Bonjour, Lyon!

A two hour train ride goes by quite quickly when you sleep through the whole thing. Probably not the safest thing to do when you're by yourself, but after flying from Edmonton to Paris without sleeping, my body took over my mind and before the train was out of the Parisian suburbs, I was fast asleep with one arm ungracefully wrapped around my bag and the other under my chin to keep from drooling. The hustle and bustle of the main train station in Lyon and surrounding neighbourhood didn't do much to excite me. All I wanted was to get to my hostel. Bus? Tram? Metro? No. At this point, it was taxi or nothing. Let me tell you, it was the best 10 euro I've spent so far. The driver didn't really speak English and I was too tired to say anything at all, but our lack of communication didn't matter since he dropped me off right at the front door of the hostel.

Lyon, according to tourist guides everywhere, is an often forgotten gem of France, as well as the gastronomical capital of the country. My hostel is situated in the Fourviere area of the city, which is set on a large hill. The climb is worth it though, since the hostel has a large terrace overlooking the entire city. While many European cities have the 'old part' and the more modern outskirts, this is displayed in Lyon in a more obvious way thanks to the view from the hill. The buildings closest to my hostel have the classic tile roofs and cobblestones, but a few kilometers down the valley there were new glass buildings including one large, out of place sky scraper. Apparently, two more are currently being built. I find this such a shame.

The need to send a quick “I'm here!” email home had been nagging at me since I landed in Paris. After dropping off my heavy bag in my room, the first thing I did was head to the common area to use the wifi. Although the nap on the train didn't make up for the loss of a night's sleep, the view from the terrace from which I was Facebook-ing was overpowering. I needed to get in to town.

I let my eyes lead me through the streets, and within fifteen minutes I had walked through a church larger than any in Canada, listened to an accordion player busking on the street, came close to kicking a pigeon, inhaled enough second hand smoke to knock at least 10 minutes off my life, and tripped on the cobblestone road. Ah Europe, how I've missed you.