Bonjour mes amis! After what felt like an endless summer (albeit a productive and happy one), I finally arrived in Lyon, France yesterday. Half zombie, half trying to appear
très chic for the Europeans, I met a friend of Dad's at the airport and fumbled through some French on the quick drive home. Simon, his wife Sandrine, and their two adorable girls live in a modest house in Vieurbainne, a kind of suburb of Lyon only 10 minutes or so by metro from the heart of the city. Soon after reaching
la maison, hauling my 50 lb suitcase downstairs, and showing Simon where Montana is on Google Maps, I crashed out for a couple of hours.
I woke feeling much better-- only slightly like the undead-- and we headed downtown for a simple and delicious dinner of wine for an
aperitif,
d'agneau (lamb) with vegetables and cous-cous, and a fresh fruit salad with mint for dessert. Although anyone who knows me well knows that I am the pickiest of eaters, I am setting aside my plain fare with the knowledge that however strange the dish, it will be prepared in the best possible way and with the best possible taste. Last night's meal was perhaps not the most adventurous, but it was new, satisfying, and leagues beyond the questionably edible "sandwich" they served on the plane from Frankfurt.
After dinner, which lasted at least two hours
bien sûr, we strolled around Place Bellecour and the adjoining streets, Simon pointing out landmarks and Alice, their 3 year old, making a game out of running as far ahead as she could until Sandrine yelled "Arrete!". While I'll try not to gush too much about the lights at night and the cobblestone streets and
la vie en rose like an overly romantic American girl, that's precisely what I am. Europe has a nostalgia and a classicism that I love, and nowhere do I find it more than in a French city at night, watching couples young and old laughing over a cigarette and a bottle of wine at midnight as thousands of tiny cars rush along the avenues and the Rhône quietly drifts through it all.
