I just want to be able to breathe through my nose.
It’s my first Saturday in Lyon, and I have a cold. I felt it coming on yesterday, but last night it took up shop in my nose and head. I didn’t pack any cold medicine, because I didn’t plan on it. I have Airborne, which I told myself would be enough. I also kept telling myself that I wasn’t that sick and just because I bought a box of Kleenex yesterday, and used every last tissue last night, shouldn’t be cause for alarm.
But I feel miserable.
I need to go to the pharmacy. (Do they sell Sudafed here? Like, the good Sudafed.) I decided to plan out what I’m going to say to the pharmacist in French so I can practice it. I wrote it down in my journal. I opted against saying, “I need drugs.” I felt like that might be a bit bold. So I went with, “I have a cold. My nose is stuffed up. Do you have anything that would help?”
I pack my bag. I throw in a bottle of water, my journal, a pen, and my wallet. I’ve been carrying my passport around, but I really don’t need it with me at all times because I’m not traveling anywhere. I take it out of my wallet and stash it away for safekeeping. I decide to leave my raincoat at home too. I’m just going across the street.
I grab my key and wrestle with the door. It’s a big, old French door that I’m sure has a lifetime of stories to tell. But, it has its quirks. I practiced with my friend Audrey on how to open AND close the door before she left for her trip.
The Door.
“Kimberlee, you have to pull the door shut. HARD. Then you can lock it.”
Got it. I can do that.
I slam the door shut, and it shuts! All the way! YAY! I was really worried that this door was going to be my downfall. It’s big and intimidating, and has three massive locks, but I only need to worry about one of them. (Thank God.) I got it to shut, and I got it to lock. It’s going to be a good day.
The Three Locks.
Now, can I get it to open too? I’m on a roll so I might as well try it!
I turn my key, one click, I pull the door towards me (because you have to pull it in before you can get the latch to release), I hear the latch move, and then I push…
...and the door doesn’t open.
I try it again. Going through the motions exactly as Audrey taught me.
I can feel all of things in the turning in the door at the right time. Why isn’t it opening?
I decide it is simply a user error. I’m doing it wrong. My nose reminds me that I am sick, and I need to go to the pharmacy. I’ll come back here and figure out this door thing after I get some medicine and breakfast.
I make my way across the street--literally 20 yards from my front door--only to find out that the pharmacy is closed from 1pm to 2pm for lunch.
Perfect.
So now what?
Breakfast...at 1:15pm.
I head to a little restaurant called Le Phono and order the perfect breakfast: bread with butter and jam, coffee, orange juice, and dessert. I eat everything, although I can barely taste anything. I sit there for an hour, watching people come in and out, listening to what they’re saying, having no clue what they’re talking about. It would have been an extremely pleasant experience if I didn’t have to blow my nose every 5 minutes.
I want my breakfast to look like this everyday.
After finishing breakfast, I head to the pharmacy, and in my terrible French, successfully communicate to the pharmacist that I have a cold. She asked if my nose was running. I said that is was. She gave me some nasal spray and some powdered packets that reminded me of Emergen-C (but it was way better).
Now that I had been fed and had medicine, it was time to head back to the apartment to get the door open.
I tried my key again. All the pieces in the door turned like they were supposed to, but the door wouldn't open. I asked some people coming up the stairs to try opening it for me. (I needed to rule out user error.) They couldn’t get it open either but pointed out that the top lock seemed locked.
Shit.
It must have caught when I slammed the door shut.
The Culprit. Based on my research, ABUS is a very good German lock.
I don’t have a key for that lock.
...and Audrey is on a plane from Singapore to Auckland so I can’t get ahold of her to ask her if someone here has a key.
Who can help me?
Audrey introduced me to her English-speaking neighbor before she left. I knock on her door. She looks surprised to see me. I explain my predicament. We come up with a plan: I’ll stay in a local hotel for the night until I hear from Audrey. Audrey’s neighbor is kind enough to call the hotel for me and explain (in French) that I don’t have my passport with me, but could I still get a room for the night? Thankfully, they let me book a room.
Having a plan makes me feel better.
I step outside to make my way to the hotel, and it’s raining.
Of course.
And I left my raincoat in the apartment, which I can’t get now!
Rainy days can make for pretty sunsets. You can see the carnival below too.
I get to my hotel and take the drugs the pharmacist gave me and promptly fall asleep.
When I wake up, I have the brilliant idea that I should just pick the lock open. How hard could it be??
After about 2 hours of YouTube videos and fantasizing about my future career as a locksmith (I really need to order a lock pick set when I get back home), I make myself go find food. Pizza it is! It was really good pizza of which I ate half and gave the other half away.
Pizza from Los Bobos. I walked in and ordered the first thing on the menu. I had no clue what is was going to be and didn’t have the energy to translate the menu in my brain from French to English. I figured, pizza is pizza. This approach worked this evening.
I hear back from Audrey. No one has an extra key to the lock. I’m going to have to call a locksmith.
I continue to watch lock picking videos before bed. “I can do this!,” I think. “That guy can open that lock with two bobby pins in 5 seconds. I got this.”
The next morning (after a surprisingly good night’s sleep—the drugs worked!), I head back to my apartment, armed with bobby pins and determination.
After about 30 seconds of trying to pick my lock, I give up.
“This is stupid and a waste of time,” I realize.
I knock on my neighbor’s door. I am pretty sure that I woke her up. I ask her if she could call a locksmith for me. “Don’t you have a phone?,” she asks. I do, but I don’t have a French SIM card.
(Add that to the list of things to get.)
The locksmith is scheduled to come at 12:00 noon. My neighbor invites me to hang out with her at her centenarian mom’s apartment who lives on the third floor of our building. I sit at the kitchen table while my neighbor cooks. I ask her questions, thankful that she is doing most of the talking as I am spent. With all of the events over the past 24 hours, sitting in a bright, cozy kitchen listening to a confident French woman pontificate on life was a pretty awesome gift.
At 1:00pm, the locksmith arrives. My neighbor’s husband translates for me. The bill is 215 euros (about $230 USD). I have 200 euros in my wallet. My neighbor lends me the rest. The locksmith drills the lock (he doesn’t even TRY to pick it! #amateur), and just like that, I’m back in my apartment.
The Aftermath.
My neighbor invites me to have lunch with her and her husband. It’s a delicious affair of salad with fresh tomatoes, chicken stir fry and rice, bread and cheese, coffee and chocolate, and of course, wine.
My neighbor makes a disgusted face when she thinks about drinking water with a meal, which makes me smile. She advises me, “On Sunday, we drink.”
I want to ask, “What about the other days of the week?,” but I just say, “OK,” and let her fill up my glass.