Cue music - we're into the last stretch. I've suddenly found myself becoming quite overwhelmed with "Britishness," assumingly in reaction to my looming departure. Last night I stood outside for a bit, "just to have a listen to the rain." I wasn't aware that I had recently become a middle aged be-tweeded woman with a penchant for Radio 4 and Tupperware, but apparently so.
I'm slowly becoming aware of the things that I will miss most, the majority of which are sadly totally untranslatable en francais. Proper rain. People apologising when you tread on their foot. Macaroni pies. The quiet tutting of a British queue at a dare-devil queue jumper. The unmistakable rustle of The Telegraph and the side order of harrumphing. All of the wonder that our small island holds, and the thought of leaving it all behind, is enough to make one a bit down (but obviously, if anyone asks, we're fine,) so I've been perking myself up by trawling through Trip Advisor, Wikitravel so on and so forth to find lots of lovely things to focus on.
Many of which, it appears, I will be unable to afford. Yeah, the best things in life come for free and all that, but I still reckon a meal at Lyon's most famous, 3 Michelin Star restaurant might also be pretty good. Nice one Erasmus grant... However, Lyon isn't all fois gras and andouillette (if you're a veggie, do not google that...) and there do appear to be some amazing things on offer. Lyon is home of the Lumiere brothers, so there are loads of brilliant movie museums including one whose only exhibits appear to be thousands of scaled down sets. My Small Fat Greek Wedding. The Not-So-Big Sleep. A Very Brief Encounter. King Kong. Oh the fun I've been having.
It's not all rubbish movie puns though. There is a bike hire system that would make our bumbling buffoonish BoJo proud, medieval streets, Roman amphitheatres and Traboules, which are an intricate network of cobbled underground tunnels which used to be used to smuggle things from the river up into the heart of the city, but nowadays are home to things such as underground WINE BARS. Ahh I'm going to settle in just fine.
In a vague attempt to meet people (shudder), I've joined the Erasmus Lyon Exchange page on good old Facey B. I already regret it. Instead of handsome, Gauloise smoking types looking for a philosophy/shrugging gallically partner, I've been inundated with a Shuffle Nights on Tour page. FOAM PARTY THIS TUESDAY! SPEED FRIENDING IN THE DARK! BEACH PARTY IN COMMERCIALLY BLAND CLUB! This isn't exactly what I had in mind. Firstly, the idea of going to a foam party with strangers is vaguely terrifying, if not verging on pervy. Hey people I've never met, let's all get into our bikinis, get drunk and contract some sort of unmentionable rash which we blame on the dodgy foam. Hmm.
The idea of making friends is something that has actually crossed my mind though. I'm hoping that my awesome new, in-a-band, gorgeous flatmate may have some friends that I can sort of hang around with/follow till they like me. If that fails however, I've discovered the beauty of the Lyon Rowing Club! Their club image is a Saltire, so it's pretttty much meant to be. They also have a wondrous creation which translates, essentially, as a Rowing Hike. You jump in a minibus for a bit, whip out the boat (okay, laboriously screw the boat together, arse around with riggers, put all the seats on backwards etc) and then do a scenic tour of France from various rivers. Genius. So you can row along the Seine in Paris, go chateaux watching on the Loire and - my favourite - have a wine tasting based rowing excursion! Oxford is seriously missing a trick here, the Godstow-Isis transit just isn't going to cut it anymore. Anyway, as I suspect I'm at a risk of losing half of my readership after that bout of boatie chat, I shall move on.
So. The flights are booked. I've fashioned a fun presentation about where I'm from and got lots of picture of haggis/caber tossing/punting to hopefully pique the interest of 50 sixteen year olds (or, as my father suggested, just wear a pencil skirt. Thanks.) I've gutted my wardrobe in order to strike the perfect balance between I'm-a-serious-member-of-staff and -wait-im-only-20-be-my-friend. I've researched French swearwords and located my nearest Marmite selling supermarché. Friends. I think I may be ready. See you on the other side.
