Who knew Lyon was so hilly? I guess everyone but me
Have you ever just put your finger on a map and gone wherever it landed? That’s exactly how I ended up in Lyon. Sure, I’d heard of the city, but did I do any research? Nope. Hello, calf muscles sent from the gods above.
When things went south in Paris I decided to go southeast. I wanted somewhere new and fast. After hardly sleeping, nearly losing all my clothes to an angry French washing machine and walking to the train station at the crack of dawn, I finally boarded a train to Lyon.
Half dazed and half asleep, I watched the scenery fly by and started to gather myself. Leaving that flat felt like pure relief. Traveling alone can be scary but somehow, I felt safer than when I was with him.
In Lyon, I grabbed my bags and headed for the exit, Sortie, for anyone new here. I clutched my things tightly since the only thing I was prepared for on this journey was getting pickpocketed.
Stepping outside, the sun hit my skin immediately. The area felt urban, with a huge mall across the way. For the first time in a while, I noticed everyone smiling and felt at ease. Trying desperately not to look like a lost tourist, I navigated to the buses only to wait thirty minutes and discover the line wasn’t running that day. August in France, am I right?
Back at the train station I figured it out and hopped on the next train. Lyon turned out to be much easier to navigate than Paris. At my stop I checked Google Maps for the hostel and got two options: wait for a bus or walk uphill about half a mile. I chose to walk and immediately regretted it. Lugging my overpacked rolling suitcase up stairs, narrow passageways and hills that would make a goat cry, I arrived drenched in sweat, my carefully planned outfit ruined.
When I reached the hostel, greeted by funky neon lights and equally sweaty patrons, I waited to check in, chugging lemon water and connecting to wifi to figure out dinner. Thanks to Boris on Fork, I found an Italian restaurant by Place des Terreaux that sounded perfect.
My hostel room was basically a black coffin with a curtain for a door, so I decided to explore the town first. I wandered past shops, tattoo parlors and vintage thrift stores, finally making it to dinner with my book and charger in tow. The restaurant was tiny but magical, like a cave carved just for diners. I resolved to enjoy the meal fully.
I ordered wine, truffle pasta and molten chocolate cake, and for hours I just soaked it in. Reading Beautiful Animals by Lawrence Osborne about a girl and her friend caught up in murder on a Greek island, I got lost in the story.
Eventually I noticed a friendly face watching me. He approached, apologized, and asked if I spoke English. Turns out he didn’t speak French but seeing me so absorbed in a book made his day. He even turned the music down so I could read in peace.
By the end of the meal I offered to exchange contacts and became friends with him. I left that restaurant smiling, listening to the nearby fountain, forgetting the fear of traveling alone and instead seeing the opportunity of all the friends I’d yet to make.
