When we arrive in one of France's largest cities, we get stuck in a loop - in heavy traffic - as the navigator stubbornly insists on a route that is temporarily closed. Night is falling over hot, narrow streets in a seemingly endless city filled with cars and exhaust fumes.
Irritated, exhausted and uncomfortable, the way only an introvert gets when she needs a private space to withdraw to, I arrive at our destination. A tiny flat with no air-condition and windows that can't be kept open because robbers would climb in straight from the street and kill us in our sleep. Somebody, who knew very well how unbearably hot this flat is, decided that I would spend the night here. During France's hottest summer.
First, I need to make awkward conversation with the half-strangers we will share the flat with. I'm hungry, but too warm and exhausted to find food. Getting into bed I have the feeling of my body dissolving into liquid, into salt water and blood leaking away to leave me a dry, dead husk. The night is the hottest I've ever experienced, unmatched even in tropical countries. It nearly brings me to tears of desperation. I'm trapped and dissolving in Lyon.
Outside are the sounds of a large city - cars speed by, people shout. As my breathing and heart-rate slow down, my body temperature goes down a little too. Drinking water helps. So I sleep, exhausted.
The next day, we taste coussins of Lyon and explore pretty streets and awesome cathedrals and exciting Roman ruins. Lyon has two rivers and the biggest city square I've ever seen. Under the right circumstances, it could probably be a nice place to live. But I'm happy to leave.
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