May 25
Dear Liza,
The other day, Bridgett and I set out on a simple quest. I wanted a new Journal to use when the one I am using fills up, which will be in a week or so.
Being a diligent art supply shopper, Bridgett had done the research and knew the closest shop to try. We walked across the Rhône just past the Lyon Opera House, to Géant. There we found an 8.5 by 11 inch, spiral bound, multi-media quality journal that will hold my next batch of memories, clippings, and art doodlings.
By then, it was after 10 a.m., and we needed snacks. Loutsa Coffee was just a few blocks away by the Saône, and they had carrot cake and espresso for me and blackberry cheesecake and café crème for Bridgett.
We decided NOT to have a big adventure that day, just a small walk across the Saône to St. Paul’s, the only church in the Old Town that we hadn’t been into yet. We wound through the medieval streets and found it, set low, where ‘ground level’ was in the year 549, when it was built. Yes, that three digit number is a year.
It is showing its age, but is mostly in good repair. It wasn’t open when we were there, but Mass schedules were posted, so it is still in use. The history here goes very deep.
We were disappointed at not getting to see the inside, but knew there would be other things to see. We figured we would walk to the next bridge, cross back over, and head for home.
That didn’t happen.
Because we looked up. Straight above us, built into the bedrock of the butte that forms The Hill that Prays, were Roman arches, bridges and walls.
“We’ve got to go up there!” I’m sure the caffeine and sugar from our yummy snack affected our judgement, but all that history was RIGHT THERE!
Of course there were stairs, and I stopped every now and then to breathe and to greet the running fanatics who were doing laps up and down. The shade and modern handrails set into the Roman wall were a godsend.
We kept seeing ancient walls and arches, either used as foundations, or quietly left in the undergrowth. For a modern-day kid from Southern California, this was special.
When we got to the top, we were pretty close to the place we had NOT been heading to, the Loyasse Cemetery. This wonderful old necropolis, kept secret by its inconvenient location and its ban on photography (I took this picture from outside the wall) was as lovely as the Père La Chaisse in Paris, and lot less messy and crowded. We spent an hour wandering in the perfect silence of the hilltop.
As usually happens at this point in an adventure, having reached the top, we realized how hungry we were and needed to head toward sustenance.
We followed staircases heading straight down and tiny roads that wound between steep walls.
We stopped at a tiny grocery for cheese, fruit, and an emergency back-up Snickers bar, and ate on a bench by the road, feeling pretty good about our adventure. Further down, we nearly tripped over another chunk of Rome, five burial monuments erected around 27 A.D.
Romans, all over the place! Leaving giant carved bits of their lives and culture. Amazing.
When we got home, Bridgett’s AppleWatch said we had walked 7.59 miles and gone up 27 flights of stairs. So far, that’s a record. Tomorrow, we rest a bit.
Love,
Grandma Judy
Dear Liza 