The Experience Continues

If you've ever walked 12km in the dead of night in an unknown city in northern France with minimal directions and the distinct lack of a penchant for adventure, then you can probably skip this blog. However if not then gather around and I'll tell you a tale, a tale of clowns, dogs and ladies of the night.

It was one of those experiences you hope ends ASAP while its actually happening but can look back on with fond memories later on.

It all started with a gig. Nick had booked tickets to see Midlake with no idea where the gig actually was, but on google maps it appeared to be in an industrial factory near some smoke stacks. A group of savvier travelers may have seen that as a warning, but not us.

"So what?" our intrepid adventurers said.

"No one would play a gig somewhere with no public transport."

We were wrong.

A bus got us there, but wasn't running later on. The show wrapped up and after seeing several other guests trying to hitch their ways out we quickly realised it was our feet or nothing. At this point we were a little hesitant as we knew it was about 10km, but we figured we'd find a cab on the way. Several passed us in the first few kilometers but strangely they didn't stop. And so it began.

The first hour or so was uneventful. At some point we saw a sign for a MacDonalds somewhere ahead but it mysteriously never appeared. The streets were eerily empty, especially for an area less than 10km from the third largest city in France. It was almost as if the locals knew it was a bad idea to be out late in such a place. But obviously our heroes could take care of themselves.

Eventually we got to a point where we could go left, over what appeared to be a freeway, or keep going and hope to find a turn later.

"There's a lane down the side. How bad could a freeway be?" we asked.

Three quarters of the way across we discoverer it could be extremely bad. The lane on the side gradually shrank from a car width to a couple of feet. Traffic was shooting by at what was surely over 150km/h. At one point an overly wide truck slammed past, spilling into the lane and coming within a foot of ending us. Furthermore, the lane began curving the wrong direction and the only appropriate way for us became straight across eight lanes of whizzing traffic. It was at this point we suspected that our judgment was perhaps, off.

We turned around and began our journey back, hugging the rail and watching anxiously as our lane grew back from three feet to five and then seven. However there was one thing about the return trip we hadn't factored in; traffic was suddenly coming from behind us, rather than towards us. Feet shrink to millimeters when you can only hear and not see the death-on-wheels rocketing up behind you. Add to that every tenth car beeping wildly at us and our hearts were going a mile a minute. We'd walked half a kilometer of road before turning around, so it wasn't a quick trip back. Our pace grew until we broke into a light jog. Eventually we made it back, shaking slightly but in one piece.

It wasn't long before we hit the next left that would take us home. It didn't look like much; no lights, no houses, just a narrow broken street and a bridge in the distance. But that's what the map said and who were we to argue with cartographers?

In retrospect we perhaps should have argued. The street was littered with broken glass and there were puddles everywhere despite a distinct lack of recent rain. We did pass an apartment complex at one point but it was ramshackle and seemingly abandoned. Then there was the bridge which was just downright scary. So many black cracks and crevices; I was waiting for the hobo army to appear and drag us off into the shadows. If I've ever been anywhere I'd call a slum, this street was it.

Despite all of this we persevered. At some point I heard a dog bark and thought nothing of it; until it was joined by a second and began to grow louder. Soon enough we could see shapes on the horizon.

Now it may have been adrenaline exaggerating the situation or perhaps it's just the storyteller in me, but these dogs were big. We didn't get a great look at them but if you've ever seen an American kids movie where the evil junkyard owner has two or three vicious guard dogs then you're on the right track. They had those deep barks that are somewhere between a bark and a roar and they were very unhappy to see us.

Even though we were 100 meters away from them they were incredibly aggressive. They barked and growled and leaped towards us in short, quick bursts. It didn't take a democratic ballot for us to turn ourselves and hightail it. One followed a short way but eventually gave up.

As we trudged back up to the main road we got the only laugh of the night. About 200m after we thought we were in the clear a tiny ankle-high dog shot out of somewhere and began yelping at us. It was all hair, like something a rich British woman would take to show day. I was laughing most of the way back.

At this point we were demoralised and making halfhearted jokes about what would be around the next bend. Little did we know...

We had no other choice but to continue along the same cursed street. Any major left hand turn would theoretically take us towards the city. What we didn't know was that the next one would do that by dragging us straight through the red light district.

I should preface this by saying Lyon is a very nice town. It's a town of cobbled streets and ice cream cones, restaurants and churches. It certainly isn't a town of hookers and pimps, or so we thought.

The first clue came as we were walking under a large overpass. I'd previously mentioned that Paris apparently had 'sex vans', ie: vans with hookers in them where you can climb into the back for a quick good time. It wasn't long before Tim began to spot just such vehicles; white vans with girls in the driver's seats, wearing what can tactfully be described as very little.

There was a rather amusing moment when he tried to point this out to us but Nick didn't hear, which resulted in the phrase "SEX WHAT??" extremely loudly. But in the end we established that they were in fact brothels on wheels.

So now we were strolling along under a large bridge which was empty save for rows of prostitutes. Our peaceful walk home had apparently turned into a group cruising adventure.

A few minutes later we encountered some guys having a less than friendly conversation with a large knot of police. I assume they were pimps although I thought it may have been rude to ask. It was interesting seeing the girls sit there and having the cops not bat an eyelid. Prostitution is legal in France, so they were in no danger at all. It's just the pimps that can get in trouble.

Eventually the vans petered out, but not the ladies. They simply moved from the comfort of drivers seats to the pavement below. I don't think any of us had seen street walkers before and certainly not in these numbers. Many corners had at least one and we walked for some time.

Business appeared to be slow and we were approached several times, although they were not particularly pushy about it. We also spotted at least one girl arguing with a gentleman in a car, but I assume he bargained too hard or didn't like what he saw ("It's a man baby!") because he eventually drove off alone.

This whole part of town had a seedy and slightly dangerous feel. Aside from the girls and pimps most blocks were totally deserted. It really felt like we were in the projects. We did walk past several carparks with hip hop blaring out of them but it was 2.00am at this point and we didn't know the guys so we thought it inappropriate to ask to join the party.

The hookers continued to populate the footpath but we gradually returned to some semblance of civilisation. We made it most of the way back without further incident, until we got to the circus.

If any of you happened to watch the film adaptation of Steven King's IT at a young age then you'll probably have a similar fear of clowns to Nick and I. There is definitely something sinister in all that bloody makeup and pale skin.

We'd seen signs for this circus around but hadn't actually encountered it. Night was not the time to do so. Nothing actually happened here, the place seemed largely deserted. But I challenge you to walk through a circus ground in the dead of night and not freak out a little at all the leering clowns and crazy images. At one point we spotted a life size clown statue that appeared to be howling to the stars in pain. How that is supposed to draw people in I'm not sure but our nerves were suitably frayed already from earlier events and that wasn't the kind of thing we wanted to end our night with.

After that it was smooth sailing. We did see one prostitute who looked like an oompa loompa madly arguing with a presumed client right near our hotel but that aside the rest of the journey was quite mundane.

We finally got into our room at 2.45 AM, over three hours after we left the concert. We'd managed to tack an extra 1.5 or so kilometers onto the already 10km walk through errors and poor luck. We'd put ourselves in mortal danger at least once and seen a side of Lyon we would otherwise not have.

In the immortal words of the Heineken brewery; the experience continues.