June 22, 2012
Lyon, France
Bonjour!
I always believe that comparing Lyon to Paris is a little bit like comparing Boston to New York. The more minor of the two has all the historical and cultural charm but is smaller, more compact, less crowded, less crazy, cleaner, greener and, in many ways, less intimidating. I think that is certainly the case with Lyon. This is my third visit to the city and since my visits now are less frenzied, I can truly enjoy the city at my leisure. And this time, I had a young friend who wished to accompany me and be my guide: 16 year old Louis, the son of my friends Geneveive and Frederic was free for the day, having written an important terminal high school exam earlier in the day. He knows Lyon like the back of his young hand and was eager to improve his English–so off we went on the local bus from St. Didier Au Mont D’Or where they live to the train station at Gare de Vaise from where we took the super speedy, super modern, super new metro to Bellecour, the vast square in the middle of the city which is dominated by the equestrian sculpture of Louis XIV and is reputed to be the largest public square in Europe. A quick visit to the Tourist Information Center brought us maps, but Louis was obsessed (as all young folks are) with his I-phone and the free GPS application that was available at the Center that he downloaded to help us find the places I wanted to visit.
On past occasions, I have made the funicular pilgrimage up the mountain to see the brilliant interior of the Church of Notre Dame at Fourviere and have studied the excellent collection of art works in the Musee des Beaux Arts which ranks second only to those found in Paris–so there was no reason to cover them again. This time, I would be exploring the traboules (the vast labyrinth of underground passages that connect the various ‘rues’ of this city, especially in Vieux Lyon (the ancient quartier or district) which is also hugely fascinating to me. I also wanted to ensure I ate at least one meal in a traditional Lyonnaise bouchon (a little restaurant that serves regional cuisine).
There was one pilgrimage I intended to repeat: a visit to the atelier of Andre Claude Canova who is a renowned designer of pure silk foulards (French scarves) and–this is a little-known secret–produces scarves for the renowned houses of Cartier and Hermes. I am neither much of a slave to fashion nor a clothes-horse (as anyone who knows me will attest) but I did develop a passion for the impeccably designed French scarves that are made by the pricey couturiers and I have a small but very precious collection that includes the works of Canova. And I am glad to say I managed to accomplish all of my objectives.
The Traboules of Lyon:
A word about the traboules. And that means a word about the canuts. So here goes: Canuts were the traditional silk weavers that congregated in Lyon in past centuries to make it a thriving center of silk weaving, production and sale (hence, the scarves–tu vois?). Through those decades, the canuts lived in small flats in traditional buildings mainly in Vieux Lyon (Ancient Lyon) in a maze of streets with underground passages (or traboules) that led directly to the two rivers that run through the city: the Rhone and the Saone–to enable fast and easy transportation of their raw material and finished products. Hence, there is a network of tunnels under the city that, while no longer in use today, are of deep tourist interest. I intended to discover a few of them.
Using Lonely Planet as my guide, Louis and I attempted to find them. I have to say that it wasn’t easy because the entrance to them is usually the great wooden doors to the buildings, most of which have been fitted with modern security systems involving intercom buzzers. While the residents are aware of the fact that visitors are drawn to these secret passages and wish to explore them and, therefore, do respond when you press the intercom buzzer, they do not wish to be disturbed during siesta hours, which is after “midi”– twelve noon. Since Louis and I had a leisurely start to our day and only arrived in Lyon at 11.00 am, we had very little time to find this hidden underground feature before it grew out of bounds to us.
Well, let me tell you that it is not possible to walk quickly along the cobbled stone streets of Old Lyon–unless you want to risk a twisted ankle. I had no intention of going back to Paris with a fracture, thank you very much. I tried my best to make the deadline but along the way, as is my wont, I was sidetracked by interesting features of the quartier, such as a beautiful building (which turned out to be the Museum of Miniatures), a really glorious church (The Cathedral of St. Jean) which I simply had to visit, Gallo-Roman ruins (Lyon is full of them as it was, after all, a primary base of the Roman Empire). Not to be deterred by the deadline, we pressed on and then there they were: once we learned the drill, it was easy to find them. You had to wait outside the door until someone exited the building and then slip in. At the end of an hour, we saw about four of the major traboules and I, for one, was delighted. As we wound our way in and out of them, we were traversing the narrow cobbled streets of old Lyon with their many traditional bouchons, souvenir shops and confisseries (as Lyon has a lot to offer the sweet-toothed).
The traboules are very narrow and not very long. Each connects a well-used street with another one a few blocks away. What is fascinating are the buildings that are connected by this labyrinth from an architectural perspective: they are very similar–a series of floors built one over the next with curved, traditional balconies and stone spiral stairs that lead upstairs (most of which now have heavily grilled wrought-iron gates to prevent strangers from mounting the stairs). They have other interesting features like little niches or grottos at the base and the entire effect is of a small private, enclosed world, that is hidden from the rest of the world outside. It was extraordinarily charming and not something I have seen anywhere else (probably because it does not exist anywhere else). In addition, most of these buildings are in great condition–they are probably much in demand by today’s yuppies or the city thinks they are important enough, historically, to be well maintained and regularly restored. Overall, it was an engaging experience and one I deeply enjoyed.
Off to Canova’s Atelier:
Andre Claude Canova (as his name implies) is an Italian who made Lyon his home. I have trekked to the distant Quai St. Vincent on a past occasion to discover his workshop (atelier) and his showroom (maroquinerie) knowing full well that a treasure trove of one-of-a-kind merchandise awaited me as a reward. This time I had a young companion and I knew that he would be bored out of his wits if I spent too much time examining the goods. My decisions would have to be the love-at-first-sight kind.
Canova’s atelier enjoys a really beautiful location. Although it is something of a hike to get there, it is based on the banks of the River Rhone, in the shady courtyard of an old mansion that has a gorgeous balustraded double stone staircase leading to a balcony. You get the feeling as you walk into his atelier that you are entering into the world of ancient craftmanship and should immerse yourself fully in the experience. Canova’s office and showroom are on the ground floor on the right hand side, while the atelier is on the left. Having seen the atelier previously (visitors can take a tour) and having an insider’s insight into the complex and time-consuming process of designing and creating a distinctive silk scarf with a hand-rolled edge–there is nothing machine-made or mass-produced about Canova’s work–I went straight to the showroom with feverish anticipation.
Alas, it was closed! You can imagine that I was, as the French say, “desole”, i.e. deeply disappointed. The sweet young girl working at a computer (who turned out to be the lovely Clothilde, Canova’s own daugher!) apologized for not being able to help me today as her sales assistant was out for the day. However, when she took one look at my face and the crushing despair written all over it, she hastened to add that if I could take a quick look at the wares, she would be happy to help me. I could have kissed her but I restrained myself as we moved into the classically-decorated professional meeting rooms and the showroom-cum-boutique where the finished products reposed in splendour on individual hangers or on a polished wooden table.
While I looked around, Clothilde chatted with me and explained that retail sales (walk-in clients, such as myself) only comprise 5 % of her father’s business: the bulk of it is individual commissions for large companies that wish to create one-of-a-kind scarves or ties to gift to their clients, business associates or special employees. These are the folks who enter into extensive discussions with Canova himself to convey an idea of what they desire. Canova’s designers (each of them an artist in his/her own right) then go on to create drafts of possible scarfs to meet the clients’ expectations. Clothilde showed me scarves designed exclusively for Paul Bocuse, for example, the world-renowned Lyonnais chef who has created a global culinary empire. There were scarves designed for Cartier (which, of course, Clothilde could not sell under any circumstances) and for other exclusive houses of haute couture (whose names she could not disclose). But, oftentimes, some of the scarves made for these clients are sold to the public (with the permission of the ones who commissioned them)–this is strictly not the case with Cartier or Hermes, of course. All the scarves are made in small batches–strictly limited editions, as it were–and once the batch is created, manufacturing of that particular design ceases. In other words, there is no way you can buy designs produced say, ten years ago. The items on display change regularly with three or four new designs added every year. If you know the complex history involved in the creation and production of these items, you will treat them with the reverence due a work of art and it was with this reverence that I handled the scarves and examined them. Eventually, of course, I had to make a decision–and since I am a very decisive person (who doesn’t dither endlessly but has a very definitive idea of what I covet and what I don’t), it was quick and painless. Less than half an hour later, I was walking out of this paradise of silken luxury with profound joy in my hear–the proud possessor of works of art to add to my collection in the signature red boxes. I must say that Clothilde was simply wonderful and it was a great pleasure to meet her.
Time for Lunch:
It was time for more basic susustenance and my young friend decided to lead me to a young folks’ hangout: a little cafe called The Candy Box, where, he assured me, the sandwiches were very delicious and very reasonably priced. We ate toasted paninis with a barbecue sauce for which Louis insisted he pay. During the morning, he had stopped to introduce me to some of Lyon’s confectionary treats: cussins–literally silk pillows, today a kind of marzipan candy with a soft chocolate center that have been created in the city since the time it was spared a plague epidemic, many centuries ago. They are sold in decorative tins featuring scenes of the city and make great souvenirs.
Off to the Hotel de Ville and the Opera:
Just a short stroll away was Lyon’s gorgeous Belle Epoque Building, the Hotel the Ville or Town Hall with its magnificent facade of Louis XIV on horseback and its collection of sculpted mythological women all over its tower and sides. It stands in a huge square called Place des Terreaux in the center of which is a fabulous fountain whose interest lies in the fact that it was designed and sculpted by Frederic Bartholdi, the same chap who designed and created the Statue of Liberty in New York. A mythological sea god (Neptune, perhaps?) is seen driving a foursome of horses in a wonderful vignette of speed and motion that is perfectly matched by the force and volume of water that gushes all around in the fountain’s basin. It is a compelling sight.
On the other side of the square is the collonnaded entrance to the Palais de Beaux-Art in whose cool and shady courtyard, we spent a while surrounded by the works of Rodin and others in the sculpture garden. Then, a short walk later, we were at the ornate Opera House with its lovely ruby-red glass lanterns that contrast with the modernist sculpture on the square in front of it–the architectural work of France’s leading contemporary architect, Jean Nouvel.. All of these locations that sit on the banks of the two rivers make the place seem like an island and is, therefore, called Presq’Isle (almost an island).
Since we had decided to have dinner in a traditional bouchon, it made sense to get home early to rest for a little bit, but Louis insisted I try the chocolat chaud in one of Lyon’s most exclusive cafes–the Cafe des Negotiants, where he had a Monaco (a beer cocktail with grenadine and lemonade) and I had the hot chocolate which I have to say was amazing (however, the Cukracavalimonada Cafe on Kampa Island in Prague in the Czech Republic is still my all-time favorite for the best hot chocolate in the world!). The restaurant was gorgeous with the most artistic walls and ceilings and plush heavy maroon curtains and rest rooms in the basement that are just as ornate! I know because I needed to check them out!
Then, we were on the metro headed back to Gare de Vaise with the intention of making one stop: a visit to the “perniches” or barges parked along the Rhone, many of which have been turned into bars and restaurants. Well, it would take a long walk to get there and Genevieve would be passing by soon in her car on her way back from work and she decided to drive us there instead, We waited for about 15 minutes for her, were duly picked up and conveyed to the banks of the river, but, unfortunately, there were not a lot of such boats around and the excursion was disappointing.
Off for dinner to a Traditional Bouchon:
In about an hour, it was time to go for dinner and Genevieve made reservations at Cafe de la Federation which is considered the hot favorite for typical Lyonnaise cuisine. It was true to its reputation in every sense. Although it is tiny, it has all the traditional elements one looks for in a bouchon: red and white checkered tablecloths topped by a paper coverlet. The choice of dishes is quickly mouthed. They were kind enough to offer me a written menu plucked right off the door! The clientele was entirely composed of local people–which is a good sign. Not a single tourist was in sight. I suppose on a warm day, they prefer to sit on a terrace and watch the world go by.
It was truly a gastronomic experience. We were served an amuse-goule as a starter: tiny cups of really thick delicious broth with a boiled egg in the center. You break into the egg and let the yolk run into the soup. Culinary heaven! The appetizers were generous and various: cold dried meats with cornichons; a potted terrine; a great big salade frisee with a very “fort” mustard in its dressing. A great hunk of baguette made the rounds. The plats were not the sort you’d find in your standard French restaurant. Nothing fancy or nouvelle about this cuisine. It was just the sort of hearty food you might find a Lyonnais grandmother stirring in her kitchen.
There was boudin noir (a black sausage with a very delicious apple compote in the center–the spiciness of the sausage contrasted superbly with the sweetness of the cinnamon-flavored apples). There was a piece of sheep’s intestine served in a very spicy mustard sauce with pommes de terre dauphinoise (scalloped potatoes); there was Quennelles de Lyons (little cushioned dumplings) served with a langoustine in a very creamy seafood sauce (delicious!); I chose the cheek of pork in a thick, almost black stew, that was marvelously flavorful and served in a saucepan! My friends insisted I try each of the dishes to get a good idea of the variety of Lyonnaise cuisine. Indeed everything was incredibly good. I just felt sorry I could not carry the rest of my dish home (doggy bags are not the done thing in France, apparently). The cheese plate was large and varied–I tried a tiny bit of each. Dessert were ditto–I had a baba au rhum and was presented with a tall bottle of rhum seasoned with cinnamon and flavored with a whole vanilla bean to pour over my cake that was served with fresh cream. And then there was coffee–I could barely move when we were done.
Walking Home Through Lyon’s Illuminated Landscape:
I had to be almost carried to the underground parking garage but the walk through the illumination of the Hotel de Ville was enchanting. France’s cities come alive at night with tastefully placed lighting that make the contours of the buildings spring to life and all along the river banks as we drive home, we were charmed by the colors reflected on the river by these lovely lights.
I could not have asked for a better re-discovery of Lyon. It is a spectacular city by day or by night and I was glad I had decided to make the trip to see my friends and to spend precious time with the entrie family.
Tomorrow, we will be driving to the foot of the French Alps–then to the Haute Savoie–the High Savoy region of France…I can’t wait…
A demain!