Observations of an introvert in a foreign country
I was really tempted to ask that random guy to borrow his guitar. I really miss strumming.
I live 30 steps away from the River Saône. Walking down the Saône was the first Lyonnaise thing I did my first morning here, and it grew on me. This is the place where I have some down time and a space for reflection. I like to sit in these crevices and pretend that I’m part of the wall so I can relax, listen to music, and people-, boat-, and bird-watch.
Since I’ve been in France, the social dynamics of the French have first and foremost registered my attention. In fact, this situation is comparable to when a deer stands in the headlights. So, the headlights would be the River Saône. I would be the astonished deer. The rendezvous, ranging from the casual lunch on the terrasse to the night life, take me by surprise. People of all ages come to the Saône to hang out with friends or their lover. I envy the lucky school children who come here after school to hang out. I ponder about the lives of twenty-something year olds who drag their cigarettes and share liquor bottles. And I hope to be like those old couples who grasp on each other and hunch over the water. A sense of camaraderie lingers in the air. And as stone buildings, bridges, and beaten boulders watch on standby, the people keep to their social circle. The night life is fully alive, and even twilight takes its time. It is as if it was meant to be this way. Take for example, even the lights do not shine in their faces; they reflect back on the walls and the water to illuminate a specific designated area. They keep their distance from humans and are there to make the atmosphere pretty, practical, and perfectly French. Lyon and its French charm are undeniably irreplaceable.
This place used to be a port. Traboules or covered hidden passageways make their way from La Colline qui prie (the Hill that prays, fittingly given that the Fourvière Basilica sits on top) and dispenses into the river. Back then, tisserands would transport silk from the boats to the hill, through these tunnels, to keep safe from rain. Silk was valuable and handled with care. The sidewalks still have rusted reinforced rings for boats to dock and tie up. Like everywhere in France, where ever there is history, it is out of the question to demolish it. It’s a cultural norm for the French to preserve their identity.
The River Saône is only one of the many places that offer a place for companionship. Either if you go west or east of the river, the night life of Lyon is still amazing. Go west and you’ll wind up in Old Lyon among medieval/renaissance buildings. Go east and you can meet friends in Place Bellecour sous la queue du cheval (a local colloquial saying: under the horse’s tail). From there, go north, and you’ll be under the eye of Louis XIV. Under these watchful eyes, the fountains at Place de Jacobins and Hotel de Ville will be waiting for you, all lit up. Just don’t freeze if you’re the deer.
This is the longest I’ve ever been from home. And the best way to deal with homesickness, which I just learned by the way, is to start with the small things. Make things a routine. Adjust your furniture to your desired fit if you have to. Most importantly, have time for yourself. Once you have that down, you can alternate in blending-in and opening yourself up to astonishing experiences—or in my experience, being the wall and the lit deer.
