Ok, this has the potential to be a monster blog entry, so I shall get stuck right in. We had our planned fish & chips evening at St Front on Wednesday with Lewis and Pary. We were also joined by Pary’s sister who was over visiting. Upon arrival we bumped into Guillaume and Babeth who live nearby and were taking advantage of the takeaway service. They’re well and we made tentative plans to catch up later this month.
It was a pleasant evening so we all ate outside, where their many tables soon filled up. Dad and Matt were both still feeling rough so we didn’t dally long after the meal. We made plans to see Lewis and Pary one more time over the weekend as they’re headed back to Paris this week to resume their teaching jobs.
Dad left us bright and early the following morning. He’d not been able to get an overnight crossing, but wanted to get back home in time for Mum’s final day of work on Friday, so went with a day crossing instead. Ridgit called by that morning to collect Matt and Jan and they all went to Miallet to walk around the lake. Meanwhile, I did my first workout in over a week, and then gave the house a wee clean. That evening, Eva and Virginie came over for an aperitif, sans Benoît, who was working in Bordeaux. Eva’s never been to Amsterdam before and really wants to go with us two, old hands that we are, so the idea was to discuss the logistics of our trip. We ended up putting it on hold for now as Eva doesn’t really have the funds, and Amsterdam’s an expensive city. We had espressotinis with chips and guacamole to start, and then persuaded the ladies to stay for a meal too, which was a barbecue. Virginie can be quite the chatterbox when Benoît’s not around and this evening was no exception.
We had yet another social activity the following evening: we invited Bryan & Carol and Ridgit over for a meal. Ridgit had met Carol before, but not Bryan, but they all seemed to get along well. Like the previous evening, we had aperos outside and then moved indoors to eat. The meal was a hit: Matt’s fig and onion tart, a roasted vegetable salad, and a strawberry and tomato salad courtesy of Jan, who also made the dessert.
We had a quieter day on Saturday, but it was not without social activity. First Benoît came over in the afternoon to firm up plans for our terrace. He’d done up a detailed drawing of how he sees it and it all seemed fine to us, so we gave the go-ahead. It’s going to cost more than we originally planned, but the plan involves doing a proper driveway, the terrace, a small dry-stone wall and various other little touches that all sound lovely. He stayed for a drink afterwards and then headed back. Lewis showed up as Benoît was leaving, and to our surprise, Pary came too. We had cocktails outside with them for an hour or and then said our goodbyes. We had a quiet and early night, with a final game of Euchre that I just about managed to win, by 1 point.
The next morning we headed off to Lyon, arriving there at around 3.30 after a painless drive. Our hotel was right in the centre of town, so was ideally located for sight-seeing. Aftering checking in we went for a long, meandering stroll around the old town, then sat outside at a bar for an aperitif on one of the city’s many places. That evening, we found a restaurant to eat at, opting for one of the many traditional “bouchon Lyonnais”.
Lyon has a few special words that are peculiar to the region, such as calling them “comptoirs” instead of cafés, or “gones” instead of “gamins” (kids). One of the best-known of these is the “bouchon”, which is essentially like a bistro-restaurant: smallish, with decent, local cuisine. There are about 20 official bouchons in Lyon. “Bouchon” means cork, stopper, traffic jam or blockage, and I’d assumed the idea behind the name was that you went there to get “bouché” (blocked up, or filled up). However, we subsequently learned* that it derives from a 16th century word for a bunch of straw – un bouchon. These were used to wipe down customer’s horses while they dined at the restaurant. It seems over the years, bouchon became synonymous with restaurant in Lyon.
If I list every dish that we had during our stay, this entry would turn into a novel, so I shall paraphrase by noting that the food at this particular bouchon was exquisite, rich and oh-so filling. Lyon does after all consider itself France’s capital of gastronomy. We dropped Jan off at the hotel afterwards and then headed back out to rediscover the gay scene. We found a couple of the bars we’d visited on our last trip and had a few drinks in each. It was a pleasant evening, but it seemed more subdued than we remembered.
The next morning we rode the funicular train up the hill upon which sit two of the most famous monuments in Lyon. The first is a beautiful basilica called the Basilique Notre Dame de Fourvière. Adjacant to this is a metal tower that looks an awful lot like the Eiffel Tower. This is not a coincidence: while not designed by Eiffel, the tower is a replica of the third floor of Paris’ most famous monument, and was built just five years after its bigger brother. The pleasingly French reason for its construction was to ensure that the highest point in the city was a republican and not a religious monument. We then ambled back down on foot, checking out the sights en route.
We stoppped at a small bistro for lunch and afterwards, we visited the Musée Cinéma et Miniature, a little gem we missed last time. It exhibits various props, costumes and models that were used in films, charting the evolution of special effects in cinema. We got to see things like C3PO from Star Wars, the queen Xenomorph from the classic Alien films, and various dinosaurs from Jurassic park. The other aspect of the museum was as least as fascinating: hand-made miniature scenes, rendered in incredible detail. Pieces included a theatre, a rustic french kitchen, a school room, and the inside of a metro train.
After the museum, we took a boat tour. Lyon boasts not one but two large rivers: Le Rhône and La Saône. The eagle-eyed among you may have noticed that one of these is masculine and one feminine. In fact there are two words for river in French: une rivière, and un fleuve. The major difference is that fleuves always drain into the sea, whereas rivières merge with other rivers instead.
Our boat tour began on La Saône where our guide told us some of the history behind the buildings lining the river banks. After a short ways upstream, we U-turned and rode the Saône down to La Confluence: the point where it meets its twin, Le Rhône. The area in between the two rivers is a presqu’île, or peninsula, and it is the site of some rather bizarre architecture. Plans to create a new neighbourhood on the presqu’île were announced in the late 1700s, but the death of the architect, and then the french revolution, saw them shelved. Regrettably for Lyon, the project was picked up again in the 1990s, by some architects with fancy ideas and a total absence of taste. The result is a series of wildly different and (in my view) wholly ugly monstrosities that jar with the rest of the city. Two of the worst offenders were giant box-shaped buildings, one a violent lime green, the other a neon orange.
We disembarked and found a nearby bar where we enjoyed a spectacular margarita each. For dinner that evening, we tracked down the Brasserie Georges. I won’t describe it again as it’s already been blogged about, but it’s basically a massive restaurant and a Lyonnaise institution that has been there since the early 1800s. We loved it last time, so thought we’d give it another go. Matt and I both had excellent meals, but Jan was a little disappointed with her salmon main, which was ok but nothing special. Jan kindly paid for the meal saying it was an early anniversary gift for us.
That evening, Matt and I hit the bars again, only this time, we tried a new part of town. The first place was just OK, but we ended up spending the rest of our evening at the second one. The owner was a really friendly woman and there were a handful of very chatty and loyal customers at the bar who all affirmed that it was the place to be. We’d not been there long before someone ordered a round of shots for everyone, us included. The place closed soon after, but we all stayed inside smoking, drinking and downing the odd shot. It was a great fun evening, more like how we remembered the scene from our last trip.
Despite a late-ish night, we managed to muster by 10.30 the next morning. We returned to the old town, but this time with a mission: to explore the traboules of Lyon. These are secret passageways hidden away all over the old town that cross through hidden courtyards and spit you out in another part of the town. The word traboule comes from the verb trabouler, which is a slang word meaning to take a short cut.
Despite having been all over the old town, we’d not noticed them before: all you see at street level is a heavy wooden door, which looks like it will lead directly into a building. Open it up however and you’re suddenly in a dark, arched passageway. Several french cities have them, but the most famous are in Lyon. Afterwards, we checked out of our hotel and drove to the train station. We just about had time for lunch before Jan’s train at 2. We dropped her off, made our goodbyes, and then began the drive home. This was uneventful and we made excellent time, getting back just in time for cocktail hour.
And that was the story of that! Au revoir.
*For completeness, I’ve just read that this often-quoted explanation is actually false. In fact, the “cabaretiers” (restaurant owners) of the time ussed to hang a tied up bundle of twigs – or a “Bousche” in old lyonnais – to their doors to advertise their presence. The habit died, but the name remained. So there you go.