Koobazaur's Domain

The Megabus arrived predictably late, but it did not stop me and my friend from enjoying late night bustling of the city and the myriad of sights, smells and tastes over the next three days.

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A British Welcome

“The Lyon folk like their British pubs,” Pete remarked as we boarded the metro in a mad frenzy of catching the last ride of the night. Being a Brit himself, it was only fitting we stopped by one on the way home to enjoy a bit of a Friday night proper. With shoddy French, I ordered my Belgian demi La Chouffe and chatted the night away about our life stories and the French culture. Despite knowing Pete “virtually” for a number of years, I realized, I did not really know him that well.

Old Lyon

The late morning began with the Jean Paul cathedral overlooking the entire city. God’s eye visible from almost any point below, reminding its denizens divine powers are always watching. We walked down the steep hill to Lyon Vieux (Old Lyon) where hundreds of years of tradition meet contemporary artistic minds. The winding and suffocating passageways filled with odd shops, brasseries and traditional Bouchon restaurants burst with character reminiscent of Warsaw’s old town, but ten times as dense.

We reached the lowest point and began climbing again towards popular Croix-Rousse. It was then that Pete pointed the real gem in the maze of streets: the hidden art in every nook and cranny. Whether elaborate graffiti hidden in a side street or tiny stickers on a lamppost, the peculiar statements were often put in the obscure places that require deliberate attention to really notice. One could write a whole anthropological dissertation on the topic, but I will just leave you with some pictures.

As we took a break at another beautiful vista, I noticed there never seemed to be a dearth of them. While many cities have that one nice square or a cool hangout spot, Old Lyon felt more like an endless chain of these. Every time we turned a corner, a new treat awaited. The youngsters sat on the grass jamming together, others drank beer in the open, and mothers with strollers passed by amiably. Everyone was enjoying their lazy Saturday.

The Almost-Peninsula and French Brasseries

With the sun still refusing to cross the horizon, we walked back down over the bridge into the center of Lyon. The densely packed architecture was replaced by modernized grid-like system, yet sparing no effort to show its old culture. Like Paris, a historical cathedral or monument could be seen at almost every other corner. The plaza in front of Hôtel de ville and the Opera was brimming with life, the iconic red Place Bellecour doubled as a staging area for various events and parades.

A pleasantly common element of the French city are the Pâtisseries / Boulangeries pumping irresistible smells of warm pastries and breads into the streets. Equally plentiful are the Brasseries, half-bar half-cafes where everyone leisurely sips their drink enjoying the day. The chairs in front are always pointed outwards, as Pete brought up, because people watching is a must in France. It was time for us to sit down and stare as well.

French Wines, Live Music and Blood!

We sipped French wine watching a local artist’s rendition of “Stars Shining Bright Above me…” as the waiter forgot about us and the gentry melted into the melodic evening. No one here ever seems in a hurry. The food will come when it is ready. The waiter will not check on you, unless necessary. The check… oh, why hasten the unpleasant inevitability anyway? Alas, with our stomachs beginning to grumble and first rain drops making an appearance, it was time to head out.

We stopped by Le Lucirin for a simple Lyon meals and more wine. Pete went with his favorite steak, while I opted for something I did not properly have since leaving Poland over a decade ago: blood sausage, a delicious mix of meat and intestines in the tar-black nutritious liquid. While the combination undoubtedly sounds abhorrent to many, I cannot stress how absolutely amazing it was, perfectly balancing the spices, saltiness, and meaty flavor. It is one of those meals you simply cannot stop eating. And yet, the real feast of Lyon would await us tomorrow.

Pushing through the rain we made it back up the hill and relaxed with some hot tea and more beer. Worn down after a whole day of eventful walking, both of us peacefully succumbed to slumber.

Five-course meal at a traditional Bouchon

Previously foreshadowed Lyonese Bouchon “Café des Federations” Pete took me to was one of the finest examples of what French cuisine means. A meal that lasted three hours and catered to every palate imaginable.

The pleasantly chatty staff started us off with savory poached egg in wine sauce followed by diverse starter of wild boar meat, sausages, lentils and traditional Lyon salad with egg and ham in zesty yellow sauce. The similar-sounding American cobb salad would shrivel in shame. We paced ourselves with the basket of breads awaiting the main course.

And it arrived, Tête de veau – entire calf’s head rolled and boiled in various spices. Once again, a seemingly disgusting descriptor hides an uttermost delicacy! With a complete cross-section of the animal it featured the tender meat that melted in your mouth as well as the tougher muscles for a bit of texture, all wrapped in fatty skin to accentuate the flavors. Dipped in the sauce with some potatoes and capers, the variety hit all the palates in one go.

Just when we were getting full came the cheese platter. With six different kinds of fromages, from delicate cottage cheese all the way to sharp and pungent Lyon speciality, a fatty treat was an odd addition after already really filling three courses. But the French got to have their cheese, right? I cannot complain given how even the tiniest slivers were so flavorful one could always find room for a bit more.

Finally arrived the dessert, a moist and chestnut-y Moelleux châtaigne in a sweet creamy sauce reminiscent of dulce de leche. Not having a sweet tooth, it was pleasant to find the soft cake not overpowering, even if I could not finish it at this point (much to the disappointment of our waitress).

Three hours since walking in, we thanked the staff profusely for the feast and set out for more venturing, with enough nutrients and flavors to keep us going for the rest of the day. It was a deal worth every penny – well, Euro…

The Smells of Lyon and Contemporary East Side

Walking straight through a farmer’s market, what caught my attention was the volatile smell. When passing the mushrooms, I immediately sensed their earthiness. Second later, the cheeses aisle eluded a seductively pungent odor. And later, fruits called to you with their sweetness. It felt unusual, yet pleasing, since most US farmer’s markets I’ve been to do not really have much of a smell unless you shove your face into the displayed goods. Likewise, the Polish Bazarek is a more permanent structure with the shacks hiding most of the treats inside and overpowering them with fragrance of old wood.

We got further east this time, crossing the second river. In an overfed stupor we definitely felt more languid than yesterday, but enjoyed the walk down the coastline featuring boat-restaurants and numerous ornaments. I would return here again on my last day to witness the two guys broing it out.

The description revealed it was not two, but in fact one man holding himself. A clever statement against social dependence, promoting one’s own strength.

If the peninsula was a more modern version of old Lyon, the east side of the two rivers continued the trend further. It felt much like a typical westernized city in Europe. Sure there still was the occasional monument and patisseries filled the corners, but the overall street layouts and architecture definitely embraced the 21st century. There was no shortage of cheap shops ran by migrant workers either, whatever the local usually-detested migrant variety happens to be (fun fact: it’s the Polish and gypsies in North Ireland!)

One last bite of French Tradition

The evening was pretty calm after two nights of adventurous drinking. Listening to the two Boyds play with their daughter was a nice homely atmosphere to sink into amidst hectic travels and hostels. Pete’s wife Christy treated me to one last French delicacy I wanted to try: the famous escargot snails. While the garlic-pesto sauce was a little too generous, I enjoyed the texture and flavor beneath. Definitely would go for more again.

Once again, slept well.

Au Revoir, Lyon

I spent the last day with more aimless wandering and stopping by cafes to catch up on work, grab a genuine French Croissant, and look up some trains leaving from Zurich (spoiler alert!) Typical brasseries are not best suited for long, laptop-powered work sessions and the waiters will make it known, but by now I found more freelancer-friendly cafes besides Starbucks.

Two hours before my nightly departure, I grabbed one last beer for old time’s sake and watched the clock slowly tick away. The slight buzz assuaged the frustrating search for my Ouibus stop at a multi-level, complex terminal. It also helped to lull me to sleep, and I would not wake up until far, far past the eastern border. But Torino, Italy, is a story for another blog!

Retrologue: France, more genuine than I thought

I must begin with huge thanks to Pete and his wife Christy, who ensured I had an absolutely fulfilling time. I am certain there’s hundreds more layers to Lyon I could dig into, but for just two days, I cannot think of anything else I wanted to do. I was content to move on to the next location with no regrets.

So what do I think of France? Well, my opinion veered heavily towards the positive. All the stereotypes are kind of true – the artsiness, obsession with wines and cheeses or lack of punctuality, to name a few – but surprisingly in a good way.

The artsiness does not come off pretentious as I felt abroad; monuments and vistas are not an occasional icon but a de-facto element of the city layout, validated by hundreds of years of interesting history. Culinary obsession translates to genuine appreciation of food and superb quality for reasonable prices. And the “French Lateness” really means everyone takes their time to enjoy whatever they are doing rather than rushing towards their next appointment.

While I did miss out on experiencing the French social life (which I admit I still have some qualms about), I would definitely be keen on returning and giving the country a longer go. Lyon would be an excellent starting point.

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