Exploring Lyon

There’s this ancient astronomical clock in the Lyon cathedral. It’s gorgeous and amazingly ornate but didn’t work when I saw it in December 2017 because people had destroyed its inner mechanisms a couple times throughout history. Isn’t that wild? I wondered what would make someone wreck the clock, and thought maybe they wanted to freeze time. I could sympathize–– I was leaving Europe in a couple weeks so I wanted to freeze time, too, and keep on traveling.

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The astronomical clock (ft. a cute door)

In a way, this beautiful, mystifying clock reminds me of Lyon itself, which is also beautiful and mystifying. Traboules, or hidden passageways, snake through the city like a secret labyrinth. Its architecture is a wonderful blend of the grand Parisian style of Northern France and the bright Mediterranean buildings of Southern France. There are long sloping cobblestone alleyways and pastel doors and steep stairs. It has grand gnarly trees and a church that looms over the city like a moody giant.

On our second day there, my friend Marloes and I took a walking tour around Vieux Lyon, or Old Lyon. This is the district that comes to mind when I remember the city. It is colorful, crumbly, and charming. This is also where the traboules are: accessed by opening doors in narrow alleyways and following passageways that open into lovely courtyards.

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Sights from an undisclosed traboule

We were so cold after the tour that we stayed in a brasserie for a long time, warming up by sipping cappuccinos that cost more than glasses of wine (typical France). After, we followed shiny shells inlaid into the ground to Fourvière, a castle-like church on a hill overlooking the city. In old times, pilgrims wore shells around their necks when leaving Lyon and walking to Bordeaux and beyond, so that thieves would know they were on a religious mission and refrain from robbing them.

The Fourviere reminds me of the Sacre-Coeur because it is large and white and baroque and looks slightly out-of-place. Inside is absolutely stunning, but the view outside is the real draw. I remember looking at Lyon from the back of the church. The city spread out far below in creams and oranges. The sky was streaked with gold clouds and the Alps were just visible in the distance.

After, we went to the heart of Lyon, Presqu’île (translated as “almost island” because it is located between two rivers), to shop and walk around and buy delicious Merveilleux pastries (which I had discovered in Lille earlier in December). Lyon is the gastronomic capital of the world, so of course it would have been a sin not to splurge on a bourgeois dinner that night! We split a carafe of Beaujolais, and I had onion soup and duck and potatoes. For dessert, I ordered tarte aux pralines, since bright pink pralines are a signature sweet in Lyon. It was pure, delicious decadence.

The night still brimmed with possibility, so we went to a peniche (a bar boat bobbing in the water) called Le Sirius. Although the place buzzed with people, the vibe was very mellow, and we sipped golden beer at the bar and listened to the live jazz music playing. Eventually, we moved so that we were sitting right in front of the band. It was amazing how they riffed off each other and seamlessly switched players and instruments. As we listened to the music we watched the moonlit river rush by the windows and felt like we were moving, hurtling to some far away place. I hope I never forget how lovely the jazz was that night, how it crescendoed and clashed one moment and then melted into croons as smooth as butter the next. I imagined the river carrying the notes away on swirling currents.

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Finding alpine views in Grenoble

The next day Marloes and I headed to nearby Grenoble with a group of our exchange friends. I’d describe Grenoble as a sort of Mountain-Paris. It has the wide boulevards and open squares of France’s capital, but the cozy coffee shops and cute side streets of a place like Boone or Asheville. I guess that’s the nature of mountain towns: they tend to be comforting, sweet pockets tucked into valleys.

We ate lunch at a delicious dumpling restaurant that gave us free Nutella dumplings because we were students (the most French-take on Asian food I’ve ever heard!) and then walked to cable cars that took us up to beautiful views. They are called les boules, or bubbles, because they’re these little spheres of glass that float up and down the mountain. I couldn’t keep from smiling the entire time I rode one; being up so high was dizzying and exhilarating.

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The bubbles

When we arrived at the top of the mountain, the view of the snowy Alps and Grenoble washed in cool tones was absolutely gorgeous. The later we stayed and the higher we climbed the colder it got. But watching dusk settle over Grenoble— orange lights flickering in the indigo city— made the lack of feeling in my toes totally worth it. It was so pretty, in fact, that we sang ABBA and Queen songs all the way down the mountain, skipping and laughing as bemused joggers ran past us.

After hot chocolate and recharging in a café, we bought sandwiches and wine and cider from a Monoprix. We ate and drank on the streets like vagrants, huddling under shop awnings and commandeering a Christmas market table, and we loved every minute of it. We took a night bus back to Lyon, and after wandering for a while trying to find an open bar, we finally settled on a brasserie a little before midnight. We ate nuts and drank and chatted well into the night, soaking in that hub of warmth in an otherwise quiet Lyonnaise street.