dreaming in lyon
I’ve been dreaming of living in France for a while, I had the beret, the lavender bushes, and had mastered creme brulée. Now, here we are living in Lyon, Fance’s gastronomic capital with its bouchons, markets and pâtisseries . Eating cheese and bread fresh from the markets and perfecting the phrase ‘Je ne parle pas français, pardon’. . Though I didn’t fall instantly in love with Lyon, circumstances and my stubbornness were against my beloved city. We arrived from Paris to a dreary gray day in Lyon, and then well… I got us lost. My instructions said go left, so left we went and I, arguing the validity of my precious instructions, walked us 20 minutes out of Lyon. So as I trudged through a not so nice suburb of Lyon, glowering at the graffiti and riffraff, I stuck out my bottom lip and thought to myself I that I didn’t want to live in Lyon I wanted gay Paris! (insert inner foot stamps and paddy fit). Our accommodation once
we the boy found it for us was functional, practical, dull. It was not my quaint little hotel in St Germain with the macaron shop next door, and so in my eyes Lyon was quickly becoming Paris’ ugly little sister. But then we found Place Bellecour with its terra-cotta roofs and chimney stacks, and Parc de la Tête d’Or with its zoo and paddle boats, Fourvière with its golden details, and Vieux Lyon’s old cobbled streets. Arriving back in Lyon to live, it decided to really win us over by putting on an extra month of summer… and Lyon, its pretty cool! Even, dare I say it a better place to live than Paris. It is everything that is great about France without the stereotypes, and keeps delighting me with its gardens, boutiques and friendly people. Like the lady at our local shop who is slowly teaching me french. I wish you could apparate over here and see my beautiful city, but instead I’ll have to settle with showing you some photos. Here are a few of my favourite….