Travelings

I crossed the border to France exactly one week ago. However, as beautiful as Lyon was, it didn't quite feel like I was in the France my high school textbooks always depicted. Nobody wore yellow cardigans tied over their shoulders, carrying baguettes as they roamed about the city streets quoting Apollinaire and MCSolaar. In fact, except for the (rather limited) presence of French flags, and the aggressiveness of the drivers, I felt almost as if I were back home in Switzerland. Unlike the stereotype, the people were very welcoming and tried to practice their English with Heidi and me, even when we insisted on speaking in French. So although I had a wonderful time, I must admit that I still don't feel like I've been to France. The best way I know to describe the feeling is the same as how you don't usually feel much older on your birthday.


If Chicago is the States' Windy City, then Lyon is France's. As Hedi and I climbed the hill to the Basilique Notre-Dame de Fourvière, I was knocked off balance twice. We figured the best idea was to continue climbing until we reached the highest point, where we faced our backs to the wind and let ourselves fly, even if only for a second at a time. The news might be reporting about the unnatural Hurricane-force winds sweeping across Europe, but I still like to believe that it is always like that there. It gives the city a bit more spunk. The basilica was beautiful, of course, and looked like it could have been the setting for Cinderella's ball, but the wind was more more interactive.

Also interactive was the Museum of Food in Vevey, Switzerland, otherwise known as the world headquarters of Nestlé. While the museum focused mainly on chocolate (we are in Switzerland), there were many different and enlightening exhibits about health and the history of diet. I, however, preferred the room where I could run on a giant hamster wheel, then get off, press a button on the wall and be rewarded with chocolate. I may be a lab rat, but at least I am a happy one.


The next morning was Sunday, and for the first time, I was able to attend a church service. It was help in a lovely little church called "Chapelle de la Gare." The building reminded me of Friar Tuck's Church in Disney's Robin Hood. It was so nice singing worship song, and very refreshing not only to have new songs, but to have them in French. After church, there was a potluck, which in French is called a Canadian Picnic, and I with a few other American girls made friends with a kind Dutch couple. We discussed Russian theology (well, they discussed and I listened for the most part) over chicken, pasta salad and spice cake. Also at church, I accidentally brushed my leg against the radiator, so now I have three four-inch long red lines up the back of my calf. It kinda looks like Wolverine clawed me.


Although I wouldn't quite call it homesickness, I am definitely starting to feel a bit strange being here. Facebook has become my enemy, because in looking at it, I have to face the truth that my conceited side wants to deny: Life continues on without me. I'm not trying to sound all exhortative and preachy, and I don't want to be lame and cliché, but it is hard to constantly feel so distant. I love being here, and I don't regret my decision to come at all, but it would just be so much easier to have my home friends here with me to share everything. So, I've come to the conclusion that we have two choices: 1. I hop on that bus in France that had a sign that said "United States," or 2. All of you need to cease having fun right now. No really, just stop. Thanks.


See you in June, when fun may resume!