Easter Friday, Friday 10th April 2009

It was lovely to sit amoungst the echoes inside Basilica Fourviere on Easter Friday during the Fete de la Paques service. The congregation sang like angels, their soft notes filling up the cavernous inside of the beautiful Basilica.

We showed Fran the Roman Ampitheatres on Fourviere Hill and the expansive view. We wandered down the path, through the rose gardens which had changed so much since our last visit. Now that spring was here the gardens were awash with green, the new bright green of just unfurled leaves.

Cafe des Jacobins had a table for three awaiting us on the footpath outside. We began our next bout of people watching there, it was fun. Fran loved Bistrot a Tartine where we took her for dinner, it is already a fovourite for Alex and I. Fran and I both ordered the tartine du jour of 'magret de canard and prune butter' and Alex ordered the other special of 'tomato, chorizo and raclette'. All were stunningly delicious. Fran emersed herself in the choc-coco tarte while Alex and I repeated the happy taste experience of the best, rosy-hued praline tarte in Lyon, mine with a little chantilly creme.

We three wandered the Saone for what seemed like forever. The Basilica glowed high on the hill on the opposite bank along with all the other illunimated sights. This is such a pretty city at night. Way along the Saone we cut through the Presquile to meet the Rhone. The trusty Velo'v bikes brought us home. What fun we had.

Time to breathe. Friday 13th March, 2009.

John has begun to venture into the kitchen from time to time. This morning he asked me how to make my garlic toasts and preceeded to make a batch to take on our picnic. He parcelled up the cheese we got a few days ago with a bread-board, knives, serviettes, apple, pear, wine and glasses and off we went. We rode bikes along the Rhone for quite a while and crossed over into the Presquille area between the two rivers. For the first time we found ourselves in the lovely Croix-Rousse area which is very old. We will spend a day up in Croix-Rousse this week discovering its little secrets like this picture below of one of the famous painted walls.

We rode back to the banks of the Rhone and lay in the sun together with our wine and cheese, it was bliss. The sky was powder blue and we even peeled off our jackets as we lay basking in the pleasure of the simple life.

Tonight we were invited to Theodore's (Alex friend) house by his parents Fred and Agnes, Ludovics family was there too and we had such a lovely night. John had bought Agnes a lovely gift of chocolates from her favourite chocolate shop which she loved. Fred is quite a wine enthusiast so we were spoiled with a different wine to match every course, from light, dry whites to reds softened with age. The laughter hardly stopped around the dinner table all night, they are all wonderful people, so interesting and full of the joy of life.

Agne is quite the cook. We ate saucisson and olives with an aperitif, a lardon salad, rare roast beef served with gratin potatoes which is Agnes's specialty - I can see why as they were delicious. Ludovics family made a chocolate and raspberry tarte for dessert, these two ingredients are a great match and the tarte was exceptional. One thing is for sure, I know we would not be experiencing this kind of hospitality if we were staying in a hotel room!

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.