#hermitabroad

Well world, I tried. I underestimated how difficult things would be physically and emotionally out here while injured. Physically I am exhausted from trekking far distances on crutches and good lord my armpits are sore. Emotionally I am also exhausted. Being injured is already a difficult and new experience for me. I am fiercely independent and not being able to do things easily for myself has been extremely taxing. I’m having trouble accepting my injury and giving myself the time to heal. It’s especially hard out here where all I want to do is go hiking or kayaking or be out and about or just doing. Sitting still here is a very difficult thing. I’m frustrated with people who look at me with pity and so help me if I hear another What happened? Are you okay? I may have to knock out someone’s knees with this boot. I know that people are concerned, but also people are just nosy. What makes it even harder is the knowledge that were I a guy I wouldn’t get half so many pitying stares. Of course it’s hard, of course it hurts, but I’m okay. I am surviving and doing pretty damn well if you ask me. And another thing, I can get my own door! If I have another hand swoop in last minute to get the door for me I just may beat them with my crutch.

Bonjour tout le monde!

It’s a beautiful day in Lyon Aujourd’hui! The sun is shining, the breeze is blowing and the espresso is strong as ever. I apologize for the delay in posting. I hold the unreliable internet access, my lack of self motivation, and the enchanting city surrounding me accountable. 

So here’s the SparkNote version of the past two weeks!

I arrived in Lyon on September 1st feeling very proud for having ordered a Taxi to my dorm, only to be immediately disheartened by my complete inability to understand a single word being spoken to me by the lady at the front desk. After an hour or so of sitting wide eyed and appearing very lost in the lobby, a lady approached me and took me to a desk to register me for my dorm room. After throwing all of my personal documents her way in hopes that everything required for registration was there, I found myself with a key to my room and a carte de residence with a mug shot worthy photo attached to the corner. 

Feeling renewed in spirit and with a new found sense of gusto, I grabbed my bags, both heavy enough to qualify me for olympic heavy weight lifting. I looked at my key and stopped in absolute abject horror at the number inscribed. 641. I looked at the stairs and again at the number on my key. I flipped it over. I rubbed at the 6 and prayed it was a pen smear or a bit of dirt. No such luck. Up the stairs I went, back arched and arms shaking. I wanted to cry but instead the tears came as sweat drops rolling down my back. It was fine! It was great! I was in France, it was the french way! 

Twelve flights of stairs later, I showered and settled into my room. It wouldn’t be all together wrong to compare my room to a shoebox, I will say that what it lacks in space it makes up for in storage and feel. I mean that, the first word to come to mind is not small, but minimal. It’s efficient. It’s a space to sleep, to work, and to binge watch Netflix, all with a nice view of Lyon right outside my open windows. It’s a solace, a place to retire to after the bustle of the day. I’ve already grown quite fond of the cozy space. 

Since being in Lyon I’ve explored 6 of the 9 Arrondissements. I’ve walked up and down the hill of Viex Lyon, trailing behind the host mom of a friend as she hightailed it through the pottery market at Lyon Cathedral, and then to Rue Burdeau to duck in and out of the endless art galleries that line the street. I’ve visited Annecy, a city too picturesque to be real, and yet that existed just below the French Alps, around a lake made of crystal blue water that sparkled under the sun, making boats look like silhouettes passing through a sea made up of a thousand floating paper cranes. I’ve eaten, roughly, one million croissants and have walked approximately way too many miles to count. But I’m not complaining, not when my walk takes me past endless rows of boulangeries and patisseries. It seems like everywhere I go the scent of fresh baked bread can found lingering in the air, the cities perfume. 

Which leads to where I am now, sitting outside La Labo, the local “hipster” cafe where all the students go to leech off the free wifi and guzzle down Freddo Cappuccino’s in the heat of the day between classes and at every other hour it also seems. I hope this does not strike you as pretentious as it is not my goal to be poetic or to romanticize every part of my experience. Not every moment is full of awe and wonder. The majority of my experience has been made of simple every day things like walking to the store, or visiting the mall, or hunting down a book store with a decent english section. Allergies still kick my ass every morning and night, I’m still lazy and spend some nights inside watching Outlander not in French because the whole point of watching is for the Scottish accent. I still have to do laundry and homework, and not every day is spent wandering down the cobblestone streets of Vieux Lyon or stopping in Macaroon shops for a sweet. 

My point is, I am not here to vacation. I am here to study, to live, and to integrate into a culture different than my own. I am here to learn how to be myself when everything that I am is somewhere else. I am here to study, to learn, and to challenge myself. Not every moment will be poetic and beautiful and some days will be ordinary days, just elsewhere. But still, every day remains to be a learning experience.