I woke up around 5:30am local time. I was able to call home because it was still early enough in the evening the night before for them. My plan for this morning is to try and attend 7 o'clock mass at Notre Dame de Fourviere, the beautiful basilica at the top of the hill overlooking the city. Tried to re-pack and organize a few things, got dressed and was ready by 6:30am. I was a little hesitant to leave because it was still pre-dawn, the sun had not quite risen yet and I didn't want to arrive too early and be wandering around the top of the hill all alone. I also was a little wary about crossing the park to the metro station. I could see from my window that there were a few homeless people sleeping in the park, the vast majority of whom are harmless, but being a woman traveling alone, I decided to err on the side of caution. I killed 10 more minutes organizing my things and finally decided, after seeing a few rays of sunlight, to just go for it. I quickly crossed through the park. The sleeping homeless people were, well......sleeping. I guess I shouldn't have worried so much. I arrived at the metro just as a train was departing. DARN...a few seconds earlier and I would have made it. At first I was alone on the platform but slowly, a few people came straggling in. A muslim woman came in covered from head to toe in black veils. She was fully covered from the bridge of her nose downward as well as her forehead and head so that the only thing exposed were her eyes. Something like this:
courtesy of seattletimes.nwsource.com
In addition to that, she had another small veil that came down to cover her entire face so that even her eyes were not visible. She tried to make her way from the edge of the platform to the wall were a map was posted without lifting her veil. She nearly ran face first into a concrete pillar. Every time she wanted to look at the metro map on the wall or peer down the tunnel to see if the train was coming, or to look at anything clearly, she had to lift her veil in order to see. I will refrain from making any further comment. This is merely an observation of what I witnessed.
I had forgotten how long the time can be between trains, especially early on a Sunday morning. One finally arrived after about 10 minutes. From the metro, I had to transfer to the funicular in order to make it to the top of the hill. I tried following the signs, but they seemed to direct me out into the street again. A little confused, I stopped two women dressed in jogging clothes and proceeded to ask them in French where I might find the funicular. They both looked at me wide-eyed and said, "Sorry! We don't speak French." They were both Americans out for some early morning exercise and were about to walk up the steep hill. They weren't sure about the funicular and were debating among themselves as to whether they should take it or try to walk the hill when a couple came around the corner arm-in-arm. Again, I excused myself in my best French and began to ask them about where the entrance to the funicular was and again I got, "Sorry! We only speak English." They were a couple from New Zealand who had been in town to watch the rugby match. We all had a chuckle over this. The woman from New Zealand however knew exactly where the entrance was and was able to direct me to it. There was some construction work in the station and I had assumed that you could not go around a barrier that had been erected. But once around it, I could clearly see the signs for the funicular. The New Zealanders continued on, arm-in-arm, presumably off to breakfast and the Americans continued on foot up the hill. Since I was wearing a skirt and some nice shoes, I opted for the funicular ride.
courtesy of www.waymarking.com
I sat in the lower station of the funicular for about 5 minutes before it finally started ascending the hill. By this time I was kicking myself for not thinking ahead and allowing more for travel time. It was now 7:20am and mass, I assumed, had already started. Two elderly nuns were also riding up on the funicular so I felt, "Well, if they can be late for mass, then so can I." I arrived at the Basilica at 7:25 and to my surprise, realized I had been wrong about the start time. Mass did not begin until 7:30! So after all that, I was actually on time.
The Basilica was ornate and beautiful.
The mass was a typical Catholic mass, except
en Francais. I was really expecting there to be something different about the mass, but I have to say, except for the language, it was
exactly the same. After mass, the sun was fully up and I wanted to take a picture of the city below but there was a bit of a mist and haze covering the town below. I could still see most of the city with my eyes, but I knew the camera would not pick up any detail in this light.
I knew the Gallo-Roman museum was close by, and I started off on foot in that direction. Somehow, I turned one street too soon and found myself walking down Fourviere hill on foot. Given the shoes I was wearing, this was not easy. Very comfortable walking shoes for flat terrain but not meant for walking on cobblestone streets or uneven surfaces. I had to slowly and gingerly make my way down this
very steep hill in order not to fold my ankle over sideways (which happened a couple of times). I paused partway down and took this picture:
Finally the Gods smiled down on me and part way down the hill, I came upon a shortcut. A set of stairs that cut off the last third of the very steep hill and deposited me directly into the heart of vieux Lyon.
I crossed the beautiful Saone river via the pedestrian bridge and came upon an open air market that was set up along the riverbank.
Every type of fruit, vegetable, fish, meat, bread, or anything you may want could be purchased here. A Sunday morning farmer's market. I stopped at a table where a woman had a display of homemade jellies. She gave me a few samples to taste. All of them were delicious. I ended up buying a small jar of homemade current jelly from a very small, local grape called
sereau. I also bought two other jellies, one infused with thyme and the other with an herb called
gurs. I still haven't figured out what that is in English, but it tastes good! The woman that sold me the jellies kept telling me to come and visit her farm. If I had a car and enough time, I would have liked to have gone. Here is an ad that she handed me advertising her wares:
Her farm is called
"Farm of the Gourmet Bears" and they are promoting a traveler's special. Lavender jelly, honey and a special spread that I sampled that was a mixture of fresh milk and sugar cooked down and reduced to a spread. It was heavenly but I figured I had enough glass jars to fit in my bags with the jelly I had already bought. They also do baskets for special occasions. If I ever return to Lyon, I will visit her farm.
I bought a croissant for breakfast and returned to my hotel to finish packing.
The bag was packed, I said good-bye to my compact, little room in Lyon, and made my way downstairs. I checked out but asked if I could leave my bags behind the counter so that I could do some more sight-seeing until my train was due to leave. The lady behind the desk was so sweet and helpful and said, "Of course!"
This time I was determined to find the Gallo-Roman museum. In Roman times, Lyon was called Lugdunum and was declared the capital of Roman Gaul. The Romans recognized that with the confluence of the Rhone and Saone rivers in Lyon that this was the perfect spot for trade routes and Lugdunum was a thriving Roman settlement for over 300 years. Don't get nervous....that's the end of the history lesson. I've always had a fascination with ancient Rome (blame Sister Helen Rose, my latin teacher) so the remainder of my time in Lyon was spent at the Gallo-Roman museum. There are the remains of two outdoor Roman amphitheaters and lots of artifacts and pieces of marble left over from public buildings that still have Roman inscriptions on them. Well, since a picture is worth a thousand words, I'll shut up and show you a few photos I took from the outdoor exhibits and ruins.
There were many more exhibits inside which I will not bore you with. But the level of artistry, craftsmanship, and engineering skills of these ancient peoples is mind-boggling. Well, time was running out and I needed to leave the museum by 2:00pm in order to grab my bags from the hotel and make my way to the train station for my next adventure in Roanne. I reluctlantly said good-bye to Lyon and hopefully will be able to return someday and spend more time exploring her many beautiful sights.
Some final images from Lyon: