An Old Friend in Lyon

There are the people you think you might never see again, and there are the few that you actually do.

Several summers ago, the family of the girl I was dating at the time hosted an exchange student from France, Pauline. I felt kind of bad that out of all the places in the U.S., she ended up in a forgotten whistle-stop in rural Tennessee, so we went out of our way to make sure she had a good summer from flying in the Cherokee to trips to Nashville and the symphony. We might have even taken her to a Mexican restaurant and told them it was her birthday (it wasn’t). The look on her face as the waiter tried to spoon a dollop of whipped-cream onto her nose was almost as priceless as the look on his own face when she reared back. (This is the closest thing to a cultural exchange you’ll find in small-town Tennessee.) Even though the relationship with the girl I was dating didn’t last, Pauline and I have remained friends and kept in touch over the years. Once Tori and I knew we would be traveling through France, we started narrowing down places to link up with Pauline.

It’s easier to gauge distances in France because the country is roughly the size of the state of Texas. While it can take more than a day to cross the lone-star state, France’s high-speed and regional rail networks make it quite easy to move about the country within the same day. There’s no arriving two hours early or intense security checkpoints. It’s all rather effortless. We left Paris midday on Friday and made the two-hour trip to the city in the southeast where Pauline lives, Lyon.

Lyon, the third-largest city in France, sits just beyond the foothills of the Alps on the confluence of two rivers. The old city is crowned with the Basilica de Notre Dame de Fourvière that overlooks a sprawl of old and new. We booked an Airbnb in la Croix-Rousse, a trendy neighborhood on a northerly hill opposite the basilica overlooking the Presqu’île. Oddly enough, I had saved this particular Airbnb before the pandemic when traveling outside of North America was just beginning to seem possible in my mind. It was a gorgeous turn-of-the-century flat in a building constructed in 1907. I’m normally not one for staying in “historic” rooms, but the hosts did such good job of adding in modern appliances and decor without taking away from the charm of the place. The light switches were the old, circular kind that you might imagine the “Dowager Countess” complaining about—God bless Maggie Smith. The wood floors, stitched in a French herringbone style, looked original. The tall, metal-framed windows let in the cool morning air. It’s the first Airbnb we’ve stayed in that really lent a sense of place.

After settling in, we met up with Pauline for wine and cheese, of course, and a walk around the city. The highlight of the evening was supposed to be climbing the hill to the basilica, but for me, it was just rambling around the city and catching up. Along the way, Pauline pointed out street art, history, murals, all the details we probably would have missed, and told us the stories behind them. She and Tori quickly hit it off. We drifted from overlook to overlook taking in the city lights before finally settling on a terrace along the Saône to spend the rest of the evening.

The following morning, the need for fresh-baked goods and coffee pulled me out of my sleep. Stepping out of the Art Deco entry, I was greeted by a certain chill in the air that had been missing for a long time. The air was cold and dry and quietly foreshadowed the turn of the season. I looked to the right toward the bakery but was drawn left by the breeze and the commanding view of the city in the early morning light. The bread could wait a couple minutes longer. It’s the little moments like these that I’m reminded how unique this experience is—doing everyday life in a place so far from what I grew up around, how hard it is to come by, and that one day, it will be a distant memory.

Local merchants had taken over the streets in the early hours and attracted scores of elderly French people all chattering in familiar tones. Though, the stalls weren’t just fresh produce; there were rotisseries and entire butcher shops occupying the sidewalks. I made my way through trying to spot a boulangerie between the canvas tents. I picked up a couple pains chocolat and a handful of Nespresso capsules—no English required.

That afternoon Pauline had planned a bike tour around the city, but we had another idea first: French pastries. Tori had been wanting to sample some local pastries, so I found a patisserie just off the Place Bellecour that looked promising. Pauline humored us and graciously explained to the guy behind the counter that it was our first time to Lyon and we wanted to experience some of the local cuisine. Everything beneath the glass looked like a work of art, and with a little direction, it didn’t take long to pick out five desserts: some local to Lyon, some specific to that patisserie. I don’t know how sure Pauline was about the idea at first. She had put together a whole afternoon of exercise, and we ended up with a table full of desserts instead. I assured her this was not the norm for us. Though a couple of bites in, we all settled into the whimsy and novelty of it. The young guy behind the counter seemed intrigued with it, too, and on a couple occasions appeared with more for us to try—on-the-house.

With the daylight burning and our metabolisms slowing, we didn’t waste any time seeking out some city bikes to hire. Lyon is certainly bike friendly—with bikeways and bike lanes interlaced through the streets. But, les Lyonais keep it interesting. As we made our way out of the city center, we worked our way down one-lane streets with cars, scooters, cyclists, and plenty of unaware—or uncaring—pedestrians. I, not being used to the heavier city bike, struggled to track a fine line. But, soon enough, the busyness faded behind us and opened up to a quiet bikeway along the Saône. The confluence, an old shipping yard, had been converted into a modern, up-and-coming neighborhood with contemporary apartments lining the waterways. The path made its way along old train tracks, and I attentively kept my tires between the rails. Pauline lead us around the point of the confluence and along the banks of the Rhône pointing out the sites and her university along the way. No matter where you looked, there were families and groups of friends in parks or along the banks just enjoying the day. Not wanting to miss our dinner reservation, we cut our ride short and took the metro up the hill to change.

Lyon is known for its cuisine, and Pauline arranged for dinner at a “bouchon lyonais,” a restaurant unique to the city. We sat in a terrace along a cobblestone side street just off the banks of the Saône. Not particularly well acquainted with French cuisine, I was relieved to have a little supervision my introductory visit. To my surprise, Tori tried the foie gras (you can look it up), and I was quite content with my fancy chicken and rice. We sat and talked and laughed until the restaurant closed, trying not to think about the predawn train ride the next morning.

I remember the goodbyes six years ago, watching Pauline climb into the backseat of a car thinking that would probably be the last time I saw her. That was a lifetime ago. The shy exchange student I used to know was now this vibrant, insightful young woman who can tell you about history and architecture and tracking glacial movements and why landscapes look the way they do. Who isn’t shy about translating critical information on pastries for you or telling the waiter that he’ll have trouble kicking us out because we’re already sitting outside (all in good fun). It’s so cool to me that friendships no longer have to be limited to time and place. You can have a friend on the other side of the world if you like. And, those friendships don’t have to be limited to a particular season; they can grow with you, extend to others, and add to your life in ways you didn’t expect.

After climbing the hill to Croix-Rousse one final time, we said our goodbyes. Though this time, it was less of a goodbye and more like see you in six years—or sooner.