Travel

As part of my ongoing programme of social engagements I went to Lyon with my Monday night book club. We’ve never been anywhere before and we were, in fact, supposed to go away last year to celebrate our 25th anniversary but the logistics defeated us and we went on St. Patrick’s weekend this year. I think this shows that this was no passing fancy, no last minute decision; it was a well planned operation.

Why then, with my passport not due to expire until May did I chose to send it for renewal on February 21? In part, I was influenced by all those letters to the papers saying “hats off to the passport service, I got mine the next day”. In fairness, most people seem to get theirs within a week (like Mr. Waffle, for example, who was in no rush). The website however, says that turnaround time is 10 working days. And they don’t hold themselves to that. So I was flying out on my long planned weekend away on March 13 and despite regularly staring at the passport tracking bit of the Department of Foreign Affairs website did it come in one day, or one week, or even two working weeks? It did not. It came on March 10 which was very, very welcome. Also my birthday so good on a range of levels, what a birthday thrill. But my advice to you is don’t be an eejit; get your passport renewed in good time.

Friday 13 March

Off I went to the airport, clutching my new passport (with unbelievably hideous photo, of course) triumphantly in my paw. There were 9 of us travelling and we were all going at slightly different times but there was a good crowd of us at the airport and we decided to get one of those city pass type things. I never normally do this as I just am not convinced that you will save money but I was swayed by the group dynamic.

The flight passed off peacefully. Personally, I would have got a taxi to the hotel (I am always making Mr. Waffle suffer in this way as, quite genuinely, there is nothing he enjoys more than the challenge of negotiating a foreign public transport system) but again I was swayed by the group and our Lyon pass included public transport. Going in by tram and metro was a bit tricky but basically grand but when we got to our hotel we could not work out how to get to it from the station which it was right beside. This sounds weird but in their wisdom the city fathers built a large motorway and a huge 1970s train station/transit hub/bus station thing on the foot of the island on which the city is built and our hotel was on the far side of these impressive, though in retrospect unwise, infrastructure projects.

As we were standing around in a tourist gaggle a young man came running up to me. Pointing to a woman who was striding off rapidly but apparently unconcernedly, he said, “She took your wallet but I got it back!” and handed it to me. I thought he was a scam artist but he walked off, I was holding my wallet, and the others had seen him and her engaging in some class of a row. I am pleased to confirm that nothing was missing from my wallet – there have been no repercussions and the young man appears to have been a good Samaritan. It filled my heart with gladness and, obviously, getting my wallet back before I had noticed it was missing was very satisfactory indeed.

We ducked under the motorway (unpleasant) and found our hotel. She was a grand old lady – a railway hotel for the 19th century station which still stood but was completely overshadowed by the, if nothing else extremely large, new 1970s structure. The hotel – now a Mercure – had definitely fallen on hard times but there was something very appealing about her faded grandeur and also I was upgraded from a single to a double and where would you be going for three night’s accommodation for €300 including balcony view of the railway lines? Happily my bedroom looked over the bijou 19th century station rather than the 1970s light blocking, looming monstrosity and the M6 motorway.

When I told my friend who knows Lyon well about our hotel location he said succinctly “Perrache [train station zone] is a kip”. Unwelcome and belated analysis.

Lyon is full of magnolia trees on the street as we observed on our initial exploratory trip and they were just beginning to bloom. We had a pleasant aperitif and then one of our number had booked us in to a lovely local restaurant for dinner. Another member – alas not present – had pumped her colleague in the Lyon office for tips and they did not disappoint.

All was not, however, entirely well as the son of one of the group had managed to knock himself out while skiing. Conversation with his mother “What happened?” Him “I can’t remember, I’m concussed.” He was with a friend and taken by ambulance for a scan at a larger hospital. His mother was extremely calm all things considered but, you know, not ideal (spoiler alert – he was, happily, fine and able to fly home the next day as planned – he continues to be fine).

On our return to the hotel as we tackled the underpass of doom, one of the group tripped and, rather dramatically, cut herself with her glasses. She was covered in blood in a truly impressive way. She was wearing a beige coat and it really showed the gallons of blood she appeared to have lost and she turned white as a sheet. Even the pavement was covered in blood; they’re probably used to that in the underpass. When we got back to the hotel they wanted us to go to A&E but we pointed to our doctor member and said, “She’s a doctor and she says it’s fine”. She was right too. Apparently cuts around the eye bleed a lot but aside from a black eye, the injured party was grand and pretty chirpy in the morning. Nonetheless, it was slightly inauspicious, I would have to concede.

Saturday 14 March

Undaunted by the previous day, we set out to explore. Did you know Lyon specialises in knives and silk? Well, it does and you can learn lots about both. Just in case you were wondering, the carré Hermès is made near Lyon.

We split into two museum delegations; one to the Musée des Confluences (Lyon is the point where the Rhone and the Saône meet and this museum was at that very point on the tip of the peninsula). Those who went there pronounced it very satisfactory. Sadly, I didn’t get there even though I would have got in free with my Lyon pass – next time.

The rest of us went to the Musée des Beaux Arts. You know how I love a regional art gallery. There was a lot to love there so brace yourself.

This is not a great photo of a picture by François-Auguste Biard entitled Baie de la Madeleine au Spitzberg.

But look, look, he’s included his own self-portrait. Is he enjoying himself in his 1841 plein air adventure? I think not.

I truly enjoyed these large perpendicular canvasses hung beside each other. They’re from 1905 and show men and women gathered in their separate groups when the car broke down. They’re by Jacques Émile Blanche. Good man Jacques Émile.

How about the ricotta eaters by Vincenzo Campi. Pretty good eh? A bit too real perhaps.

And how about this guy? Got to love him. Great content from Alexandre Séon.

Do we need a comment here? Thank you Albert Maignan for amusing a simple art gallery goer. Please feel free to guess what the subject is.

This is interesting by Pascal Dagnan-Bouveret painted in 1879. Two worlds collide.

I love a snowy scene. This is quietly delightful by Monet. I have to say much better in person than in the photograph.

I have saved the best to last. There was a whole room dedicated to a series of works by one Louis Janmot. It features 18 (yeah, you heard me) pictures depicting the voyage of a soul. The painter had some issues with education. Here the two children (the soul) climb the staircase of knowledge. The, not very sympathetically portrayed, individuals watching them are professors. Basically the way of education is doom. The panel beside this picture explains that the artist, a fervent (and clearly crazy) catholic, is violently attacking lay university education. Ladies and gentlemen, he is indeed.

It doesn’t get any better when they get to the top of the stairs and, gasp, enter university. The old woman here represents science. The accompanying panel tells us the artist was against university as it removed young people from the wholesome environment of the family. You betcha. I mean, lads, the whole thing is worth a look.

I had the time of my life. And I quite liked the hôtel de ville outside as well. Though, that’s probably not a picture they’ll be using on their postcards.

We had agreed that after our cultural morning we would regroup en masse in the Halles Paul Bocuse. My mother had a special devotion to Paul Bocuse and it was nice to see him looming above us; he’s a big man locally.

The Halles were undistinguished looking but my goodness the inside was heaving and full of delicious food and many, many restaurants. I thought we were unlikely to get a table for nine but we did and we had a spectacular lunch. I would truly recommend.

I saw this poster and I liked it. “How can you govern a country which has 246 varieties of cheese?” as De Gaulle apparently said. For cheese lovers.

We then went in different directions to explore the town. We got more exploring than we bargained for as there was a demonstration and no trams running (there is a metro, I can’t believe Lyon has a metro and Dublin doesn’t). If you squint you can see the demonstrators below, general left wing unhappiness apparently in reaction to a right wing demonstration the previous week. Love the French.

I found this very fancy and enormous shopping centre and Intercontinental hotel which in previous centuries had been the hospital. Here it is on the right bank of the river.

And here is one of the, confusingly many, marbled courtyards inside.

I went on to the tourist office to see what else might be on offer. I decided to book myself in to the tour of Lyon and thought some of the others might be interested as well (covered by our Lyon pass!). I went up to the desk. A queue formed behind me as I discussed tour options with F (yes, we learnt each other’s names). I explained I had a Lyon pass as did some but not all of my group. F retrieved my dossier from the computer (not before discovering that there was someone else with the same very weird surname – for French people, I guess – as me in Lyon that weekend – “You mean there are two people of this name here at once?” she chuckled.) The queue grew behind me. F did not care. “I’m not sure,” said I with a glance at the queue “whether all my group will want to come, I might step aside and message them and come back to you?” “No, no, madam,” said she, “message your friends while you wait at the counter.” I did and, mercifully, they responded speedily though F was indifferent to delay. She found all of the Lyon pass people on the computer and added their tour tickets to my dossier, she added the non-Lyon pass people and I have to say the whole thing was rather marvellous and I felt the joy of the person who finally gets inside the system. After our lengthy engagement, she said, “Vous parlez, quand même, assez bien le Français.” I live for the slightly dismissive compliment bestowed by the French bureaucrat.

We had drinks in the hotel before dinner. This was in a famous Lyon restaurant called Brasserie Georges. I had booked it ages ago on the advice of our contact in Lyon and as we walked in, I basked in the admiring comments of the group. Sadly we walked and we walked (the restaurant is enormous) and ended up in an ignominious back room where they had large groups. I mean it was nice but lacked the glamour of the (huge) front of house where large tables of people were singing and rotating napkins in the air above their heads (is it only French people do this to celebrate?). Still, dinner was delicious and somebody suggested we should have champagne to start so we did. And we had a fantastic evening. Three courses, champagne and lots of wine, total bill per head? €50. I know French salaries are lower but seriously, are we being fleeced in Ireland? It feels like we might be.

We had another drink in the hotel bar afterwards and then rolled off to bed.

Sunday 15 March

Three of us went out for breakfast together. We went to a slightly shabby cafe but we each had a perfect croissant, tea/coffee and a squeezed orange juice for a fiver each. I refer to my earlier comment about the cost of eating out in Ireland.

We all met at the tourist office at 10. F came rushing up to me, “Madame, bonjour”. I felt beloved, I’ll tell you. The tour guide began by asking where we were all from and I felt a bit sorry for the young Irish man who had moved there the week before and found himself surrounded by, basically, 9 versions of his mother (who almost certainly recommended that he do the tour in the first place).

Anyway, the tour was superb. We went to the old town which we hadn’t yet visited. Lyon is unusual in that they built the new 18th century town across the river so the older renaissance/medieval town wasn’t flattened as is so often the case. They planned to bulldoze it in the 1960s but genius André Malraux scuppered them by listing the whole area (previously it had been building by building) though apparently the mayor wasn’t delighted. The whole area had been very run down until the 1980s but they started to revitalise it then and now it is lovely.

We were shown a number of “traboules” which are public passageways that cut through private buildings – the old town has largely built roads parallel to the river and the traboules were used to move sideways. It was very peculiar to go through what really looked like a private house. And it was much more venerable looking on the inside than the outside. Apparently, the traboules were much used by the Resistance during the war.

The buildings were quite Italianate on the inside and there were many rich Italian merchants who settled in the town including a family called Gadagne whose house is now a museum and who were so rich that they still apparently say “Riche comme Gadagne” in Lyon.

Almost the whole of the peninsula (where the 18th/19th century city was built) and the old town were pedestrianised. It made for a delightful walking around experience. “How long has it been pedestrianised?” I asked the guide expecting to hear 20 years but no, “A couple of months,” she said and there was still some unhappiness about it in some commercial quarters but the residents loved it. I was fascinated. See, it can be done.

Excellent (and car free) as the tour was, by the end we were all pretty tired. Up to then people had been joining the group from Dublin but the first two had to slip away during the tour. Just before lunch, someone else had to leave. It’s not as much fun when people are going as when they are arriving.

After lunch we contemplated the boat trip (covered by the Lyon pass you will be unsurprised to hear) but it was freezing so we took the funicular up to look at the view of Lyon instead.

The Basilica (hideous from outside and dominating the top of the hill) was actually, surprisingly impressive inside.

And we also inspected the large Roman amphitheater

We walked back to the hotel via a cafe I had recommended to me by my friend F at the tourist office. Very satisfactory.

Isn’t this spot I passed rather appealing?

While I was happy to eat foie gras and animal innards forever (these seem to be local specialities) others were becoming restive. That evening we went to the lovely restaurant quarter and despite the many attractive French restaurants opted for a pasta joint which was quite nice and made a break from offal (but why, why would you want a break from offal?).

Monday 16 March

My last day, alas. I was very keen to explore the old town and its rich array of tourist tat shops. I arrived and it was deserted. All the shops were closed. I was astounded. News flash: shops in Lyon close on Monday and that includes the tourist shops. I had the whole of vieux Lyon to myself and while it gave me many atmospheric photos, I would have liked to buy a tea towel. I am such a philistine.

I went back to the peninsula where the big shops were open alright but all of the smaller ones were closed. I went to the Monoprix (I love the Monoprix) and as I was paying for my purchases, I said to the young woman behind the counter that I was surprised that so many shops were closed on Monday and she replied as though speaking to a half wit “It’s because they are all open on Saturday and they have Monday off then.” I applaud this in principle but in practice, it meant my present buying had to wait for the airport.

The airport was a bit of a rush but fine in the end because we had allowed plenty of time; I would not say that the security queue was a model of efficiency.

All in all, it was a huge success and we’re going to do it again next year, logistics permitting. I think the success was due to us all liking the same kind of thing and then whatever way the group split up everyone got on and, as another friend pointed out, we were all thrilled to actually be on holidays. I would recommend Lyon, the Lyon pass (though I am not entirely convinced that I recouped my full payment despite valiant efforts in this regard but it was very handy) and also the bookclub break which I did a lot of piloting work on over the course of March.

May I congratulate you for reading to the end of this epic post?