Cay had heard stories of the impoliteness of the French, it did not help with the confirmation of Judas nodding at what he mentioned. A friend from Bath once told him that the fear of traveling abroad was not from being around strangers, it was being surrounded by French speakers.
They arrived fifteen minutes later than what their tickets had promised, yet it was still too early even for the calling of seagulls. No shops were seen opened with their metal shutters acting as the current facade. There was barely a soul seen roaming around the small streets, only occasional joggers and people in torn, dirty rags. It was its’ own beauty, the quiet six in the morning with only trams showings signs of functionality in the city of Lyon.
They decided to move from sitting on a low concrete blockade just beside their bus to the central train station right next door, where the few of the original passengers walked towards to. With the same possible intentions of finding warmth, and maybe coffee, the two were eager to reach the doors that contained train terminals and shops. They saw a bakery with freshly-baked bread sitting on metal sheets inserted into large trays, steam coming out from coffee machines at a stall in the middle of the marble walkway, and a convenient store that was just about to open.
They bought espresso in tiny plastic cups that looked too small to be held in their hands; they went to the toilet in hopes of freshening themselves where their coffee could not. Their legs were tired from the cramped seats on board the bus, which were originally intended to put the passengers at rest. Budgeting was aligned with customer comfort nowadays.
So fresh, the morning air of Lyon was as they reached the Parc de la Tete d’Or, Cay had inhaled a lot of the cool oxygen into his lungs. Judas seemed less tense than when he stepped down the bus. The park reminded them of the Villa Borghese Gardens, the massiveness and stretch of green were almost identical if not for the type of trees. Cay remembered that the Italian park had long, slender Cork Cedars. Judas stared at the large, Victorian-style metal gate with thin bars taller than them. The French really love their les parcs.
Mist covered the walkways where trees were numerous, although not too heavy to the point that they could not see. There were several parts within the park, they passed the fountain and sat down on the bench right opposite to the exhibition of tundra-like garden. The garden did not look like a garden at all, with a small stream encircling it, it had a rocky and sandy surface with short vegetation that looked malnourished. They could make out the sun rising behind the sample of land from a different climate.
They had their sandwich and sip of water while waiting for whatever came next that would excite both. There was not much they could do: the sun was at an awkward stage of pre-rise, the words on Cay’s book was barely visible under the natural light, the gentle sound of the nearby stream could sooth anyone passing by. The cool air seemed to have led them to this area, telling them to wait until their next stop within the park.
The sun rose after a while and the two could make out the details of the tundra garden, it’s small vegetation vibrant from the nutrients contained within the soil, and each crop was stretch long enough to engulf its’ smaller siblings. The scenery reminded Cay of the modern mixture of society, people from different place reaching out for each other. Just like long lost families reunited.
He looked at Judas in a scrutinising way, the latter did not mind that much as he turned his head back at him, smiling. They knew the peaceful morning would later bring them labor as they had to leave their comfortable position, explore yet again another foreign city.
*
Before leaving for university, Jenna have been busy packing her belongings two weeks prior to her starting tenancy at one of the Student Unite’s accommodation. The company in charge of the accommodation had affiliations with the local higher institutions, hence everyone who were about to move in expected the premise to be filled with student. They just did not know what the inhabitants looked like or how they were supposed to behave.
Her friends, who were preparing to travel to their respective city of study, speculated the atmosphere while among students of their ranks (“I’ll probably meet someone cool, just not in my flat or hall.”, one of them had told the group before.). Her friends were inexperienced as well, Jenna did not take in much of what they discussed that evening. It was only pure speculations, the most was one of her friends heard from other seniors associated with her or him.
She worked as a jeweler at a nearby accessory shop in Frome. Her boss, who was kind to her, offered her an extra pay bonus upon hearing her graduation to university. She had been thankful for Jenna’s expertise in making one of the best-looking plastic jewelries in town and would have kept her as her long-term employee. With a hug that felt like a squeeze and a promise of extra money, Jenna waved her goodbyes to the employer as she walked downwards the main street from incline of Catherine Hill.
It was only a short ten minutes’ walk back home, fifteen if she stopped by her family’s takeaway for lunch, which typically consisted of Cantonese-style crispy pork and noodles that crackled easily once bitten into. She was a born English girl from the start, with her upbringing contributed by her mother who had once been a student of a British university. Her education was just like anyone else in England, A-levels before GCSE, anxiety before the released test results that would determine a youth’s future.
Why her mother chose to move to England with Dylon, particularly to a small town like hers, was unknown. However, she knew that Kuan had invested a lot on company stocks back in Taiwan. Whatever the profile of her investment was, Jenna knew that over the years her mother’s constant vigilance over the market overseas would amount to something. If she was becoming a daughter of a capitalist mother, then there must be a good reason for her parents to own and work in a simple Chinese takeaway.
For now, Jenna wanted to forge a path for herself, mainly through education. What else could she do besides following the guideline recommended her government? The best she could come out successful was if she picked up a useful skill or two that a company would want, other hobbies did not matter to a structured organisation. Hence, after careful consideration, her liking for arts and crafts along with a determination of valuable contribution, she chose graphics art. It was a course that was both practical and technical, the two utilised by every company and all the textbooks around the world.
What about what she truly loved, she thought. She never actually thought about it until she set her mind for university. Then, she panicked. She had been working hard in her entire life, at least when she learnt what responsibility was at the age of nine. She did everything she could but not because she loved it, it was out of a sense of duty, for herself and her family. In the past, a passion for what a man or woman strove for was merely a pastime to her, an optional component better off taken down in service for larger things.
Maybe she would kill herself if she has yet to find anything worth fighting for until graduation, she told herself as she needlessly hurried with her packing. The heap of baggage increasingly large in one of the corners of her bedroom.
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