Lyon

In all our travels in France, we had always missed Lyon, but had resolved earlier this would be the time to do France's 2nd city. So we boldly drove into town, somehow found a free parking space on a boulevard by the Rhone, and, led confidently by me, climbed 285 steps up a city wall; in the wrong direction. At least we could see where we were and also where we wanted to be, a couple of kilometers away. Things got better as soon as we bought city transportation day-passes (Lyon has excellent public transportation) and Vicki resumed her usual duties as navigatrix. There's really little to look at in Lyon, if you ask me, very little of serious historical importance; and a museum not as attractive as some say. We read about it in several guides and decided it was not worth our time. Which is not exactly limited. Lyon is about food, choosing it, preparing it, eating it, watching other people in these processes. That's mostly what we did, as chronicled here and in the next post.

Safely and securely and freely parked by the Rhone

View of town from the wrong hill

Lyon's barren yet uninteresting main square, flanked by the
Office of Tourism and McDonald's; oh yes, there's Louis14
("Sonny") learning to ride; and in the distance, two of the
city's major landmarks, the Mary church and the Tour
Metallique, more of which later

Crossing the Saone (Lyon is at the confluence of the two
great rivers)

The church of St. Jean; gorgeous on the outside facade

Nave view

Some nice windows

Now in the old town, across the Saone, many
old buildings, some going back to the
Renaissance

Ditto

How many sculptors' studios do you see like this?

More street scene

Very old door for a Renaissance palace

Even in the Gastronomic Capital of France...

On the recommendation of a local merchant
whose business we stimulated, we settled on
a place dubiously named "Maitre Boeuf"; here
is Vicki, after the salade Lyon, into her
unadventurous steak and frites; she goaded
me into...

The egg poached in red wine (with onion and mushroom)
(oef en meurette); and then I had the above, coarse
grained tripe with pork sausage in mustard sauce (andouillette
bobosse); the waitress actually laughed when I tried to
pronounce this; nobody in the restaurant spoke English,
which we always regard as a good sign; I thought the mustard
sauce was heavy, amateurish actually, maybe dumbed-down
for the Americaine; oh, I finished with the Saint Marcellin
cheese; Vicki with some gelato; "I can't believe I ate the whole
thing"!