The rabbit we bought at the market and cooked last night for dinner was heavenly. The butcher cut it up in neat little pieces which I coated in seasoned flour. I browned each piece in olive oil and butter. The smell inticed Alex into the kitchen after his game of cricket with John, to stick his nose into the pot, as usual. I slowly cooked the onions and champignons in the pan juice until they were soft and translucent. Into an oven dish they went covering the golden pieces of rabbit and with a handfull of the plumpest, purply olives you have ever seen scattered over the top, it looked good enough to eat. Alex and I shelled the peas together and he told me how much he was loving spending more time with John... the simple life has great rewards! A few hours later dinner was ready. Served with golden roast potato seasoned with sea salt, ooohhh yeah, comfort food at its finest. John does not do too well with bones but Alex and I knawed away every little piece of succulent meat and loved every minute of it.
The day began at a slow pace once again, my eyes didn't open until after 9am and we weren't out of the house until 1.30pm. Alex rode the scooter into the city while John and I walked behind. We crossed the Saone and the Rhone into Old Lyon and caught the funicular railway up the steep hill to St-Just. We walked the streets to the Roman ruins of Hadrien's theatre on Fourviere Hill. This ampitheatre was built 2025 years ago and is still used today for concerts. (Fran, this could be a perfect place for a gig in Lyon!).
The Basilique Notre-Dame de Fourviere was next . It is said you either love this basilica or hate it because of it's ornate decoration. We all loved it and spent quite some time sitting and appreciating the time and work that had gone into making it so beautiful. The ceiling was brushed with a beautiful blend of green and gold. I whispered to John how silly it was that it took us so long to paint our deck! I don't think we would have the patience to paint a basilica that's for sure.
From the basilica, perched high on the hill, is a spectacular view of Lyon which reaches as far as the eye can see. The hill where we stand and the hill beside, loom over the city which is as flat as a pancake. The two wide rivers carve through the vast huddle of roofs. The open space of Place Bellecour is visible with its circular tourist wheel towering above all else.
An old pathway snakes all the way down the steep, wintery landscaped hill from the basilica, through Jardin des Roses. Every day I admire the beauty of the bare trees, their naked branches reaching to the sky. The pathway brings us to St-Jean in the heart of the old town. We cut through to the familiar Saone and wander her banks in the direction of home.
We arrive home with frozen ears (my eyebrows don't seem to respond to my brains instructions and I feel like I have had an overdose of botox). Left-overs of last night's lapin in ognion, olive and champignon awaits for dinner. Its warmth and comfort are welcomed by all.
