J'ai embrassée une fille et j'ai aimé ça.

Just wanted to mention how fun it is to be the ‘exchange student’. Everyone’s so friendly and talkative and eager to impress you with their knowledge of kangaroos. (Seriously, I think my nickname is ‘kangaroo’…tad worrying.) And yeah, that’s all really! I’m trying to write more about it but it’s hard to describe. Though there can be downfalls…like walking into the guys’ change room. Not at all embarrassing.

So I’m not going to claim to know anything about the music scene in France, but I think it’s safe to say that the majority of the music that the majority of French people listen to is in English. (As I write this, Katy Perry is blaring from the radio.) Which is kind of sad. If you think French accents are hot, they’ve got nothing on the actual language. But I’m going to try and find some decent French music. And then naturally, I’ll bring that French music to you. Wish me luck! (Or bonne chance?) Oh also: What are the chances of Ratatat playing in Lyon, while I’m here and it being all ages!? None. Over 18. Gah.

Went to a (apparently typical) French café with the other Ozlanders (yes a real French café, though no berets were present, sadly). I’ve never been a Starbucks/Gloria Jeans hater but I can’t imagine a waiter/manager there ever jumping into a photo with tourists. Not much else to say about it other than it was fun and that Suzie and I discovered that yes, money can buy happiness and that there is real value in retail therapy. (Mum, Dad, bought a new dress that day. Cheers!)

I can hear you 'awwing'.

So I’d been feeling pretty good about how my French was going, I basically don’t speak English at all unless I see a fellow Auslander or if I don’t understand something that’s been repeated a few times in French and it has to be explained in English. And then I met the German exchange student. He speaks German. His French is amazing. No accent. I thought he was French! And he speaks English amazingly too. (And he takes Latin…but it’s not like you speak that so…) God. Way to make me feel like an ignorant Australian much. I know there isn’t as big a need for a strong focus on languages in Australia, but come on, this is just embarrassing.

So Ariane told me that everyone smokes in France. I knew that before she told me. And then you come home after a day in which you haven’t been with anyone who was smoking but still manage to smell like smoke and realise, everyone smokes in France.

I was sitting in French, got handed the sheets that I couldn’t even hope to comprehend, and the teacher began on an hour long lecture, which, I probably wouldn’t have listened to even if I could understand it. Rather than wasting good paper and time, I decided (subconsciously) to draw (read: scribble) away. I was doing this happily when I noticed the whole class had stopped their discussion (trust me, this is huge for France) and they were all looking at my Monet-esque masterpiece. I got a ‘That’s very beautiful’ from one guy, a blatant smirk from the teacher with a side of ‘You’re not following?’ and laughs all round. Ground. Swallow. Me. Now. Basically my thought process at the time. There’s a reason as to why I dropped art. The other French teacher is nicer. He gave me Tim Burton poems in French (who knew right?). And if you were wondering, a little strange (it's Tim Burton) yet also strangely funny. Think parents who give birth to an oyster, husband therefore loses his sex drive and then eats oyster-son because a doctor tells him that oysters are aphrodesiacs.

In an effort to enrich my experience in France I have (naturally) been participating in the two-kiss greeting that is typically French, which is more of an art form than you realise. You see, there are different techniques to the activity. The most preferable is the: side of lips to cheek-side of lips to other cheek. The next on the ladder still carries the side of lips aspect but also encompasses a hard banging of the cheeks and can bring about a slight redness of the face in people of fair skin colour. This method is most prevalent in rushed situations; however there are some people who just haven’t been taught any better. Beware. And finally, the dreaded one: the sloppy, often slobbery, full lips planted on the side of your face, I’m just getting kissed, does this mean we have to do this four times or what? method. People don’t do this by accident. If you’ve met one of these, they’re always going to do it that way. Just pretend you’re sick with kangarooitis and you’ll be right.

And just because this post isn’t exactly snap happy, I thought I’d reward you with not one, but TWO videos. One of Ariane and friends singing a French song and the other of Ariane mocking Australian people speaking French. I promise we’re not as bad as that.

Puis-je prendre une photo?

So I did the tourist bit this weekend and visited ‘Old Lyon’ (Vieux Lyon). The category ‘old’ is intentionally broad; we visited sites from as late as the 18th century to as early as Roman times. I just spent about ten minutes trying to write about the simplistic beauty of modern architecture in contrast to the overall grandeur of older architecture*…and have gotten nowhere. So I’m going to stop trying and let the pictures (aided by a few words, naturally) speak for themselves.

*I’m not actually trying to come off as a pretentious wanker I promise.

So this is just the building that we went into to catch this train like thing to go there, and still wow.

In the train like thing, looking into the tunnel that you go through.

So Old Lyon is nice and elevated, giving you a very nice view of the rest of Lyon.

Orange square thing is Place Bellecour, the centre of the city and where I live. Yes, be jealous.

Basilique Notre-Dame de Fourvière. The outside is stunning enough, but the inside. Oh the inside. The word awesome has never applied more. Seriously mouth to floor awe-inspiring. The place sparkles! Mardi Gras floats are jealous. I’m putting the amazingly intricate detailing down to the utter boredom that consumed the lives of people who lived without television, internet, tetris, etc. These pictures are pretty terrible and definitely don’t do it justice, so google away.
















Next, the ruins of a Roman amphitheatre that has been built up a little and I am told is still in use (in the summer at least) today.



And then a sort of Roman mini-town place, complete with narrow paved streets and tiny apartments in which people still live. I got the feeling it was a very touristy area – lots of shops and restaurants.

A café that stood out on our way to the 'mini-town place'. French pride far exceeds simple patriotism.

Yes, people live here.

What is it about old bookstores that make you want to buy something...even when all the books are in French.

Cathédrale Saint-Jean-Baptiste de Lyon. My camera died so I’ve only got a few photos and again, they’re not very good. Also couldn’t get a picture of the astronomical clock. I guess sort of strangely, it was the graffiti on the outside of the building (no picture, sorry!) that roughly translated to ‘Religion is the drug of the people.’ that reminded me that this wasn’t just a tourist attraction – but a church. And that kind of made me feel sad for Sydney - churches in Sydney have absolutely nothing on this place, no, not even that one in the city.

Next day, went to the markets with Ariane’s mum. They’re sort of like the fish markets in Sydney…only without the fish. (There might have been one stall that sold fish. Lyon is a land-locked city.) Saw Cam while we were there actually! And if you're wondering what the pram like thing in the first photo is, it's basically a bag on wheels which they use in lieu of trolleys.

Biggest thing I noticed this weekend: the French are friendly. Really friendly. Even more so when they find out you’re Australian. If the French are Alice than Australia is Wonderland for them – in both the weird and well...wonderful sense. Honestly I personally can’t even see how the 'we will spit on you and fart in you general direction' stereotype came into existence (well you know, not including the obvious Monty Python influence), but I realise that that probably has a lot to do with me speaking French (albeit badly) and being with French people.

Sais-tu les kangourous?

We (Suzie, Cam, Viv and I) missed our flight from Paris to Lyon, despite our plane arriving in Paris on time, but thanks to an extremely friendly Parisian (the stereotype couldn’t be further from the truth) we got another flight an hour later. But brightside: that gave us enough time to ask for a hot chocolate in French at this pretty classy cafe type thing at the airport (Je voudrais un chocolat chaud s'il vous plait.) and we only got laughed at a little bit! Hot chocolates in France are kinda bitter but in an awesome way, if you were wondering.

Miam miam?

Suzie got stuck in a bathroom cubicle and we had a hard time figuring out the cleaner’s instructions on which way to turn the handle.

I speak French (slowly and badly) all the time!

The French, to my initial confusion, drive on the wrong side of the road (though I have always thought that ‘keep right’ sounds much more logical than ‘keep left’).

I admit to the fact that having a sense of superiority is probably the best feeling in the world, especially when you’re being talked to like a ‘special’ three year old (though I’d cry if they talked to me in any other way) for most of the day. Basically, English class is legen-wait-for-it-and-I-hope-you’re-not-lactose-intolerant-‘cause-the-next-word-is-DA(I)RY. Also: French kids are amazing at English. They're having a debate about the death penalty in English next lesson. As is the teacher. I thought she was English until told otherwise.

When I told a group of French people (in French!) that I not only had a kangaroo in my backyard but that I ride it and that I brought it to France in my suitcase they believed me. (Though another group of French people who were shamelessly eavesdropping were snickering.)

Apparently the French love to skip work and chill in the city waving flags for no particular reason.

School is hard in France. Seriously. They have four hour tests every week. They don’t talk. At all. Hushed whispers when they’re feeling rebellious. And everyone actually works! And does their homework. EVERYONE. Also they have blackboards! Fully equiped with chalk!

Lyon is stunning. But more (read: pictures) on that later.