i haven’t slept in two days. my jacket is covered in paint from last night’s doppelgänger mural. the city’s raining sideways and smells like burnt coffee. i’m here because someone posted a terrible yelp review about how lyon’s buskers are ‘all just wierdos hustling for a free espresso.’ i’m here to prove them wrong. or at least, to scream into a trash can while recording a haphazard cover of ‘mc donald’s’ on my phone.

quick answers

q: is this place worth visiting?
a: only if you like getting sprayed with paint and judgments. lyon’s best when you expect the worst. if you’re here for a vintage film aesthetic or a yogaasan, leave. but if you want chaos? yeah. go ahead.

q: is it expensive?
a: depends. street tacos? cheap. a latte from a café that plays french polish? expensive. i paid €3.20 today. that’s not bad, but the guy charged me extra because i didn’t shake his hand.

q: who would hate it here?
a: tourists who don’t understand the power of a hand-painted sign. or people who dress up. lyon mocks fashion. i once saw a man in a suit step on a mural and everyone cheered. he looked haunted.

q: best time to visit?
a: when it’s drizzling and no one’s around. like now. the rain hides the best murals and makes people talk louder. also, avoid sundays. too many yuppies with cameras.

now, here’s the weird part. i’ve been busking for three months and i still don’t know lyon’s name. the locals call it ‘that place with too many hills.’ it’s not funny. one time i asked a barista, ‘what’s the city called?’ he sighed and said, ‘lys. l-y-s.’ i asked why not lyon. he rolled his eyes. ‘because romans didn’t care about it. they just wanted actual stuff.’

insight block 1 (47 words)

if you want to find a real house, don’t follow the tourists. walk into a café and ask someone who’s not smiling. they’ll tell you where the ‘hidden’ spots are. i found a bakery that only opens at 10 am. the owner said, ‘come at 9:59. bring cash.’ no receipt. no wifi. just bread and existential dread. ask for directions and they’ll stare. don’t push. just copy their vibe.

again, the weather. today’s temp is 5.19°C. feels like 3.53. i don’t care about the science. what matters is my hands are shaking. i couldn’t play my tambourine. the lineworker wanted to listen to my bad version of ‘lose yourself.’ he said it was ‘authentic.’ i later realized he meant i looked like a ghost.

insight block 2 (51 words)

safety here isn’t about walking home with three u-lock. it’s about not looking vulnerable. if you’re a busker, wear clothes that scream ‘i don’t care.’ i once wore mismatched socks and a hat from a discount store. a kid threw money at me. a tourist asked for selfies. locals just nod and move. if you look lost, they laugh. it’s like a performance. don’t take it. you’re in lyon. you were meant to be here.

repeating insight: lyon hates perfection. i paid €12 for a mushroom pasta at a place with no chairs. the chef didn’t care. he just tossed the plate and said, ‘this is fine.’ it was fine.

insight block 3 (55 words)

nearby cities? marseille is two hours by train. full of loud people and worse food. don’t go. but lyon? it’s a trap. you keep finding reasons to stay. even when it rains. the worst part is i’m writing this on a fold-out bench in a park. someone just cartwheeled past. no one cared. i’m too busy crying over my half-finished poem.

mood. lyon’s not safe. it’s weirdly safe. no pickpockets, no riots. just people ignoring you. unless you’re the busker. then you’re either legendary or a nuisance. i’m both.

insight block 4 (58 words)

affordability is a joke. one café charges €5 for a croissant. another has a €1 menu. the €1 menu sold out. i bought the €5 one. it was barely warm. but the owner said, ‘you asked for it.’ i should’ve flipped. i’m a busker. i should’ve demanded a refund. or a selfie.

insight block 5 (45 words)

tourist vs local: tourists read signs. locals read auras. i once asked a woman for directions. she pointed to a random alley. i followed her. turns out, it was a closed restaurant. she laughed. ‘you’re new. lyon isn’t about maps.’ true. the best spots are where the WiFi breaks. and the trash cans overflow. that’s where the stories are.

someone told me lyon has a secret tunnel under the old train station. no one knows. maybe it’s a myth. maybe it’s real. i’m not sure. what i do know is i walked past it three times and didn’t see anyone. maybe i should go back. with a flashlight. and a permission form.

froid. the air is so cold today. i put on two gloves and still want to die. but the cold keeps the tourists away. which is good. because tourists make me nervous. they ask dumb questions. like, ‘is this safe?’ i said, ‘only if you don’t touch anything.’ they nodded. i doubt it.

social proof layer. a local warned me about the bridge near the opera house. said it collapses every tuesday at 3 pm. i asked why. he said, ‘i don’t know. maybe it’s a metaphor.’ i checked online. zero evidence. but i avoid it. better safe than busking from a ladder.

links. check tripadvisor for ‘best busking spots lyon.’ the reviews are all from people who pretended to be busy. not helpful. yelp has a review titled ‘not a scam, but also not worth it.’ reddit’s r/lyon has a thread about ‘why no one stays here.’ read it. it’s sad.

i’m not done yet. i found an imgur link to a photo of a busker in a panda suit. it was taken in 2019. the panda died. the suit is still there. i don’t know if it’s real. doesn’t matter. i’m taking a photo of it now.

(insert map iframe here)

also, here are some images. the first is a plane flying in the rain. the second is roses that look like they’re giving up. the third is a dock with people standing on it like they’re waiting for something. maybe a bus. maybe a soul.

m britannique. i’m french. i’m here illegally. my visa expired. but the café doesn’t care. they gave me a croissant anyway. maybe lyon accepts hopelessness.

i wrote this from a bench. someone sat beside me and asked if i was okay. i said, ‘no.’ they didn’t care. they just played violins. lyon’s quiet when it rains. you can hear everything. even your own thoughts. mine are mostly regrets. and a fear that i’ll forget to collect my money.

lyon’s shitty street art scene (for buskers like me)

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