So I hung around Lyon for awhile, hanging out with a couple of germans, until it started to get damn cold. I had stayed long enough to see the festival of lights, and it was starting to feel distinctly like the moment to head south. So I unfurled my thumb and sailed my way south. I arrived in Marseille - a grey town that started to seriously stress me out after a couple of days - by nightfall, and I was lucky enough to find a frenchman who had a soft-spot for quebecers, and got myself housed for a couple nights. When I got a chance, I jumped the ferry for Corsica; an overnight ferry, aboard which I stowed away under a staircase with my sleeping bag and camping mattress. I actually slept fairly well, truth be known. When the sun came up I got up aboard deck to see the final approach of the island of Corsica, still shrouded in morning mist.