An Example of Frederic’s Artistic Flair
Lyon has been wonderful, and knowing it was our last day in this city, we had a few must dos to complete our time here and a few would like to dos, if we could squeeze them in.
First thing, I did a power walk up the 500 steps to the Basilique. This time, the church was full of Chinese and American tourists, who had come in droves. The proof, the five behemoth of tourist buses outside. I was happy that by the luck of the draw, yesterday, when we spent more time there, it was relatively quiet. Somehow I got lost walking back and discovered a whole part of town that I didn’t even know about. I didn’t have my phone (google maps) or a map and I was getting frustrated, trying to get home, although I was getting in some good exercise. Needless to say, I made it home.
A Tour Group Discussing the Attraction We Called Home
We took off immediately for the outdoor market, which was right across the Saône, in the Presqu’île. I am not sure everyone there was a farmer, I got the sense a lot of people were procurers or middle men. Nonetheless, there were some farmers there and it was a fine spirited place. I loved the variety of foods sold there, but knowing we were traveling and not sure of the fridge situation, we passed up shopping for food. I did however pick up some souvenirs to take home, from a booth that sold wooden kitchen do-dads, made out of olive wood and box wood, grown in Provence. While standing there, a woman walked by with a basset hound. The first one I had seen this trip. If there is something that can improve in France, it is that they need more basset hounds and less of those fru-fru dogs.
The Above Pictures Are Things We Would See Sold in an American Market
These Next Pictures Are Things We Wouldn’t Often See in a U.S. Market, but Are Quite Common in France
Blood Sausage and Brains Are Certainly Not Common in US Markets
Kitchen Gadgets Carved from Olive Wood and Boxwood
We rented bikes again for our last day. I checked that the seats were screwed on right and the wheels didn’t squeak, so I figured it would be smooth sailing. However once we had the bikes out, we discovered that my seat wouldn’t adjust and so I rode around like a low rider. Furthermore Dan’s bike had no kickstand and the lock was inaccessible and didn’t work. So when we had to lock up we leaned his bike against mine and locked the two together with his lock cable going in my keyhole. I am sure there is a method of informing the city when something is wrong with a bike, but honestly, we had other things to do than futz around with French bureaucracy and so we just returned them to the Velo station after our ride and let the next person futz around instead.
We needed to make a choice between visiting Beaux Arts or Silk Atelier. The Beaux Arts Museum is a fine little provincial museum that is more digestible than something like the Louvre and the Silk Atelier is a preserved old workshop where silk was produced for many decades. With the silk being more directly tied to the Lyon history (as opposed to the broader French history), we opted for the silk workshop. We headed up the hill to the Croix-Rousse and at the very steep areas, we walked the bikes. Those rental bikes are definitely not geared for some of the hills in Lyon! Eventually we locked them and headed up two more flights of steps.
We got to the workshop at 12:30 and rang the doorbell a couple times. A woman answered and told us that the workshop was closed for lunch for another 90 minutes (12pm-2pm). She said the workshop reopened at 2pm, if we wanted to come back. We ousted the oyster lunch since it was too far away and we opted for a local lunch in the hood. We found a casual Algerian food place in a quiet little working class square where we could eat outside and absorb the rays on a beautiful fall day. Now this was a super casual meal and it still took over 90 minutes. I am continually surprised that the pace of food service is a lot slower than in the states. The idea of grabbing something quickly and getting on with your day is not widely accepted in France and certainly not outside of Paris. After lunch we walked back two blocks to the silk workshop and now it was 2:10pm. We were informed we could either join the French tour late or wait 30 minutes for an English tour for a Japanese person. Without discussion, we both jumped on the current tour. We both had on our minds getting to Maison Pic early enough to enjoy the hotel and all it had to offer.
The tour was awesome and we learned a lot about silk production. The looms were huge, as in maybe ten feet tall and 20 feet long and eight feet deep. They could weave eighteen rows of ribbon simultaneously. This workshop was associated with one family, the Letourneaus. A father and a daughter, as the two sons died in WWI. They lived there as well as worked there and just put a cloth up to separate living space from working space. The city of Lyon now operates the workshop as a living and working museum. Seeing how the looms were set to be able to have designs in different colors and patterns show up was truly amazing. For instance, there may be roses with three colors and this whole pattern repeats every few inches. The guide turned on the loom for us and I took some video of it weaving away. We did some shopping at the gift shop and biked home, making excellent time. We finished our packing, said goodbye to Frédéric, and headed off to the taxi stand on the main street. We got there earlier than expected.
The Silk Loom Is Room Sized and Larger than I Envisioned
The Punched Holes Set the Pattern for the Loom – An Early Computer Program!
Henriette Wove Silk Ribbons from Childhood through Her Elder Years
The Program Creates an Enormous Variety of Ornate Ribbons
Now the next few hours were extremely frustrating, and I think someday I will find it amusing, but not today. No taxis were there (we had passed by the stand a lot in the last few days, and plenty of taxis were there). Dan called the company we used last night to get to Bocuse’s, he experienced totally shitty service from them and they kept telling him, please hold for one minute, please hold for one minute, please hold for one minute. We’ll be there in ten minutes and then in fifteen minutes, they repeat the story – it was so frustrating! Now, in the meantime, a few taxis with green lights passed us, but did not stop. I even flagged one down and the cab driver rolled down his window, spoke to me in French, and kept moving and turned his light on top of the car to red. It was absolutely baffling, why no cab drivers would pick us up at a recognized taxi stand, including the cab service we called. It was becoming rush hour, the traffic sucked, and more importantly, we were missing precious time on the back end to be at Maison Pic. Happy campers, we were not. Dan called another service and this ended up being the best solution as finally, they showed up. But before that, we were deciding what the hell to do. Seeing our evening slip away, standing at a taxi stand, which taxis refuse to come to, was irking me. I suggested Dan bike to Avis, which was far away at the train station and through god forsaken traffic. In retrospect, we realized we should have had Frédéric call a cab to the hotel. We had both not been inclined to do so at the time, since we kept our bags there all day and didn’t officially check out until almost 4pm. Or, at least we could have called a different cab company sooner. Or, since we decided to skip Vercors, we could have actually taken the train to Valence and rented a car there to head south to Provence. I was trying to convince myself that standing around learning new information about traveling via cab was an important lesson I needed to get right then, but I wasn’t doing such a good job of it.
Taken at the Beginning of our Cab Fiasco, Which Is Why I Still Had a Smile on My Face
Two and a half frustrating hours later (delays at Avis office and very congested traffic), we step into the delightful, elegance of Maison Pic at 7:36pm. We were well received by the very attentive staff. One of the team took us to the elevator and pressed Floor 1 and when we stepped out of the elevator, she was there to greet us – she ran up the steps in that time, rather than impose on our privacy in the elevator. The hotel is contemporary and tasteful. We had eaten at Anne-Sophie’s restaurant last year in Paris and were impressed by not only the food, which was incredible, but also by how seamless an operation she runs and how classy and subdued she is. Never showy, never garish, never pretentious. She had earned our well-deserved respect and admiration. Every detail had been well thought through, even down to how the bathrobes were displayed. We got ourselves ready and headed down for dinner at 9pm.