Encore à Lyon et la Vie Quotidienne

It’s welcome back week here in Lyon, and after the majority of us spent the break seeing the world over, it is definitely nice to return to the quiet normalcy of daily life. That being said, Lyon is trying to make us not feel so welcome, as three out of my four days back have featured cloudy skies and a cold, light rain (and I thought I left London). Still, after traveling to four separate tourist hubs for the past week, being bombarded with even more foreign languages and cultures, and bouncing from airport to airport, France’s second city is just perfect right now.

The charm of Lyon became clearer to me over the past weekend, while the four of us were in Monaco gawking at fur hats and Lamborghinis while not trying to look too out of place. Over the course of our time together, the other three characters I was with all individually made comments about how their cities are constantly flooded with tourists, and how their constant presence bothers everyday city dwellers like themselves. After moving past the clear shenanigans of their claims to be “true citizens” of their respective cities (it has been 2 months people), I realized this does not apply to me at all. No, this is not due to any sort of odd personal fondness for loud tourist groups snapping pictures of random buildings I walk by everyday; instead, their simply is a lack of tourism in Lyon. Besides one major weekend a year (we’re getting there, stay tuned), Lyon is not a popular vacation destination, even within France. None of the other Americans that I know studying in France are spending a weekend in Lyon, neither for pleasure nor for a school sponsored trip, and those that are coming to visit me from elsewhere in Europe are doing so grudgingly. If you are looking to buy an “I (heart) Lyon” t-shirt or any other cheesy Lyon merchandise you will be sorely disappointed, as there are simply no shady street vendors hawking souvenirs.

Still considering myself as a tourist, I guess I had not fully grasped this emptiness until I took my own voyages to “real” destinations. This week I have been taking a critical eye to the city, trying to discern why no one would want to visit here. We have a stunning basilica overlooking the city, one of the largest public squares in Europe, and not one but two rivers (not to mention our own mini-Eiffel Tower!). Lyon’s history dates back to the days as the capital of Gaul in the Roman Empire, later becoming a major player on the Silk Road, and more grimly as a leader in the resistance movement against Vichy France and the Nazis. The food is famous worldwide (yes, even Parisians recognize that Lyonnais cuisine is the best in France), and the sidewalk cafes are innumerable and function perfectly well in even the harshest weather (they pull these glass walls out of nowhere, turn on the heat lamps, and are good to go). True, we only have one skyscraper (a Radisson hotel lovingly referred to as The Crayon), but any look across the skyline will reveal a vibrant European city.

However, what is Lyon’s main function in today’s world, despite all these wonderful aspects? As a transit hub. For most of France, its best attribute is that Lyon has two train stations, and on a TGV it is only two hours to Paris. You can change trains here to get to Geneva, or Nice, or Brussels, but make Lyon a final destination? Now that is just absurd! Any French people I have met over the course of my travels have each had similar reactions when I tell them I am studying in Lyon for the semester: “oh, that’s nice. Have you been to Paris yet?”

But even as I look out the window into the thick layers of clouds hanging over the city, I cannot help but to think of how happy I am to have chosen Lyon, and how glad I am to have two more months here. No, there are not too many sites to see, the rivers may not be that picturesque, and you do actually have to speak French to get by here. But as a place to study, to experience French culture and to live, it may just be perfect. Lyon does not need many tourists to feel alive; with students, artists and chefs making up a majority of the population (or so it seems), the city generates plenty of its own energy. It will never be Paris, but it will never try to be either. Paris is a capital of the world, the heart of internationalism, with a French flair to it. Lyon is the capital of French culture, with an authenticity that permeates into nearly aspects of daily life.

I know I have mentioned this aspect of Lyon before, but all that traveling really hammered this point home for me (again). Contrary to popular belief, I am not applying for a position at the Office of Tourism here (yes, there is one), I just felt the need to stand up for my new home-away-from-home. Despite the high level of satisfaction among the ordinary citizens of Lyon, the city still has a poor reputation internationally, or more precisely no reputation at all. Clearly, I’m working on changing it.

So before you start to think that I am studying abroad in a boring land of emptiness, just remember one phrase, namely the city slogan: Only Lyon.

Monaco et la Fin du Voyage

And so my trip has reached its conclusion. After eleven days, four countries, and way too many Euros (and pounds) spent, the vacation is over, and I’m currently on a TGV headed back to Lyon. I really did not know what to expect coming into the trip, but looking back, I could not have asked for more. I saw bustling world capitals, tranquil countryside and beaches, and plenty of friends along the way. The only challenge now is accepting that it is over and getting back into a school mode. Right now, the prospects for that are not looking good.

But, before I get ahead of myself, I cannot forget the last stop on my journey, a weekend in Monaco. In truth, it was this final destination that the entire trip was booked around; using the excuse of the birthday of Brian Hwang (although, in reality, it was about two weeks ago), four of us (including Spencer Glantz and a high school friend of Brian’s from Northwestern) arrived at the Nice airport from Barcelona, Madrid, Lisbon and Paris on Friday morning. It is no secret that I am a big fan of the Nice airport, and this trip was no different than my first two. Always unsure of whether the plane is actually going to reach the runway when landing, you step out onto the tarmac, and are immediately surrounded by blue skies, warmth, and the ocean. Quite a wonderful welcome back to France.

After arriving in the Principality of Monaco (separate and sovereign from France, yet there is no border to speak of, and Monaco is completely under the protection of France, no we never did fully understand it), we quickly realized the one problematic fact about Monaco; there is really nothing to do. Without a gambler in the group, the main attraction of the casinos was lost on us, and we were not exactly in the mood for the beach (the bathing suit did not make the cut in my backpack of everything). Instead, we decided to simply walk around the town and visit all the hotels and resorts that were out of our price range. Not exactly full of the history or cultural value of my other tours during the past week, but still an enjoyable time.

We did take advantage Saturday of the few tourist sites to see in the Principality, namely the medieval village. Perched on a rock-like hilltop, this dates back well over 500 years, and includes the Royal Palace (definitely no Buckingham), an oceanography museum (the only museum in Monaco), and an historic cathedral (contrary to popular belief, at least some residents of Monaco do go to Church). Everything just seemed a bit nicer in Monaco, and everyone dressed the part, even in the low season that we are currently in. We saw marble hallways leading to the public elevators (those hills can be rough), cars in a row worth collectively millions of dollars, and of course the occasional fur hat, one of which Spencer described as a lady wearing “at least 8 animals on her head.” But the nice thing about it was that the people were not snobbish about it at all; playing the role of tourist, we snapped photo after photo of the grandeur, and the people just smiled and encouraged us to take more. Yes, they were loaded, but they were not going to hide it, and they were quite satisfied (in a friendly way) if you were impressed.

Despite all these fantastic attractions swirling around me, the best part of Monaco was the language. Namely, these people spoke French, and at least humored me by allowing me to converse with them in my new language. Coming from Spain and especially Portugal where I basically felt helpless for four days, I was so happy to get back to the francophone world, and not at all bothered by the role of translator for the group. True, I was a bit rusty after a week away from it, but on the whole it was enjoyable to at least try my verbal French again, especially when it was successful.

The weekend had been in the works for a while, ever since the beginning of September, and to finally have it all work out just as we had planned was a great success. Although I had just left Spencer a few days ago in Madrid, most of us had not seen each other in about a month, and it was a fun setting in which to fully catch up. We did miss out on any sort of Halloween celebration, but just seeing the French try to understand it (presumably for our benefit, but in reality it was just embarrassing) was a good laugh in itself. Plus, we picked up plenty of candy for ourselves on our way back from dinner, so it felt real enough to me.

Sadly, we did have to leave Monaco, and after struggling to find any place serving food (a Sunday and a holiday for Toussaint, a double whammy in France) and missing one train, we finally did make it out of the Principality, and on our merry way. It’s sad to see the vacation end, but it will be amazing to get back to Lyon. Now the clock is really ticking, with about a month and a half left in the semester. It feels like I just was on this same train heading to Lyon for the first time back in August; now we have passed the halfway mark. Is it really November already? Where did the time go?

No time for questions. This train is rolling along, final destination: Lyon. I couldn’t be happier.

Lisbonne, un tour à courir

Hitting you with back-to-back posts today, as I am just getting back to the internet world. I actually left Madrid on Wednesday, and thus wrote that post then, but upon arriving in Lisbon, I realized that my hotel did not have wireless internet. Instead of searching for it across the city, I figured that you all could hold out for a couple days, as I knew my stay was quite short.

Lisbon was the ultimate trip of convenience; the initial plan after Madrid had been to go to Barcelona and visit with more Penn people. However, flights were way too expensive on both ends of the journey to justify such a short stay, and I know that there will be other weekends for Barcelona. Lisbon was cheap, close, and was a nice jumping off point for my next destination. Thus, I dove right in, and I am very glad I did. The whole of my journey lasted just over 36 hours, so I knew I had to make the most of it. By the time I had dropped my bags off and settled into my hotel, the clock had just struck six o’clock in the evening, a perfect time it seemed to explore the city. Two surprises awaited me; it was already pitch-black night, and the city was empty. I guess the time change from Madrid threw me off a bit, but I had been expecting a thriving town at sunset, and instead found a quiet, dark city. No worries however, as I was able to see many of the traffic circles and squares featuring excessively tall statues. Apparently the Portuguese are proud of basically two things: their liberation and their exploration. Still not sure what Portugal was liberating itself from all these times (I’ll get to my struggles with the Portuguese language later), but they do have plenty of statues commemorating it. I saw plenty of them during my first night out, and after a few wrong turns into shady neighborhoods, I hit the bed early to prepare for the big day of tourism.

Each time that I planned out my sightseeing itinerary in Lisbon, I kept looking at maps that made it seem that Lisbon was very much a walking city. Nowhere near the size of Madrid, Lisbon seemed like a nice little coastal city, with most of the touristy stuff crammed into a small area along the water. I set out early in the morning for what I thought would be a leisurely day of seeing the sights and taking in the culture. What the maps all collectively failed to mention, however, was that Lisbon is a city of many hills, and it rivals Lyon in its collection of winding, never-ending staircases. Thus my leisurely tour felt like a running tour, complicated by the fact I kept making wrong turns, which ended up leading me up and down the wrong hills. By the time night fell this time around, I was more than happy to join in the seemingly Lisboan spirit of heading to bed early, exhausted from a marathon of walking.

That being said, all that walking was in fact worth it, as I saw some pretty amazing things along the way. Lisbon has plenty to offer, from numerous cathedrals to the national parliament to a bull fighting ring (sadly, this is only open in the summertime). The highlight was definitely the 11th century Moorish Castle, overlooking the city and home to some of the best panoramas of Lisbon. Perched on a hilltop high above the coast, you could see how this castle was the key to the defending the city back in the day, even if most of the inside had been destroyed by various renegade invaders. The view revealed a city that really did come to life in the daytime, a pleasant surprise after the previous evening. Exploration of that city did provide many worthwhile sights, even if I did not spend too much time at each one. Now I can say that I somewhat understand Portuguese culture, even if I have no chance with the language.

Of all the other languages I have experienced on this trip, Portuguese was the first one that I had never been exposed to before, in any setting. As such, I had no clue what to expect. Right before I left, I bought a Portuguese/French pocket dictionary in the hopes that it would help me survive if needed in this mysterious land. However, it was of little help, as I may have learned more French from it then Portuguese. By the end of my two days, I can marginally understand a written sign (basically anything remotely close to French I’m good with, otherwise no chance), but the spoken word sounds just like Russian to me. A couple people on the street made the mistake of saying something to me in Portuguese, to which I kind of blankly replied in my one word of Portuguese, “sorry?”. The nice thing about businesses was that everyone spoke English; I guess it is almost that the Portuguese realize the minimal international presence of their language (outside of Brazil), and instead of fighting it, everyone spoke English. They did not seem as violently proud of their language as the French (side note: a lot of French people in Portugal, no clue as to why), and as such were more than happy to provide nearly every written posting in both Portuguese and English. For me, that was wonderful.

Yes, it was a short little detour to Lisbon, yet a fun one at that. Initially I had hoped to convince a fellow Quaker to accompany me on my journey, but after that failed (boring things called classes got in the way for some), I went at it alone. It finally hit me as we were landing at the Lisbon airport that I had entered a country where I did not speak the language and knew absolutely no one, quite a daunting proposition. I found that seeing a city solo is an experience in and of itself, and I am glad that I did not let the fear of appearing alone stop me from discovering a new culture.

Another day, another country, and yet another flight. Having fun yet? I sure am.

Madrid et le Retour au Chaleur

(sorry, no pictures, not enough time to upload them...)

The first thing I noticed upon landing at the Madrid Airport was the desert surrounding the runway. I would learn later that this in fact was not the desert, instead just some dusty fields, but coming from London and Lyon, where I had been hunkered down in layers of clothing to guard against the cold, gray weather, this illusion was a pleasant welcome to the Iberian Peninsula. The temperature was well above 20 degrees Celsius (70s for you Fahrenheit-ers back in the States), and the sun shone down from some of the bluest skies I have ever seen. I could get used to this kind of weather.

I went to Madrid under the pretense of visiting a fellow Penn student (Spencer Glantz), but also because I wanted to get a taste of a completely new culture that I knew very little about (and the price was definitely right, thank you EasyJet). Madrid became the capital of Spain many years ago simply because some King looked at a map of Spain, pointed to the most central spot possible, and decided to call it home; as such, I was expecting to be underwhelmed. Throw this in with the fact that my Spanish is just a notch below my German (read: bad), and I thought I was in for a long couple of days. Yet, Europe continues to surprise me, and I left Madrid wishing I could stay a little while longer.

For whatever reason, when you are in Madrid, you get the sense that you are truly at the heart of the Spanish speaking world. Even beyond the spectacular monuments and palaces dating to an age of Empire long past, there is a certain energy on the streets of Madrid that is hard to describe, yet definitely palpable and which occasionally left me wanting to pick up some Spanish to join in the fun. Now, Madrid is known as a city that never sleeps, with “the best nightlife in Europe” according to a few credible sources, but seeing as I went there on a Monday and left on a Wednesday, I unfortunately missed out on that aspect. Also, I sadly did not participate in my personal favorite of Spanish culture, that of the midday siesta nap, as I was too busy being a tourist, but I did experience it in the sense that the majority of Madrid, museums included, was shut at 2pm. Quite frustrating.

Since I was only there for just under 2 days, I really did not accomplish much more than the standard list of tourist sites, with Spencer serving as my steady guide. We did the Royal Palace (the largest in Europe), the huge park in the middle of the city (featuring a pond and a rowboat, enough said), and tons of statues to all sorts of dead Spaniards. One night we even joined in the paparazzi, as we saw some Spanish soccer league party going on in a building right by the main square, and decided to jump in the crowd just before Lionel Messi (perhaps the best soccer player in the world, apparently) stepped out of the building, and some random guy stood between him and my camera. But, the deviation from the norm on this trip was the two trips to Madrid’s art museums. Yes, it was a duo of two 20 year old guys, and true, I have not been in an art museum of my own free will (namely not with my Mother) probably ever, but Madrid has a special program where the museums are free after 6pm each weeknight, and we decided to take advantage, with a pourquoi pas kind of attitude. Many of the works were way over my head, and I do still struggle to differentiate between the-best-painting-of-all-time and just so-so art, but on the whole the two trips were collectively a great experience. As someone who likes a little history now and then, it was enjoyable to see not only different scenes in history played out on the canvas, but also the real physical frame of many different works that have been featured in various history books of mine over the years. Definitely worth the price of admission.

Alas, the visit was too short, and I said goodbye to Spencer today, but only after a relaxing time at the park. I realize now that for years I have always viewed Spain and Spanish as a sort of rival to French, as it always has been the way more popular option among my peers, dating all the way back to seventh grade. Maybe it is because of the heavy French influence (the Palace, statues, and much more were modeled after French styles, thanks to Louis XVI and Napoleon dominating the area), but I feel at peace with Spain now, perhaps even comfortable enough to call myself a friend of the culture. Not that my Spanish will ever get any better, but it’s a start.

And the vacation rolls on…

Londrès, où les Cultures du Monde Convergent

The first stop on this magical mystery tour of vacation brought me back to the English speaking world for the weekend, namely the city of London, England. Distinctly separate from Europe (with tricky immigration services and the English pound sterling to prove it), I headed to London to both visit a friend/fellow FIJI (Vaughn Stewart) and visit a city by which I expected to be wowed. From its extensive historical significance, renowned multiculturalism, and unofficial status of America’s little brother, London had plenty to offer, or at least that is what I had been told. Fortunately, I was far from disappointed.

London’s history is impressive and, unlike certain French cities, is truly uninterrupted for the past 1000 years (minus a few fires here and there). As such, the city walls from William the Conqueror are still visible, statues on churches have not been mutilated, and buildings from the Middle Ages remain standing and, in some cases, in use. With fellow Quakers providing the complimentary tour, I was able to see everything from Buckingham Palace to Big Ben, Tower of London to Tower Bridge, Parliament to the Prime Meridian, an exhausting yet rewarding list of sights which are truly the hallmarks of Anglophone civilization. The most unique aspect of the touristy journey was Hyde Park, which was similar to New York’s Central Park in the sense that it was a massive green space in the heart of a bustling city. What made this different was a spot within the park called Speaker’s Corner, where every Sunday various people, with no qualification or moderation whatsoever, come to speak their mind. Obviously, visitors do not simply come to sit back and watch, so the corner of the park is filled with contentious arguments, yelling, and the occasional thrown punch. As far as I know, there is really no parallel to this spectacle; open, angry intellectual debate, all confined to one park corner each Sunday. While we may have had some disagreements on the topic of America (one squealer claimed that Americans are only good at running away as that is what our country was founded on, to which our little American cohort responded by reminding her about the two small world wars we helped them out in, and she quickly packed up and left), this was an experience well worth repeating.

British history also provides the context for London’s overwhelming cultural presence, something that surpassed my already high expectations. It seemed that each of the colonies of the British Empire had their own section of town, from China to Arabia to India. I was fortunate enough to have multiple samples of England’s national dish, that of course being Chicken Tikka Masala, and I can confirm that the best Indian food is found in London. But this multiculturalism overshadows a more subtle truth; the British have readily accepted the influence of other cultures because their own culture is so lacking in quality. The cuisine is marked by fried fish and French fries, beer is sold by the pint starting around noon, and high class is defined as pub-life. Coming from France, this was quite a shock, but not necessarily unpleasant. While France (and especially Lyon) is marked by a generally monochromatic population peering over their afternoon coffee from a sidewalk café, London seemed to generate serious energy off of the random mix of cultures present on every street corner.

Of course, the culture I was most on the lookout for was American culture, and it was certainly not hard to find. Clearly the British founded America and all that colonization business which the English are still quite proud of, but today the relationship is completely turned on its head. While I was initially surprised by the amount of American influence in France, by removing the language barrier, the domination of America in Britain is almost overwhelming. Music, theater (we saw Inherit the Wind, the play about the Scopes Monkey Trial in 1920s Tennessee, starring Kevin Spacey), and of course television are just a few of the many areas where you could be forgiven for believing you were back in the States. Now, to be fair, this perception is perhaps a bit jaded by the fact that this Sunday featured an NFL game in London, and in celebration I believe that yesterday was unofficially declared show your NFL pride day, and we were stunned to see American football jerseys from San Diego, Oakland, Green Bay, Philly, Washington, Dallas, New York, New England, Tampa Bay, Miami, New Orleans and Pittsburgh (initially we thought these were just Americans, but after a couple of them opened their mouth, we discovered they were distinctly British; regardless of nationality, they were Fans, and wanted everyone to know it). But despite the selection bias in terms of days, the idea was clear, namely that England is the next closest thing to America, and they cannot help but want to be even closer to their former Commonwealth pals.

Alas, there are more places to go and more sights to see, so this morning I bid goodbye to London for the next stop on this vacation. I will definitely miss being in an English speaking country, as I had forgotten how valuable the presence of signage and helpful people in my host language really is. With that being said, the British definitely do speak a different dialect of English, if you will, and at times I was straining to understand people that I was under the impression were speaking my language. The accents, word choice, misplaced u’s, it all threw me off; in the end, I simply said, “cheers”, “fair dues”, or “splendid”, and moved on.

One city down, and we're just getting started here. Stay tuned.