Underdressed and Out of Place

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We put the black out blinds in our room down by mistake, and wake up at 9am thinking it's still the middle of the night.

We walk across to Old Lyon in search of somewhere to get breakfast. Issy's not keen to cross Place Bellecour. She says the en-tout-cas will get into her shoes and make her feet hurt. The square's enormous, and I'm sure they could hold multiple tennis tournaments here simultaneously if they felt so inclined. It seems that the good residents of Lyon aren't into breakfasting in cafes. Grabbing a breadstick and a few croissants from the local boulangerie and munching on them at the kitchen table must be more their thing.

The next square on the itinerary is covered in grass. Wherever we've seen grass in French towns it's usually been accompanied by signs threatening heavy penalties on anyone daring to set foot on it. Issy says she thinks that French grass must be very sensitive. I think it's a good way to protect it, and I'm now considering bringing something similar in at home, only for people of course; our beloved pets Coco and Sid would still be allowed free rein. I might also consider a concession for family members, but only for a few minutes at a time on special occasions.

We've read about the traboules here in Lyon, which are passageways between the streets. They date back to the 4th century and were established by silk makers and other merchants to enable them to move their goods quickly around the town. Apparently there are hundreds of these here, and the city's famous for them. We see a tour group going through a door off a street and assume that it probably leads into a traboule. We follow them, and find ourselves in a maze of passageways which seem to lead in all directions.

We give up on breakfast and catch a furnicular up Fourviere Hill. First stop are the ruins of two Roman amphitheatres, the larger of which is being set up for a concert. We read that these structures are believed to have been built in about 15 BC, and the larger one could at one time hold up to 10,000 people. We go into the very extensive and impressive Gallo-Roman Museum next door. Although it's very large, it's been carefully built into the side of the hill so it's scarcely noticeable from the outside. Apparently the Romans established themselves in Lyon, or Lugdunum as it was then known, way back in 43 BC and it then became the headquarters of the Empire in Gaul.

We continue walking up Fourviere Hill towards the Basilica Notre-Dame de Fourviere. It's nearly 40 degrees and we're now both thirsty and hungry. Places to eat and drink seem to be in short supply, so Issy says that we should go into the first cafe or restaurant we see. We hear the clicking of glasses, and enter the establishment that this seems to be coming from. We're asked if we have a reservation. We respond that we haven't but we're shown to a table anyway. The view over the city is stunning. We soon notice that our fellow diners are mostly older, very proper looking , and immaculately well-dressed. We would have been quite happy with a roll and a drink sitting on a park bench, but it seems that we've stumbled into a posh restaurant. We're clearly very underdressed, and are now feeling very uncomfortable and out of place. I'm surprised they let us in. I feel the eyes of the other patrons boring into the us. I order a Sprite. The waiter says they don't have any, and the look he gives me suggests that such common drinks are probably beneath them. We order main courses, eat them as quickly as possible, and sneak out as quietly and unobtrusively as we can.

We walk through the impressive Basilica. The chapel in the crypt beneath it is nearly as big as the main church. It's hot and time for a siesta. We trudge back down the hill into Old Lyon via a steep windy path through a large and impressive forested park with an extensive rose garden.

Dinner last night was excellent, so we decide to return to Old Lyon again tonight. Issy wants to go back to the same restaurant, but I convince her that you can't come to a city renowned for its gastronomy for two nights and have dinner at the same restaurant on both of them. We pick a different restaurant on a different small square. Issy orders liver with a good supply of chips for us to share. I taste one of the chips and quickly conclude that I've died and gone to heaven. If there was a competition for the world's best chips right now, these would win hands down. We'd heard that Lyon was famous for its food. We'd assumed that this meant posh French food, and certainly hadn't expected that the local master chefs would be bothering to apply their culinary skills to the humble chip.

I wonder why all French people aren't morbidly obese. Their diet seems to consist of lots of cheese, croissants and rich desserts. All their main courses seem to come doused in gallons of creamy sauces, and everyone eats a couple of bread sticks with every meal. They should all be so gross they can hardly waddle down the street. They should be, but they're not. Maybe they're all exercise junkies. I've seen a few people running and riding bikes, but not as many as in Melbourne. Maybe they all hide away in gyms. Perhaps they all worry a lot. They don't seem to; most of them look very relaxed. I don't want to think too much about other possible reasons because most of the ones I've come up with involve either chronic diseases or eating disorders. Maybe I should just ask a French person. I wonder if they'll tell me. I think it might be some deep dark French secret.

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Photos

Roman Ruins on Fourviere Hill
I don't think this show did well at the box office