazing trip down the French Riviera, not quite sure why I left Nice. But, we kept on to Aix-en-Provence, where I did get off some 2 and half hours later, and took a Mercedes Benz taxi into town. No major problems after that, as I smoothly made it into my hotel room, bought and enjoyed a bottle of Orangina, and quickly made it to bed.

Through my brief walk around the town and various methods of travels, I’ve immediately noticed a few things about Europeans. First, everyone smokes. The packs of cigarettes say “Smoking Kills” in huge letters, but, no worries, they all just light up everywhere. But, I did think that I officially had “made” it last night when a guy asked me if I had a cigarette. I completely stumbled over my response but to me, that meant nothing. Also, spiked hair is apparently the only way to go for guys here. Doesn’t matter how old you are, if you have hair, some of it (at least) has to be strategically spiked. I’m working on it. Finally, the French do drive on the right side of the road, but the sidewalks and roads all appear very similar here, and I have found out that it is quite easy to get them confused. No real lane markings or any of that nonsense, one flows into the other seamlessly, which makes for a few harried moments.

However, no major problems, and Aix-en-Provence is an awesome introductory city, the picture above is the fountain in the center of town. Somehow I did meet up with Spencer and Brian, and we are all now relaxing in this countryside bed and breakfast we have booked for the next couple days.

Finally, I am in France.