Detours

First off, computers are amazing. My internet browser is suddenly, and magically, in French. This is a little disorienting, to be sure, but since everything else in my life is disorienting...well, you see the continuity. Disorientation is about the only consistent thing in my life right now. And how, exactly, is the city of Lyon? Comment ca va?

I. Love. It. Oui, J'adore cette ville.

Perhaps I'm just experiencing this "honeymoon" they talk about at study abroad orientations- the initial infatuation followed by homesickness. Perhaps. But if this is a fling, I'm going to enjoy it for all it's worth. None of this is to say that being here hasn't come with it's share of struggles- it has- but the beauty of the city makes bearable. An example: my feet are sore but that's okay because it's from walking on cobblestone streets.

Okay, okay. I'll try to keep the gushing to a minimum and get on with the hard facts. I'm moved in. FINALLY! Staying in a youth hostel was an adventure indeed- the place had a terrace with a gorgeous view of the city and was in Vieux Lyon (Old Lyon) the most quaint, and in my opinion, beautiful part of the city. It's a hilly area and the hostel was on top of a hill, so...lots of exercise. The first day I stayed in Vieux Lyon, content to wander around by myself. It is comprised of very narrow cobblestone streets, lined with cafes, boulangeries, patisseries, corbeilles and all other tihngs French. I went to a newstand and bought a copy of "Le Monde." Was tempted to buy one of the interesting looking literary journals but they were 10 Euros, so I decided to treat myself to one when my French improves. That shop was an interesting experience indeed. I saw a book called: "Maigrir: C'est tout dans la tete." (Lose Weight? It's all in your head) which I think dispells the myth that French women manage to somehow stay magically thin while eating mass quantities of pain au chocolat ;-) Unless it's a book promoting good body image- along the lines of "You only THINK you need to lose weight"-- which would be nice, but somehow I doubt it. The French also have their share of trashy magazines. From what I can tell, "Isa" is the French version of cosmo (discreet clues like LE SEXE! on the cover) I'm sure after at least one stressful week this year I will go and buy an "Isa" under the pretense that I'm just practicing my French.

There is food everywhere here! I've been eating bread non-stop and am starting to feel really bloated. At first it was heavenly but now my body is starting to rebel. It's dying for some whole grains and fruits and veggies. I want to get out the grocery store soon so that I can buy some food to cook. Well, and i need cooking utensils. The only items in my fridge right now are brie and fromage de chevre. Mmmm...cheese.

Right now, I"m sitting in my WINDOW SEAT typing this. Yes, I have a window seat. Une chaise de fenetre? Something tells me that's not the word. But while this might strike y'all as a bit of a banal remark, you must understand that I have been pining for a window seat since I was a little girl and now, unexpectedly, I have one! It makes the fact that my main lamp only works half the time and my "shower" a mere cord with a shower head tolerable. My room's not too small. My bed is...well, iet's just say I'm glad I'm not fat. But just having my own place is like the equivalent of a 5-start hotel experience for me- a luxury almost incomprehensible. I can't imagine what it will feel like once I get some ugh...blankets and pillows :-D

But I don't want to like my "apartment" too much, and the reason is simple: the more I'm outside, the more city I see. Though being at the hostel was very incovenient and uncomfortable, I'm ultimately glad for it because it forced me to go out and see the city. And the city is full of crazy surprises. One in particular...my first day- Saturday- in the evening- I was sitting innocently on the steps of a cathedral in one of Vieux Lyon's open sqaures. There are several cafes in this square, and in general, things were lively. Well, I'm journaling along and minding my own business when about twenty or so men come into the square (they were in their mid-late twenties or thirties, I think). One of them is wearing a bee costume. I think this is odd, but I'm not about to try to investigate with my shotty French, so I just shrug it off as another one of the many bizzareries one sees in a French day (laetitia, I could take over your podcast [Laetitia is a lady who does a podcast called "one thing in a french day"-- how about 90?]) But then, soudain, this bee is buzzing about me and speaking to me in French that I don't understand. All I can make out are the words "marriage" and "chanson." Next he's signalling for me to stand up. His friends are all sitting at the cafe tables on the other side of the square, looking at us expectantly. I stand up. He takes my notebook and holds it in front of him, then begins to sing a song. I don't understand the song either, but I understand that he is gesturing to a rather...inappropriate place on his body, and then that he is shaking his butt and gesturing for me to do the same. To make it even more bizarre, his friends are singing along with him and the whole square is watching. I don't know how I'm supposed to react: act offended? or play along? I try to guage it by the audience's reaction, but they all look as bemused as me. So I try to play it safe by keeping the bemused/shocked expression on my face. Finally he finishes, thanks me, and goes back to his friends. I look at the people around me- they're all grinning but I have no idea what to say. I don't want to say "qu'est-ce que c'est?" and look like an idiot, so I just shake my head and sit down. Then the bee is back! With a cup in hand. "Le citre" he says. "Sans alcool." It sure doesn't taste like it. "Desolee, Monsieur, mais ma francais n'est pas bon. Je ne comprend pas." And he says: "Desolee, mais je ne parle pas anglais." So we just sort of sit there and drink our cidre and smirk at each other. Then he leaves. Then a nice couple sitting next to me finally takes pity on my and explains. Apparently in France, they have a tradition called, I think: "enterrer la vie de jeune fil" or something such (bury the life of a young boy literally, but basically a burial of childhood). It's sort of their version of the bachelor party, where the night before his wedding, a groom must essentially make an ass of himself, usually by wearing some elaborate costume and subjecting himself to public humiliation. Yes, I was the victim of the "enterrer la vie de jeune fil"- and an unknowing one at that! I stood in a square with a guy in a bee costume, confusedly grinning while he sang to everyone "my dick is so hard it's hitting my stomach." C'EST VRAI! OH lala!

Afterwards, they wanted pictures of me standing on the cafe tables with the Monseiur Abeille (Mr. Bee) I wish I had one myself, but instead, all I have is that cider mug, which I considered a hard-earned souvenir.

There's more to come, but this has gotten awfully long. Expect a "Part Deux" soon!