Glad you all enjoyed a post about Drunk College Girls, but at this rate of distractedness, I'll never get my trip postings done, so onto Lyon...and yes, it's long (nevermind that I just spent a great deal of time today detailing the history of Scottish castles in another mammoth post here).
The day didn't start out so long. Because Ross and I were so utterly exhausted from our previous longest day in the history of civilization (no exageration), we had a good sleep in until about 2 PM, where we then decided to head downstairs to the comfy living room and continue our vegetation.
After watching most of season two of The Office (BBC version, the slightly more superior one), Cat came home, happy to get off work early and show us two kids around town.
Our first stop on our wacky tour of Lyon led us one block away to their local pub, The Wallace. This was to be the first of many visits. The Wallace is owned by a boy from Glasgow whom Chris and Cat know quite well, thus we seemed to have supreme control of the bar.
The Wallace is quite unique in that it is the only bar in Lyon that is done up in a pub-like setting, albeit a Scottish pub.
And has a wicked collection of Scotch Whiskey which apparently is quite popular among the French, ranging in price from 8 Euros to over thousands of Euros.
After some fine pub-style food, we set out across the bridge towards Cat's work...
The view from here is so divine, that even Cat, who has lived here for many years, stopped to take a picture...
As you can see, the River Soane is most photogenic...
...from all angles.
Making it a dynamic backdrop...
...or urinal.
After a brief visit to Cat's work (where she works as a French to English translator...cool job if you ask me), we strolled back to the busy, narrow streets of Vieux Lyon.
Aside from its cobblestone and quaint stores, the "Old Town" also boasts hidden passageways and courtyards. They are very old and have a rich history behind them, which I will probably get into when I do Lyon properly on my other blog (I laugh in the face of history on this crass blog). This hidden courtyard features an old, winding stone staircase....
We accessed it (as well as many others) by following people who live there into the building. I'm sure we broke a lot of trespassing laws, but we had to do it in the name of curiousity. Besides, we could always play dumb tourist (I am very adept at that role).
Further along our travels we came across a patisserie (or however you spell it).
While Cat and Ross hemmed and hawed over what to get, I knew what I was after right away.
Mmmmm, delicious macarons that I kept reading about on Paris Breakfasts. They were just as good as they looked. My main mission now is to find a similar store in Vancouver...good luck with that.
My tummy filled with sugary, macarony goodness, Cat convinced us to make the journey up to St. Jean's Basilica, which is perched on the edge of a hill overlooking the city.
I wasn't exactly enthusiastic about a long journey since my poor tootsies in my evil boots were acting up and there was a pleasant cathedral right here on ground level...
But Cat insisted, and won me over with tales of a Roman Gladiator ring, so I agreed with images of Russell Crowe in my sick head. Thankfully we didn't have to walk much further since a metro took you up to the site. And when I say up, I mean straight up.
Though I've seen similar Roman amphitheatres in Spain, this one was very well-preserved, and made you feel like you were back in time with those crazy Romans...especially when you could watch a horrific battle taking place inside it.
I wasn't one for participating though (I wasn't about to take my shoe off in that frigid weather) so I just watched.
After the siblings exhausted themselves, we headed over to the basilica which is just as well because my ass was starting to freeze over. Tight jeans in cold weather isn't the best idea, but I gritted my teeth and oohed and awwed at the church as well as the awesome view from the edge.
Or at least it would have been awesome if it wasn't covered in mist and fog. Apparently on a clear day you can see all the way to Switzerland but I wasn't having any of it.
What I cared most about at this point was getting inside so I could warm my poor buns (cross but not hot). I found relief on a radiator inside an overpriced cafe.
After awhile it was time to leave, but Ross came up with a genius (if not awkward) solution to ensure my bum never went cold again...
That, combined with a quick shopping spree to get my coveted brown boots AND a steaming glass of hot wine, seemed to do the trick. I was feeling fine in no time.
As for the hot wine sold on the street, why the hell don't we have that in Canada? Do people not realize how much more enjoyable walking the streets would be if we could just get drunk and toasty at every street corner? The bums and the binners would like it too. Everybody wins!
That wasn't the end of the day in Lyon (oh no, that kept on going) but it is the end of this post.
I'm tired and want some hot wine.
