We got back to the Centre from a weekend in Lyon safe and sound late Monday evening, a bit wet, a bit more tired, and very glad to be home. Early that afternoon, I sensed that I was going to be enjoying a lovely case of diarrhea, picked up from goodness knows what. By the time we made it to the train station, I was feeling faint, likely from dropping blood pressure, so I had to lie down in the first outside and then in the waiting room, which looked just great. One very kind young professional woman even volunteered to call an ambulance, but we only wanted to get on the train and get home. Janice got some kind worker to take me by wheelchair to our train car and look after our baggage (and I was so out of it I neglected to tip him!) The two-hour TGV ride passed quickly, though it was 30 minutes late because "a person had an accident" (suicide? announcements have to be vague, but people looked concerned). The porter in Lyon kindly signaled ahead to Paris, indicating that some old disoriented guy needed a wheel chair if ever he was to get to a taxi stand. Much to my surprise, a guy showed up, all smiles. The taxi queue was the fastest moving queue I have ever seen, four rows deep and utterly bewildering, but our guy deftly sized up the situation jumped across lanes and got us a taxi. By 10 p.m., it was pouring rain, so we felt great in the cab, avoiding the 12-minute walk from the 2nd métro to the Centre.
But let me back up a bit. By scheduling ourselves for the 7 p.m. train back to Paris, we essentially got an additional day in Lyon (we arrived Friday noon, left early Monday evening). Fortunately, I had already paid an additional €15 to keep our tiny hotel room until 5 p.m.--in my condition, an absolute bargain. The weather report promised light rain nearly all day and proved to be more or less correct. We nevertheless took a long walk Monday morning from our ibis hotel, across the River Saône, and turned north to see what was up in 'them there hills'. I had ventured into that area a bit on the previous day, found it interesting, and also found that I was really and truly lost. After uncounted twists and turns, under the overcast sky I had no idea which direction was north. I asked a local, and even he had to think a bit. When I got back to ibis, I immediately loaded a compass app onto my new phone.
On our way, we encountered an enterprising juggler performing while cars waited for the light to change. He wasn't very good, but will likely improve by the end of summer.
From the bridge, we also saw a park for skate boarders all nicely covered with graffiti. Some guys were sleeping rough under the bridge, so we stayed above.
Not many blocks later, the ascent up to the plateau came into view, enough to make my knees beg for mercy, just in anticipation. There were some 70+ steps in each half of the ascent. In this photo, it is difficult to see the small restaurant to the right of the stairs, but it seems to be a going concern (however, this was a Monday, and Lyon treats Mondays the way we used to treat Sundays--stores close). The Restaurant Le Jardin Gourmand may well satisfy gourmands but the 'garden' seems to consist of a few flower pots. The outdoor space is obviously limited by the encroaching buildings, and the tiny patio would have been expensive to construct, but what a lovely view for an afternoon coffee or summer evening dinner.
The second half of the climb looked discouraging similar to the first half. I didn't get a photo of the two idiots who were out for their noon run, actually running down these steps, two at a time, turning feet sideways in order to catch just enough of every other step in order to support their weight. I was simply frozen by shock and unbelief. The steps were not made for running. I image that they also ran back up.
Janice was bewildered that I would even bother to take the following photo, but I wanted to honour other would-be growers of plants, like myself, who can kill off most any plant that money can buy. This is the kind of gardening I understand.
Every now and then a narrow alley-walkway would appear between buildings. My 85mm lens could not get both the verticality of the apartments and the steep stairs, so I settled for the buildings. (Wish I could go back and correct this.) In the old days, I can imagine seeing clotheslines stretched between buildings, but perhaps that might not be very French.
I came across a very simple menu posted outside a restaurant that was closed on Mondays, but I liked its listing of local goodies:
- Terrine maison, the house terrine, which likely changes regularly, and in Lyon likely features pork.
- Gratin de tripes. One Lyonnaise recipe (from a butcher in Lyon) suggests 2 kg of tripe (raw cow's stomach), 2 raw calf's feet, 500 gr of pork rind, 16 onions (a minimum, I'd say), 4 carrots, 1 liter of red Beaujolais, 1 liter of white veal stock, 3 tbs of tomato paste, one celery stalk, 1 bouquet garni (leek leaf enclosing a bay leaf, a sprig of thyme, 6 parsley stems--all tied together with butcher's string), 30 grams of unsalted butter, some peanut oil, salt and pepper). I'm guessing that other spices can be added. In any case, in this culture, one still eats the entire animal via special dishes and not just as hamburgers and indistinguishable sausages.
- Saucisson chaud. (Click on the term to get a recipe from the NYTimes.) These garlic pork sausages are something I would like to try when I get home, but getting the proper Lyonnaise sausages in Vancouver will prove challenging. You layer sliced potatoes and sliced garlic sausage, with various herbs, butter, etc. and then bake it. Simple. Most local dishes are.
- Tête de veau (veal head) uses as much of the calf head as possible, skin and all. There is even a Brotherhood of Tête de Veau aficionados. There is also a somewhat bizarre group, the Club de la Tête de Veau which meets in Paris every January 21st to celebrate the beheading of Louis XVI--obviously by eating heads made into sausages. My guess is that none of the members have royal blood.
- Pied de porc grillé, grilled pig feet, and yes, ideally one gets the entire hoof up to the first joint, all of which sits right there on your plate--photo off the web, there's no way I'm going to order the thing--and of course, if you're eating something as elegant as a tasty pig's foot, you would want a white table cloth and good china and appropriate wine.
This a specialty in Lyon (and far beyond). I had some pig's foot that was finely chopped (including a bit of somewhat tasteless crunchy cartilage) and nicely spiced, served cold as an appetizer (called an entrée in France), as well as some tête de veau. I doubt that I'll be asking for seconds on the pig's feet just right away, but the veal head was nice. Nearly every restaurant menu I read in Lyon seemed to offer both. Anyway, the next photo shows that, for our very first dinner in Lyon, I was brave, year verily very very brave. On the left of the plate is chopped veal foot (or was it pig's foot, I likely cannot distinguish just yet) and on the right is tête de veau.
- Andouillette Bobosse. This prized sausage of calf stomachs and pork bellies comes from the famous charcuterie (butcher shop which also sells all kinds of cold cuts) in Les Halles Paul Bocuse, the covered market named after the region's most famous chef. Our ibis hotel was across the street from the market. I bought one of his cookbooks during our stay in Paris in the 1980s. The Andouillette Bobosse (click to get the site and photos) can be ordered ahead and is available either as cooked sous vide (80C, like brother Mark's dishes) or for grilling. It is then eaten on a baguette or simply as an ordinary sausage.
I should do a blog just on graffiti in Lyon because it looked so great. I suppose that it is really more of an art form using spray paint cans, than simple graffiti.
Finally, some more views from the top.
We ate our noon meal at a restaurant that was so packed with locals that I dared not take a photo. We were lucky to get a table, crowded right next to another table in a glassed-in room looking out toward a school. If someone wanted to enter or leave a table, tables had to be moved.
Janice spent the afternoon in a museum on the history of silk production in Lyon, formerly one of the world's centers for manufacturing silk, and I took several buses home realizing that I was not feeling so hot. But now we're 'home' and after a full day of resting, I am much revived. I had some good French emmental for lunch, the really mild kind like Dad used to enjoy.
Michel phoned this noon to ensure that I will indeed be taking our rented car to Geneva for our concert this Saturday. He and William think that we will be able to obtain petrol, in spite of the various series of nation-wide strikes, so we are going to risk it. While still in Vancouver, I had ordered a Twingo, the smallest car available through the local Avis, so if I drive sanely (big "if"), we should make it down to Switzerland, where gas is readily available.
All for now, with love from us both,
Evan
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