Voila!

Lyon, France (travel scale: 9)

At a children's park in Lyon on Sunday!

The girls at the park

Lyon on a Sunday

City view

Silk printing workshop

Demonstration

Paints, glue and such

The cathedral at the top of the city

Roman ruins

Crepe stand in Old Lyon

The famous building in Lyon...notice it's all painted.

Biennale de Lyon

Artwork at the exhibition

Interactive art piece

Whoa

My favorite work at the Biennale

Yes. I have changed the format of this wretched thing because it will not let me post photos with better image quality on my previous format so ... here we are.

Beside the minute fact that my hands feel like a museum of foreign French bacteria from all the public transportation, Lyon was a success. 

There is something transcendental about this city.  The gentle glances that people give when you pass them in the streets, the peaceful wind that grazes your face as you walk around the avenues, and the sound of heels clicking on the cobblestone streets.  The alleyways are peppered with well-dressed and poised women holding on to their shopping bags and men.  The men are probably the best of the best.  Most of them are approximately six feet tall, with lean bodies and leather shoes.  No clothes, just leather shoes. 

Just kidding.

Lyon, out of the 16 cities that I have visited in Europe has had the best dressed men.  The top four cities with the fine dimes? Vienna, Paris, London, and Lyon.  And of course, with the good looking men and women, this means gorgeous babies and proper, well-trained dogs.  There is a sophisticated aurora that surrounds these cities.  Paris has the hustle and bustle of the city with businessmen that line the metro but many of them have a swagger of a man looking for another man …so that is a game I just cannot win.  Therefore, I would have to say that even though the men are wonderful and gorgeous, it’s a city for Perez Hilton but not me. 

Vienna has the striking older men in their 30’s to their 50’s (age is only a number…) and cookie-cut families with well-behaved children.  Everything is fancy.  From the strollers to the dog leashes, it was the best of the best. 

Lyon has the men from 15 to 50 with their button-up shirts, tie, and sweaters.  The perfectly pressed dress pants, leather belt and leather shoes.  Then there is the occasional velvet blazer with leather elbow pads that make the outfit.  From plaid to simple khaki, whatever they wear, it only adds character to their lean, European bodies.  They smile, open doors, and hold conversations for no reason. 

I went into a pharmacy to purchase some more Pepcid AC (to take before I drink to get rid of my "asian glow" or me looking like the blueberry girl from Willy Wonka) and tried my best at my broken French.  The few phrases that I knew, I said.  The pharmacist smiled at my attempts, helped me learn a couple new words, and spoke to me for a while as he helped me find what I needed. 

Another encounter with a Lyonaisse man was when I was at the metro trying to purchase a ticket.  Every student in our class received three metro tickets but only two of mine worked.  I went to go and pay for a new one but I was unsure of how to use the machine so I dumbly stood there and began to press all the buttons.  I looked over at this man next to me buying his ticket and gave him my most helpless look.  This French college student with a tethered black leather over-the-shoulder book bag, dark-wash jeans, and black wool sweater leaned over to help me purchase my ticket. I was frantically putting in all of my credit cards in to the slot but unfortunately none of them wanted to work.  So he looked at me as I began to sweat like a whore in a confessional, smiled, and gave me his metro pass.  I held it and kind of stared at him thinking he wanted me to hold his pass while he figured it out but he just laughed and said “se bon! Se bon!” And I just could not stop laughing and saying “merci beaucoup!”

This brings me to the beautiful French receptionist that worked the night shift at our hotel.  Now believe me when I say that this man was by far the filet mignon out of all the beefy men out there in the world.  Grade A quality man—that’s all I have to say.  The first night our class got into Lyon, I had on my black sweat pants, black northface, tennis shoes, and my hair was like Deb from Napoleon Dynamite.  Needless to say, I was not looking my best.  So of course when the majority of girls began to talk about the hot guy running around the hotel,  I tried to hide in the sea of girls fawning over him. I was too focused on what I wanted to eat for dinner that night to really pay attention to him at the front desk.  He was getting trained by one of the owners of the hotel to work the night shift for the weekend.  He passed by me and the initial thought that crossed my mind was “I wonder if he could direct me to the nearest restaurant that serves grilled chicken”.  Then I slowly began to realize that the girls were all looking in one direction—whatever direction the receptionist was standing.  So of course I took a couple steps back from the scene and gave him a quick analysis.  He was about 6’2”, brunette with wildly messy but stylish hair (kind of like Ashton Kutcher during his cute phase in The 70’s Show), brown eyes, razor-sharp cheek bones, lean build, and the most perfect smile.  Outfit?  Light blue collared button-up with a navy blue tie, grey long-sleeve sweater that tucked into his  grey corduroy pants with a black leather belt and silver buckle, and dark brown leather dress shoes.   It probably sounds like a really awkward outfit but he was just so Euro and good looking that he pulled it off fashionably.

Anyway, a group of us went to dinner and came back around 11pm to see his lovely face welcoming us at the front desk.  Then I understood why the girls couldn’t stop giggling over him—he was the definition of what every American girl has been looking for on their semester abroad—a handsome, well-dressed French man with broken English that just happens to be a phenomenal lover.  I was spoke to him a couple times that night to get my internet working but the real story is in the second night.  It is, to say the least, embarrassing. 

The second night, a couple of the girls from our art class decided to try out Lyon’s night life and hit the clubs.  We bought some wine, beer, and vodka from the market across the street and started to slowly sip on our beverages as we got to know each other.  We went out to the main square, went into a bar that was composed of 16 year old students smoking and pretending like they were far older than they really were.  I became too annoyed with the scene so I decided to head back to the hotel. 

Well, when we were at the bar, I told one of my fellow art students about the fortunate looking receptionist that was working at the hotel and how it would be lovely to talk to him again.  She is just the sweetest girl so she began to teach me multiple phrases in French to say to him. It wasn’t the best thing to do when you’re several drinks in and nervous as a 5 year old child on her first date.  We arrive at the hotel and I flew past the front desk and into the lobby since I completely forgot all the French phrases that I just learned.  To sum it up…I looked like a fool.  Oh and who can forget all of the cameras that are located in and around the hotel premises.  Not the best thing to forget when you’re walking up and down the stairs debating the French words that you had just learned 2 minutes ago. 

Eventually we talked again and I offered him a place to stay in Los Angeles if he ever visited the states and he asked for my name so he could add me on to facebook (pure jackpot baby).  And you know that I sprinted upstairs to check the FB to see if he actually requested me as a friend…which he did immediately afterwards.  I think the most endearing thing about this French man was his demeanor—he would look at you, look down, smile, and then look back up.  Meek isn’t the best word to describe it but it is the closest adjective I have as of now.  Every five words he would say “voila!” and “se bon!” with the adorable French accent and begin to say things in broken English and wander off quickly into his native tongue.  I know that there is an insanely small chance that he will come to Los Angeles or I will ever see him again but I always find it fun to make new friends with absolute strangers.  What can you lose? Absolutely nothing.

Oh but one thing that I would recommend not doing on your trip to Lyon? Eating at the "taco" stand in the main square.  From their description, it sounds delicious but it is actually just a burrito with French fries and cheese and a midget amount of chicken—disgusting.  Also, we ended up going to the Biennale de Lyon (a contemporary art exhibition that questions the meaning of everyday objects) which were multiple buildings around Lyon.  The only one that I really enjoyed was located at the Museum of Contemporary Art.  It was a simple granite table with a wavering river in the middle with fresh carnations in multiple vases.  Each visitor was allowed to take one and give it to a stranger that they met in the city…it was supposed to represent the idea of giving something to someone without expecting anything in return.  The act of simple gestures that could enlighten an entire city. 

…the only problem is, is when you attempt to give an 85 year old stranger on the streets of Lyon and they think you’re attempting to sell it to you so they say vulgar things to you in French and shoo you away.  Yes, it happened to me.  Rejected and left heartbroken. 

Lyon is a city that seems to be the epitome of the French stereotypes that Hollywood has imprinted in to our minds.  I obviously don’t say this in a negative way because I gave this city a 9 but what I mean to say is that it is absolutely nothing like Paris.  Lyon is more traditional and conservative while Paris is more upbeat and liberal.  They are both beautiful cities but if you’re looking for a true French city…Lyon would definitely be more fitting, hands down.