We’ve visited France a few times, and I’ve come to realize that France just loves stairs. These at the Opera Garnier in Paris are as fancy as the shows!
Maybe it’s that stairs make the buildings tall and graceful. These help get folks into the Louvre.
Certainly, Cathedrals without stairs wouldn’t be nearly as majestic.
Or maybe it’s that stairs allow so many folks to live in a small space, so transportation is easier. Here are the stairs up to our apartment in Lyon. Forty-six in all, and we are only on the second floor. They are cut from stone. And yes, they really have that little dip in them, because they are hundreds of years old.
Some old buildings have retrofitted elevators, but they are not common, and often don’t work. Newer buildings might have elevators, but aren’t usually located in the central part of the city.
So, as well as counting steps and miles, we can start counting “flights of stairs” on the Apple Fit application. The other day, Bridgett got 18… but she’s a powerhouse.
When two rivers flow together to become one, this is called a confluence. And when a museum is perfectly suited, both architecturally and metaphorically, to its location, this is called Le Musée des Confluences.
This unexpected building has no great facade and almost no right angles, and looks grandly alien against the bright blue sky. The building looks different from every angle, and there is no ‘front’ or ‘back’. It follows no architectural tradition.
The exhibits inside are equally unexpected. The first one we saw was on Dreams, and how societies through time have used and interpreted them. Writings and stories from all over the world were represented in film, art, models, and recordings. Dreams about death, under fascist regimes, and religious visions were included, all considered equally.
There were also a gallery titled “Death… and Then What?” about different societies’ views on whatever life there may be after death. It was fascinating, if a bit dark, but again, handled without the usual Western bias.
There was no “but science NOW knows…” stuck on the end to discredit the other world views.
The galleries, like the building, and like the location, were a confluence, a blending, an acceptance and equal exploration of all views.
This is included in the introduction to the museum, “guests are invited to view the world with curiosity and a sense of wonder.“ This museum sees itself not as a fountain of knowledge or a gatekeeper of information, but a lens through which to look at the world.
One of the things that has fascinated me about Lyon is its history… ancient history. There is evidence of folks living and celebrating here as early as the Iron Age, and when the Roman Empire expanded into this area in 43 BC, they named it Lugdunum.
I have seen some Roman foundations at the Cluny Museum in Paris, which is built on a ancient Roman bath. Still, I wanted to see some actual, outside, “sitting around for more than 2,000 years” ruins.
In Lyon, the Romans their city built high above the Sâone River for defense and sanitation. To get to the Amphitheater of the Three Gauls, we crossed the Rhône, and up some narrow, steep lanes. Slowly, we gained altitude, every now and then catching a glimpse of the city spreading out below us.
On the final push to the hilltop, we found about sixty of them, all painted and pretty, and all going straight up. Oh, my aching quads!
And then, right in the middle of a neighborhood, there it was. The ruins, sitting out in the sun and rain since the year 19 A.D., were there. But they were fenced off. The ancient arena is being used for some city celebration later this month. It was cool, in a way, that those ancient stones being sat on by modern folks.
But I didn’t get to be one of them. Sigh. But history teaches us perspective, right? I know there are OTHER Roman ruins in town, and I know how to get there. An adventure for another day.
Of course, there were stairs going down, too…. But I don’t mind them so much.
Sometimes, the adventure is all about the destination. And sometimes, it’s about the journey.
I was heading off for the Cinema and Miniature Museum, you see. Auntie Bridgett and I had ridden the metro to the Place Bellecour together, and then we parted ways. She was heading for a comics shop, I was heading to the museum.
First, I got distracted and turned around, going north a bit instead of west. But I found the lovely Place des Jacobins, with old buildings and a fountain. So, all was well.
Getting straightened out, I followed Googlemaps …. Down the narrowest, creepiest, most ancient alley I’d ever seen. But I found a bridge across the Saône at the other end of it, so, good again.
After more skinny streets (these were filled with tourists) I found the museum of Cinema and Miniature. It was a pretty impressive collection of sites, props, costumes, and miniatures for dozens of movies.
Ewok costumes from Star Wars, miniature sets from Ghostbusters, and even the Queen Mother from Alien. There were 10 rooms, on six floors, filled with nifty, nerdy movie stuff. Even the world’s most famous umbrella. It was fun, and I’m glad I went.
But there was more adventure to be had elsewhere. I texted Bridgett, who was done at the comics shop, and we met up for coffee.
And the St. Jean Cathedral.
And discovering our first Traboule! (More on that later).
And finally, home for dinner.
So, the museum was tiny, but it was an adventurous day.
When we get to any city, of course we find the art museum. In France, these are called Les Musées des Beaux-Arts. So the other day, we set out for an arty adventure.
The Musée in Lyon is on the Presqu’île, the peninsula that is formed where the Rhône River and the Saône River both run south for a bit before converging. We crossed the Rhône on the Pont Morand and walked right into the middle of the city!
Le Musée is on a wide plaza called Le Place Terreaux, which also has the Hotel de Ville, or City Hall. The first thing that catches your eye is this magnificent, roaring, complicated fountain. Sculpted by August Bertholdi (who also did the Statue of Liberty), it shows France as a woman, riding a chariot pulled by four wild, energetic horses.
The horses represent the four great rivers of France, the Rhône, the Loire, Seine, and the Garrone, with France controlling them in a gushing, turbulent flood. We walked around and around, amazed at the details.
The building that houses the Musée is hundreds of years old and is as beautiful as the art inside. The first staircase is topped with statues that represent the Beatitudes ( “Blessed are they that …” verses from Luke in the New Testament), and were so interesting that it took us twenty minutes to get past them!
I won’t try and tell you about all the art, just let you know that their oldest item is from an early Egyptian dynasty thousands of years ago, and their newest is some crazy ceramics from the early 2000s.
Of course, I loved the paintings, but the variety of sculpture really knocked me out. This tall fairy like person, called Abandoned Psyche, was beautiful, sad and sweet.
This wind-swept figure is called Power of the Will and shows how we all feel sometimes, just standing as straight as we can in the winds of circumstances.
And on our way out, I found the one sculpture I would take home if I could. This slightly larger than life sized dog, resting sweetly, waiting for whatever adventure comes next. I can imagine he would be very satisfying to pet, after a long crazy day.
As we settle into our life here in Lyon, we are having one good sized adventure early in the day, and one smaller walkabout in the afternoon.
Our afternoon adventure the other day led us to St. Pothin, the first church we have been able to go into. Until now, they have been either locked, or full of worshippers.
As we approached, we saw that the door was open and an odd, low growl was in the air. We entered and realized the organist was practicing her low notes at the organ by the altar.
We walked slowly up the main aisle, appreciating the glowing stained glass windows and the perfect proportions of the dome. The organist’s playing got more animated and moved to a minor key, becoming slightly creepy.
As we went up some stairs, the music became more and more menacing, like the soundtrack of a movie just before the monster appears. I was freaking out a bit, to be honest.
We went back down the stairs and Bridgett continued her slow walk, enjoying the art. But all my cinema-trained instincts were telling me to Get.Out. Now. I beat a hasty (but dignified) retreat up the aisle, and waited for Bridgett on the porch.
Turns out, there was no monster, just some really good organ playing by a woman who knows how to evoke a mood. That was our first Lyonnaise church.
If food were the religion of Lyon, (and it kind of is) the high priest would Paul Bocuse. A famous, popular chef born here in Lyon, Monsieur Bocuse was the model for the chef Gousteau in the movie “Ratatouille”.
And today we visited a giant foodie mall named for him! Although he died in 2018, an entire industry uses him as their touchstone.
Dozens of shops and counters, filled edge to edge with beautiful, aromatic food, were staffed by people just aching to show you what they had.
From delicate, perfect pattisserie to organic chickens with their heads still attached, to tidy lines of frog’s legs, if you can eat it, it is here. The smell of sausage and spices was intoxicating, and Grandpa Nelson got a little dizzy and stepped outside.
We saw some old favorites, like the tiny Callisons d’Aix, biscuits made exclusively in the town of Aix. We also found zaatar, a spice blend we enjoyed at Le Rendez-vous in Portland.
And you know we will go back when it’s time to buy souvenirs. What looks good to you?
In case you are wondering, yes, there is a two day lag between the day I do something and the day I write about it. I can’t seem to get a blog written the same day I do the things! I guess I need processing time.
The other day Auntie Bridgett and I wanted to explore, and decided to go hunting for the Rhône again. We walked due west again and found Place du Maréchal Lyautey, where fellows were still playing pétanque and the fountain was spouting.
But instead of turning around, we made a sharp right turn and followed the path along the river.
This path is really three paths, at different levels. The street level has lots of traffic, and is not for us. The next one down is a bit quieter and has mostly bikes on it. And the third paved path, closest to the river, is mostly walkers. And dogs.
On this path, we were just a few yards from the Rhône River, and we saw yet another path… a dirt one that weaves in and out of the trees that grow on the banks.
I was so overcome at where we were, what we were walking beside, and how lovely it all was, that I barely noticed this super friendly Doberman dashing about like a kid just out of school. Everyone was enjoying all the dog joy she was sharing.
We continued along the river, cool and comfortable in the shade of the Plane and Cottonwood trees, until we reached Rue de Les Belges. This very busy street forms the south edge of the Parc de la Tête d’Or, that we visited the other day. There was another grand gate into the parc, a carrousel, and a monument to local men who had died in the First World War.
We were a bit winded, having come more than a mile, so we stopped for a snack bar and some water. It was time to head home, taking the route through town, to pick up some wine and ice cream… more about that later.
And of course, we ran into some more art! This statue of Joan of Arc (called Jean d’Arc in this part of the world) was sculpted in 1928 by Jean Chorel. Auntie Bridgett has become fascinated by Joan and her story, and she just keeps turning up.
We got home for dinner, and we had brought the ice cream and wine in hopes that Grandpa Nelson could enjoy some of his birthday, but no luck. He got up long enough to eat and have a glass, chat with you and the family, and head right back to bed.
Once we had breakfast, we were ready for adventure. Grandpa Nelson had seen that the local zoo (you know he loves zoos) was at the parc just a few blocks north of us. The guidebook we had about Lyon didn’t mention it, but it looked interesting, so we wandered over.
On the way, we discovered lots of folks out selling these little bunches of flowers, called Muguettes de bois, for May Day. I bought one each for Grandpa and Bridgett, and we figured two tiny bouquets were enough to keep track of at a big park.
Since the First of May is a national holiday in France, lots and lots of people were heading to the park… families, toddlers on scoot bikes, small groups of friends… all carrying baskets, bags, even small take-away boxes from local restaurants, and blankets. I wondered what part of the park the picnic grounds were in.
It turns out, the whole park is a picnic area! It was different than in the States… no tables, barbecues, or stacked up cases of beer. No radios or other artificial music, just friends and families eating and relaxing together.
Every family on the move seemed to have a soccer ball they were slowly kicking along, scooters, or bikes. I loved how even with hundreds of people gathering, it was peaceful and quiet… less hollering parents or wailing children.
We walked through some greenhouses that protect exotic plants from Lyo ‘s cold winters, andSoon found the Zoo! Again, there were differences … the enclosures were greener, more overgrown, less tidy and raked. In other words, more like a natural habitat. Also, animals that are compatible were enclosed together. It was nice to see them hanging out!
We kept wandering and found the cafe at precisely the time I was getting hungry ( funny how that works). The cafe was right on the small lake, sheltered by Plane trees that have been here, doing just this job, for a hundred years or more.
There was also a goose who seemed to be posing for pictures on this set of steps! People would come by, their children would have a moment with the goose, and then they would part ways. It was wonderful.
Continuing through the park we saw Victorian greenhouses for the tropical plants, which varied in temperature from a bit sultry to absolutely sauna-like. We didn’t stay long, or we would have been poached!
And just about the time we were running out of energy, we had walked our way around the park and back to the entrance. Back through the neighborhood and to our apartment on Rue Cuvier.
Le Parc de la Tête d’Or is a jewel, and shame on the guidebook for leaving it out!
After an early flight from Portland to Seattle, a delayed flight from Seattle to Paris and a beautiful train ride south, we arrived in Sunny Lyon.
We spent our first night at the Hotel Edmund W., since our apartment wasn’t ready for us yet. This is a wonderfully old fashioned place, with an elevator just big enough for the three suitcases and Grandpa Nelson. Bridgett and I took the stairs. Good exercise!
After we settled in, Bridgett and I walked to the Rhône River, just about a mile away. We found a lovely garden with an old, classic fountain, celebrating the “people of Lyon“. Hard to argue with that. Cherubs and lions spitting spigots of water were all the rage a few hundred years ago.
We sat in the shade and enjoyed watching old guys playing pétanque, (a sort of bowling game) and folks walking by with kids, dogs, and bags of groceries. The People Show!
As so often happens, we managed to walk too far, always wanting to see ‘just one more thing”, and the heat almost got the better of us. A bottle of lemonade, then a cool bistro called “Les Bons Copains” for dinner, saved us. Delicious, life preserving cassoulet and croque monsieur !
That night, none of us slept well. Jet lag wanted us to awake at two in the morning, but exhaustion wanted us to sleep. Oy.
The next morning, once we all agreed we weren’t going to sleep anymore, we walked back toward the train station to Café Millet for pastries, coffee, and Fromage Blanche. This creamy stuff is a cross between yogurt and crémé fraîche. Incredibly yummy!
Once we were fed and caffeinated, we were ready for our adventure of the day; a visit to a garden with a strange name. I’ll you about that tomorrow
Dear Liza 