Flamboyant Gothic and other tales from Lyon

There is a hell of a lot to like about Lyon. Not only is it the gastronomy capital of France (and probably therefore the world), it has some seriously amazing architecture.

A big part of my travelling this time around is to get some movement into my body. As I think I might have casually mentioned a couple of thousand times, for some reason – and God only knows what it is – my osteoarthritis seems to be significantly worse in Ottawa than anywhere else in the world. There might, I suppose, be the element of the psychosomatic to it all or it might be due to a hitherto undiscovered issue, who knows? It is, however, an issue, and as a result, I am increasingly incapacitated. I was, therefore, interested to see how my body fared in the cold, in Lyon.

Tim suggested a walk down from his apartment to the old town. We wandered down via the fabulous Place des Terreaux to the Quai Saint-Antoine, along the banks of the Saône, took in the market stalls, and then crossed the footbridge at the Palais de Justice. Just by the Saint-Jean-de-Baptiste Cathedral is a small square, which looks pretty anonymous, but which transforms itself to the astounding when you realize it is the remains of a 5th century cathedral. Those kinds of things always blow me away.

Actually, so does the place des Terreaux. The blip is of the statue in the square; it shouldn’t be there at all, actually, it should be in Bordeaux (according to the omniscient Tim) – but the Bordeaux city council were too cheap to pay the sculptor’s fees. The Fontaine Bartholdi is, of course, like all great French monuments, wildly nationalistic, and represents “Marianne” being pulled along by the four great French rivers. It’s also the only thing in Lyon I saw that was not covered in artistic graffiti.

Anyway, back to the wandering. By this time, my hips were beginning to revolt – I’ve always had revolting hips – and so we popped into the more recent cathedral for a quick look round. According to my Lonely Planet, the cathedral is relatively modern, as it only dates back to the late 11th century. The façade is “Flamboyant Gothic”, which might be my new favourite oxymoron. However, the astronomical clock is under repair, so unseeable. And here, a special “well done” must go to the wanker who tried to smash it up with a hammer. It takes a special sort of tosser to try to destroy something of the world’s patrimony.

We wandered back out to admire the façade from the other side of the square, only to see a police car blighting the view. Or was it simply pointing out the modern judiciary’s dominance over the moral judiciary?

Decided on a quick return so I could collapse in a chair. More drinks, more catching up. Dinner this time in “La Cave d’à Côté”, which despite not having its advertised oysters (“c’est à cause de la neige dans le Nord, Monsieur”) still managed to feed us adequately and pump us full of exquisite red wine.