(written Tuesday afternoon on the train from Lyon to Nice)
Lyon is bigger than I thought. I arrive at the station. It’s called Lyon Part-Dieux. I thought Dieux meant God. And part is ‘to leave’. Has Lyon abandoned God? It’s times like these that I realise I've far to go with my translations. I look around for an info desk, ready to ask for ‘une carte de la ville’, but can’t see one. Perhaps I won’t need one. So I find a door with a sign indicating the direction of the city. I walk the streets, there’s a few shops, but doesn’t seem like the city. I take note of landmarks, particularly the tall ones, so that I might find my way back.
Most of the shops are closed. I start to question if it's really Tuesday; a weekday.
There’s signs pointing to the city, but I follow them and it’s looking more lifeless than ever. I give up and start heading back to where I think the station might be. Perhaps I’ll just stick around this particular area for today, for the sake of not missing my train to Nice, and avoiding the *rain.
It rains softly at first, but grows heavy. I start to eat the cheese sandwich that made my bag smelly, and made me hesitant to open my bag on the train. My left hand drags my suitcase, my right holds a sandwich and umbrella. Frustrated, I stop in the doorway of a closed supermarket, to rest and eat. A woman is unpacking her car across the road. She crosses over, approaches me. I get ready for my usual line. “Pardon, mon francaise est mauvais. Erm... pas se vite?” She asks if I know English, then asks in English if I can help with getting her bike out of the car.
I leave my suitcase in her foyer as I help her. She thanks me. I ask her if the station is nearby. I was almost right in the direction I was heading. She asks if she can offer me a coffee. I look at the rain and contemplate. Sure. First I have to help her load up the lift with her stuff. It’s a tiny lift, but everything fits in, and us too.
She apologises for the mess. I ask if she’d been on holidays. But she has broken up with her boyfriend. They were only together for a year but she thought he was the man of her dreams.
She only has instant coffee, so I opt for mineral water instead. She offers me some citron syrup to add, says it’s a local thing. At least I think that's what she said. She speaks mostly in French, but clarifies things in English when I don’t understand. I’m getting good practice. She clarifies the water thing. It’s d’eau, but if you say ‘a glass of’ it’s ‘de l’eau’. Oui. D’accord. Merci.
She calls her parents to let them know she’s home. I ask why the shops are closed, and she starts to say it’s a public holiday when I remember that it’s November 11. Of course. She asks if I mind that she smokes. Not at all.
She has lived here for 12 years, but grew up in/near Geneva, studied at Grenoble. I tell her I thought Lyon was smaller than it is, but she says it’s the largest city after Paris. Oh. I guess it pays to do your research and read those guidebooks. I have 2 hours to kill and ask if she has recommendations. She suggests the Opera house as a nice spot with interesting architecture. And a couple of other places that are further away. Suggests that it will only take 15 minutes on the metro (2 trains) to return. I mention my past difficulties with the metro, including this morning when I ended up catching a taxi to Gare de Lyon. She points out that the crayon building (it’s round with a pointy top) is a good marker of where the station is.
I go to get pen and paper to draw a map, but she has a printer that photocopies, so runs me off a copy. The rain has stopped. Time to go. But it starts again when I'm crossing the bridge. I get wet and my 2 Euro umbrella from Augsburg keeps folding out on itself. I see the opera house. It’s nice, but not spectacular. I like walking by the river though. I like that there’s a river snaking through the centre of Lyon. Just like Paris. Only wider. And with less honeymooners taking photos of each other on the bridges. I have a coffee, check my map, walk back.
I have to walk through a mall which is crazy busy. This is where all the people are. I guess it's crap weather outside, and most other shops are closed. This mall, its shops, its shoppers, could be anywhere. All of a sudden I’m in Westfield, Australia. I search for the exit.
I finally find the station. Find a chair. Sit and eat yesterday’s leftover pasta. The train is late, the platform is cold. Moving towards Nice now, though it’s a big trip at about 4.5 hours. PC battery is about to die, and it seems there are no power points here, which is odd. Tired anyway, so will sleep. And hope that Nice is nice. Going by the other people on this train, I imagine everyone there looks more Italian than French. My kind stranger tells me that Nice is very small. She says her geography is bad, but I point out that it’s not, if compared to mine.
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