Vieux Lyon, Sunday 8th Feb 2009.

I rug up against the cold, cocooned inside my jacket, gloves, scarf, boots and hat (thanks Auntie Marg!). I am so thankful for the protection from winter’s chill. My cheeks are exposed and I remember the same feeling on my skin from years ago while living in Melbourne, there are many things that take me back to my youth in Melbourne; the bare trees against the grey sky, the cold air as it brushes my skin, the city streets and the people in them, wrapped in cocoons of their own.

We walk the 15 minutes along the busy Cours Gambetta which leads from our apartment, over the River Rhone to the vast (16.5 acre) Place Bellecour in the heart of Lyon, sandwiched between the Rivers Rhone and Saone which run under the many bridges that arch over their rushing water.

Pont Bonaparte delivers us to St-Jean in Lyon’s world heritage listed old town known as Vieux Lyon. A veil of steam camouflages a street vendor selling roasted chestnuts and vin chaud (hot red wine), he peels the charred skin from a chestnut with fingertips peeping from half-fingered gloves, to tempt us into a purchase. Buildings lining the river stand cheek-by-jowel wearing all shades of soft pastels. Wandering the narrow, cobbled streets of Vieux Lyon is a lovely way to spend the day. Home to artisans, bouchons, cosy book stores, chocolatiers and surprisingly, a few Irish pubs, one with stools filled with soccer mad Irish men with eyes glued to the plasma TV hanging above the front door. They all groan or cheer in unison depending on the outcome of the play, frothing pots of Guinness in hand of course.

John views the scenes before him through a photographer’s eye, me through a writer’s and Alex through a child’s. Alex buys a miniature macaroon; its crusty layers are stuck together with a thick smear of delicious chocolate ganache. It doesn’t last long.

Solitude is sought inside the modest Saint-Jean Baptiste church on Place Saint-Jean, the hushed sounds inside are captured by the ceiling high above and the stained glass window above the altar allows God’s fingers of light through, painting the stone interior in warm hues.