Lyon is a large city with museums, shopping, and a massive reputation for being the gastronomic destination in France. Frankly we had enjoyed so many wonderful meals in Paris, Toulouse, Albi, the best baguette and croissants possible in tiny Castres, surprising food in Le Puy-en-Velay, that we were probably food-fatigued by the time we got to Lyon.
Nonetheless, after completing our shopping quest for our daughter (a visit to Sezanne) I opened my phone and found a bouchon, Le Bouchon des Cordeliers, a few blocks away. Bouchons are traditional restaurants that evolved from mom-run home-style food served to working class people. They are now certified by the city and display this status on plaques posted outside.
Arrive early if you don’t have a reservation…was full within 30 minutesOeuf murette. They really know how to poach eggs. Smoked herring and potato saladAndouilletteQuenelle
The most traditional dishes are offered at every bouchon—quenelles (a delicate fish dumpling served in a crawfish sauce), smoked herring-potato salads, salade Lyonnaise, oeufs murette, Andoullette (tripe sausage), pumpkin soup, tarte aux pralines (a red pie made of local pralines)—we tried them all. Note that the salade Lyonnaise served as a first course (entree) is huge. That and a bowl of soup would have been sufficient!
We had a yummy and fun lunch, celebrating that we had achieved success at Sezanne for our daughter, and wandered back through the neighborhood to the Musee des Beaux Arts…no timed tickets like Paris, so we walked right in. Beautiful. We took the elevator to the top floor and zigzagged down to the ground floor. Not overwhelming like Musee d’Orsay in Paris and with a most entertaining collection. I discovered a new-to-me artist (Henri Lachieze-Rey). and now must track down a book of his work.
A moment after I said “Weird, no Matisse” I saw this Shirley Jaffe, “Sans titre (Little Matisse)”Henri Lachieze-Rey, the card playersHenri again. i love his thick paint. A grand buildingRenoir, one I had never seen, “The Guitar Player”Should be called “Happy Cat” but is titled Reflet de soleil by Joseph Bail
Our first morning we had been a little frustrated trying to find a boulangerie with coffee and seats, finally stopping in a tiny artisan bakery with fantastic baked goods and, as we discovered, typically horrid coffee. The next morning I found a large restaurant that opened at 7:30, and the Petit Dejeuner Formule was great except for the mediocre coffee. Shortly after leaving it started to rain and I missed a small step and fell onto my ankle bone in a (fortunately?) covered arcade. GRRRR! Naturally I kept walking/hobbling on it Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, and through the Charles deGaulle airport Wednesday morning. (It is now Friday, am back home, still limping and taking ibuprofen.).
Teeny boulangerie but with seats insideCroissants and bugnols!€13 for all this at Maison Gloria sunday morning
Our only chance to see the Gallo-Roman museum was this day, Sunday, so after a painful bus ride back to the hotel to put my foot up with an ice bag we headed back to old, old Lyon for our last hit of Roman history. The route is up the funicular, included in our 72 hour public transportation pass (HIGHLY recommended—it is a bargain and covers all buses, trams, metro and the funicular) and a short walk to the museum which, in my injured state, seemed to take forever. Great museum! And it is built right next to the amphitheater, which we passed on due to my #@$& ankle. At one point I was looking at something and realized there were so many languages being spoken around me I had to move on to concentrate on what I was seeing.
We had a reservation at Bouchon Vieux Lyon, another racous food experience. It was so tiny we were only an inch separated from the next table, occupied by a lovely young man who is, of all things, a college Spanish teacher from Istanbul. We had a delightful Spanish-English conversation and traded contact information. After several hours of eating and drinking we made it back to the hotel and collapsed.
This part of Lyon is extremely hillyQuenelle, again! So good.
Monday we had a plan which was a bit constrained due to my ankle. Our first stop was at a pharmacie, where the exceedingly kind pharmacist fitted me for an ankle bandage that helped a lot. Our boulangerie destination was across the street, and it was delicious with good coffee! After we finished I went inside to tell them how good it was and I was writing a “revoir” with cinq etoiles! We had yet to explore old, old Lyon and it was raining pretty hard. We decided to try the private Musee Cinema et Miniature. It was fun! Even with lots of school groups, we enjoyed the rebuilt movie sets, movie props, matte paintings and miniatures. And it was small, 7 tiny floors in an ancient building, so not a lot of walking. When we got put it was pouring! We returned to the hotel for another round of ice-on-the-ankle and I looked for our last bouchon, which might have been our favorite, Bouchon Comptoir Brunet. I requested a reservation for 7, when it opened, and we hopped back on the bus. Yes, reservation accepted and we entered this cozy, hospitable spot for a bottle of beaujelais, oeufs murette, snails, herring salade…for my main I had veal kidneys (with, of course, scalloped potatoes) and David had a pork belly thing.
The next morning we got on the train back to Paris. Checked into the Holiday Inn Express, took the train back into Paris for a final meal at Au Pied du Cochon, and the next morning we were staggering through CDG airport and onto a really excellent United Polaris flight back home. Landed an hour early, had our first Global Entry passport control experience, and zoom we Lyfted home to ecstatic dogs and a nap!
We chose a stopover here mostly because it was a handy distance for a stop between Castres and Lyon. What a fortunate choice. We loved this place and had several exceptional food experiences. If you are seeking a not-very-touristy place away from the big cities check out Le Puy.
Okay, Le Puy-en-Velay is very, very nice. It is quite green, with nice gardens and welcoming parks, a river, and the dramatic steep needle-like hills topped with monuments and in one case a church. Why people insist on building in these virtually inaccessible spots…but the results are scenic in the extreme. We had booked an inexpensive hotel on the edge of the old, historic parts of the city which was great because we parked in the hotel lot for two days and walked everywhere. (Ibis Le Puy-en-Velay Centre—welcoming, inexpensive, perfectly situated).
As I wrote earlier, the drive drom Castres was mentally a bit harrowing due to seemingly endless, extremely rural countryside. I’ll add right here that the drive from Le Puy to Lyon was highway the entire way, which was actually a bit too easy. It is also less and less scenic the closer you get to Lyon so the entry to such a well known and loved city was meh, like driving into Chicago.
In April the city was uncrowded. There are always hikers passing through and some are there on a pilgrimage, but this is not such a destination that we were lost in groups of visitors. Everyone was cheerful and warm, and we even saw a side of the town that is, well, a bit bohemian and raucous when the wine is flowing. More on that below.
View from our budget hotel window. Quiet and picturesque WWI memorial and view of the town. Above the cathedral the protector of the city, Virgin Mary. This is as close as we got. Built at the end of the 5th century…part of the cathedral complex
Wandering the historic areas is a darned delightful way to pass a few hours. You cannot really get lost…it is not that big…and the architecture, the hills, the churches tucked here and there are begging to be photographed. We tried to restrain ourselves, sort of.
We saw this painting at the Crozatier…hey, that’s the street where we had dinner!The remains of the gate pictured to the leftThr walk to the museum was theough this delightful park
We spent several hours in the Musee Crozatier which, like the Toulouse-Lautrec museum in Albi, closed from 12:30-2:00. An hour plus in the morning, a walk to a highly-rated restaurant for lunch, then back for a few hours more. One cool thing we had not experienced before…an animated film about the history of the museum. Who was Crozatier? Why this collection? How has the building changed over time? We realized we didn’t know boo about most of the gazillion museums we have visited in the US and elsewhere. The collection is mostly art with some local history and a natural history floor which had, like the Toulouse museum, two great animations running continuously about the volcanic evolution of the area over millions of years. We have not seen animations like this in US museums and why not? They are fascinating.
A special exhibit at the Crozatier was the history of lace-making for which the city was known for a long time. Cool! Made me sad that lace coasters and curtains are so out of style.
We were lucky to happen upon a mass in progress at the cathedral, where the choir and members were singing—the acoustics of the room made my chest vibrate. It was beautiful.
Food adventures
We had done no research on Le Puy before arriving so I did followed my usual fast search for restaurants on google maps. In general the reviews there are reliable, though occasionally there is an obvious fake, like one in Lyon where a newish restaurant out in the Cite Internationale (giant but attractive offices, the Crown Plaza where we were staying, Interpol headquarters—well out of the city proper though fortunately very quickly accessible by bus) the review started “As I was wandering the streets of Lyon…”. No way. Anyway, back to using google maps to ID good places to eat—this worked very well in Le Puy and we had two memorable experiences.
Being in this city almost by accident, in early spring, we had no idea what the food scene could be, but we were a few blocks from the historic, and fairly lively, narrow streets, one of which turned out to be our destination for coffee and croissants each morning and our memorable dinners. And the best lunch I could have imagined—at a place that had the weird name Le Grand Bowl d’air which seems a play on the phrase “grand air” for fresh air, and indeed the tastes and ingredients were as fresh as could be.
In our experience it is always preferable to show up at lunch time when you are concerned you won’t get a table for dinner. And this particular place did not have online reservations. I am fairly confident of my French in person, but phone calls are a different story. When the Crozatier museum closed for lunch we decided to make the 15 minute walk back to “our street” and take a chance we could get a table. Success was ours, and what a super place. Small of course, perhaps 9 tables, with a very small patio that was closed on this cool day. The server/manager moved balletically among the tables, all full, keeping everyone happy. When at the end of the meal I told him it was an “experience tres genial” he pointed to the woman in the tiny open kitchen, the only other person working, and asked me to tell her what I just said. “It’s all her.” She smiled, I repeated, and I felt so great!
This was oeuf parfait over the local lentils. I ate it too quickly! Oeuf parfait, perfect egg, is a soft boiled egg. Tender marinated chicken, a slab of potatoes, scattered black rice, and the freshest, most delectable sauce.A modern take on boeuf bourguignon, again with scalloped potatoes and a rich stir in sauce.
We skipped the wine at lunch because, frankly, we had really overdone it the night before. We had shown up without a reservation about fifteen minutes before 7, opening time, and the door was open and the lights were on so I walked in to ask if we could possibly eat right at 7 without a reservation. This place, named Entrez les Artistes!!!, was well reviewed, very small, a red room hung with lines of white underclothes, linens, and such as if we were under the clotheslines in a tiny house. The cook/owner came out of the kitchen in the back, said sure we could eat and when I said we would be back at 7 she nodded and shrugged, suit yourself. We left and returned at 7 to the empty room, overflowing within a half hour.
The food was homey and delicious and the place was so full we were now crowded against the other patrons. We had drunk two “pots” of red wine and conversation was loud and a little crazy. We were now sharing a table with an American couple, a retired finance guy, the type who plays at being condescending and a little rude to his wife, a special ed teacher on sabbatical. The room got a bit louder, and now I had turned to talk to the artsy looking fellow behind me whom I had heard speaking Spanish—but he was very, very French and wanted to talk about Trump which I was happy to do in French. The cook/owner (who had literally snorted a super-French Trump when we said we were from California) came out of the kitchen every few minutes, pulled up a chair and talked with her customers, went out the front door to have a smoke with other friends passing by, came through to see who needed what, then back into the kitchen. When we left the not-Spanish guy was outside and he showed us the doorway to his apartment—just a block or so away on a side street—so we could see the year it was built, 1643. “My American friend was delighted that my building is older than her country!”
We sat down having no idea what we were about to experience at Entrez Les Artists!!!, the name of this tiny place. One pot of wine in and we had table mates.
This was a restaurant experience I cannot imagine having in the US. Great all the way around. So great David insisted we go back for our last meal before leaving Friday, May 1, to drive to Lyon. We walked in at 7, sat down, and this night something or other was going on—friends kept wandering in, crowding the sort of bar in front of the kitchen, popping champagne and getting louder and more raucous by the minute. When David asked me what the plat du jour was, I asked the cook, who led me into the kitchen to see it simmering on the stove. What a place. We had another great meal (I maintained my record of having boeuf tartare in every city if possible), wandered out, and never did figure out just what was going on!
May 1, Introduction to Lyon
We had checked the night before, and “our” boulangerie would be open on May 1 so, after confirming that gas stations would be open that day as well (self-service only), went to have coffee and a croissant. As we sat having our petit dejeuner, the queue grew until it was out the door, all hikers, most with backpacks, who were passing through on cross country hikes or the pilgrimage, probably for the 3 day weekend.
They take Labor Day very seriously in France. If you want your restaurant or store to be open you must pay employees double time. Hence things like hotels are open, and some restaurants, small ones with we assume family member workers. We decided to walk around town, explore more of the historic streets and up near the cathedral and other high spots, dawdling until noon since the drive to Lyon would be only about two hours. As we drifted back to the hotel we saw five or six restaurants opening, so we figured we would find a place to stop and eat en route to Lyon.
Well, nope, that was not to be. We just kept going. The drive was pretty boring, the outskirts of Lyon uninspiring. We had decided on the Crown Plaza, even though it appeared to be out of the way, because 1) it was free with our points and 2) it backed up on a big park.
Multiple buses stop right across the patio, so getting around the city was simple. The hotel itself is corporate. The staff is very friendly. Our room was huge. If we were to stay there again, unlikely, we would insist on a high floor on the street side. On the patio side the noise and lights made it mandatory we keep the window closed…and France is strict about not allowing air conditioning until late spring. If only we had asked for a fan! (We recently discovered hotels have fans! And they bring them right to your room! We even got one at the Holiday Inn Express at the airport. Travel tip of the year!!! If you want to sleep cool, Ask For A Fan!!)
So we arrived at the hotel around 2 to drop off our luggage. The young guy at the desk was brusque and pessimistic we could return our car given the holiday, but we were confident and set out for the downtown Sixt location. Closed. I was in a lane with (fortunately very light) traffic, and David had gotten out to see what the deal was. Cars came up behind me, I had to drive away, and realized I was in a part of the city where almost all the streets are one way…and in two minutes I am many blocks away. I work my way back…David is calling Sixt for help, I am now desperate to return this car and be done with urban parking lots and am fearful I will have to drive back to the hotel. And we have not eaten since a coffee and croissant five hours earlier.
David got a rapid fire AI-generated auto attendant at Sixt, talking so fast it was unintelligible. Argh! MY turn to give it a try and managed to get past the auto attendant (yes, it was the fastest and most detailed directions for returning the car) but when I said I need those in writing miraculously I was connected to a live, helpful person. He agrees to send me instructions in an email to David’s address and tells me to program the address of the drop off parking lot into my phone. He PROMISES I will get the email. And, I do. And, we both see that these same very detailed instructions were sent to David the day before. Of course we aren’t on top of our email while traveling, so David didn’t see it. All this insanity could have been avoided…but now we cannot find the entrance to the underground parking lot. David got out, wandered around this block-sized plaza while I flagged down a passerby (“I just moved here yesterday, I didn’t even know there was a parking lot here”) and at last we find it, drop the keys, video the car, and I check Claude re metro and buses. “Bad news, they do not run on May 1.”
Happy mob scene. This is the park that backs up to our hotel.
Hungry but finally car-free we do the only thing we can and walk back to the hotel. It wasn’t bad! The day was gorgeous, the park adjacent to the hotel was full of families, and though we were super hungry we were confident we could eat at the hotel, which we did. Well, that is after checking in to find out the poor desk guy had been dealing with no working customer elevators since 9 that morning. Friday, May 1…when there are no workers making service calls. Seven floors. Only working elevator was the freight elevator…the sweet and exhausted desk guy walks us through the kitchen, around corners…and we are settled in the room. We go down, have an edible meal, and go to bed. Next day everything was working and we began to explore Lyon.
Last walk through AlbiLast breakfast in AlbiThe variety…and heard one elderly man ask for a baguette “bien cuit” (dark crust)This was originally a hotel built in the 1200’s.
After putting off the planning that would get us from Albi to Lyon we finally worked out a possible route. We had added a third night to Albi and perusing the tourist information about the area of the Tarn river we decided to spend a night in Castres where there is a museum entirely devoted to Spanish art. We booked an inexpensive hotel and made the short drive south.
Before we left Albi we picked up some cheese and a baguette, which we ate upon arriving in the nice park outside the museum. Musee Goya was just big enough and the collection, the foundation of which was a family’s donation of their paintings and a few sculptures and church carvings, was somewhat idiosyncratic. We spent a peaceful hour, checked into the hotel, and finished putting the driving plan into a google map with stops predetermined since it was to be a long drive. We are lousy at last minute decisions when driving in unknown territory for five hours.
I had one place in mind that I did not want to miss…driving over the highest bridge in the world, Viaduc de Millau. The map indicated there was a visitor center and it looked like a good place to pause, pee, and eat the baguette and cheese.
I have to stop here and complain about google maps. This drive was a mix of small roads (little did we know how small!) and a long section on the toll road A75 which goes over the viaduct. Every time we made a small adjustment, like adding or removing a stop, google rerouted the entire route away from A75, regardless of deselecting Avoid Tolls, regardless of the google defaults in settings. Grrrr. We were so paranoid about losing the route that we saved it, texted it to each other, and double checked the route we wanted was the one that was saved. Took over an hour all told.
Looks like a more or less easy drive, oui? The first section seemed like it would be the most tedious, roughly 65 miles, 1 hour 45 minutes, from Castres to the A75. Then maybe half an hour to the viaduct, stop at visitors center, tollway, then surface roads to Le Puy En Velay. The first section was pretty easy, through a few towns on two lane blacktop roads, little traffic, much like the drive from Toulouse to Albi. As we approached A75 suddenly the directions confused me…get on D999 to the ramp, but there were multiple “deviations” or detours and we are no longer heading to A75. Pulled over, rechecked map, went back, 5 minutes and we were on the tollway. As we approached the viaduct we got excited and, wow, it’s pretty darned high with views in all directions. I kept asking David if he saw the visitors center on the map, and he kept saying yes, and then we’re clearly past the area of the bridge and heading north. Got off, rerouted back to the visitors center, missed the exit, went back over the bridge, paid another toll, and at last found the correct exit. The visitors center is great, lots and lots of information about the design and construction (took only 3 years…we couldn’t build something like this in the US in 10). It opened in 2004 and is reputed to have changed Europe by providing a clear and fast north-south route.
After a picnic lunch and a hike up to the view point we confidently got back in the car to continue our NNE journey to Le Puy. Google again insisted we avoid the toll road and before we knew it we were heading south, back over the bridge. We remembered the avoid tolls route from the night before and surmised this was where we were headed. We got off, drove to the now familiar roundabout, got back on A75 and we were thankfully on our way.
We felt pretty good that the confusion was well behind us. The tollway is great and we have the process down. (If only modern cars would stop nagging when you have to pull close to the ticket machine.). It seemed like only moments and we were exiting the tollway and onto the surface roads. Gorgeous little towns, green hills in every direction, we rolled along making good time. We enjoyed sights such as a very, very small town (10 houses?) that was signed on either side of the narrow road with the “ville haute” and the “ville basse.” Perhaps there had been a feud? The towns got smaller and fewer. The road curved up, up up and then down, down down. Amazing views, interrupted by forests and rivers. At least five times we drove down, down into a miniscule hamlet, crossed the tiny rushing river, then back up into the hills.
The drive went on and on. More cows than towns or people, interrupted by the occasional bicyclist and “Attention! Randonneurs” warning sign. Have you ever taken an unfamiliar country road and suddenly wondered where you were? Well, after hours of driving I began to despair, even though I kept checking the compass on the dash to make sure we were indeed heading in a general NNE direction. The countryside opened up as we were clearly on a high plateau with no civilization in sight. I asked David to double check we were indeed on the route to Le Puy, a place we had never been to or contemplated. I couldn’t picture how this completely open, unpopulated countryside was indeed only 20 minutes from Le Puy, which I was pretty sure was an actual city.
Suddenly there it was, a large, gorgeous basin of a city with crazy isolated peaks topped with statues and churches. Relieved, tired, ready to stop moving, in a few minutes after entering the city we were pulling into the hotel parking lot. Wow. I sure was happy to lock the car, stagger to our room, and think about an indulgent, wine-soaked dinner. And that is just what we did.
And now we leave the exquisite city of Albi and begin making our way to Castres, Le Puy, Lyon…and home.
We enjoyed Toulouse so much that I was a little sad when we arrived n Albi Saturday afternoon. It was really hard to part with daughter, son-in-law, and granddaughter after a simply terrific week. Our granddaughter was a delight—of course—and always entertaining, son-in-law a master at navigation in addition to being a great guy, having alone time with my daughter as we wandered window-shopping,…now we had to learn again to enjoy a new city, just the two of us.
We checked into the Mercure Albi Rives du Tarn, a lovely big room, a view of the river, and a somewhat corporate upscale place. None of the warm, informal vibes of the Hotel Joke in Paris or the Hotel Albert 1er in Toulouse. (These are unfair comparisons especially since the Hotel Albert may be my favorite hotel of all time.)
Our hotel is across the river nearest to the bridge
So we were a little down until we walked across the river and into the old city…oh so old city..of Albi. It is as lovely as advertised, almost everything built of red brick, ancient houses from the 1400’s, twisty streets and alleys. And again, a plethora of great cafes, restaurants, boulangeries. We were back in a good mood by the end of the afternoon.
Albi really is indescribably beautiful. The Toulouse-Lautrec museum is great! We spent 3-4 hours there and were grateful they close for lunch so we could sit a while and refresh ourselves, then dive back in.
Entrance to museumDress-up for kids because of circus posters in temp exhibitLautrec painted this at age 17Inside and out so beautiful
I did get a feeling that the vibe is not as warm as Paris or Toulouse, but maybe not having our family with us was the cause of that. Still, “Bonjour” and “Merci” worked the same magic. I will miss speaking French!
Lousy for iPhone photos…it is simply too tall.
On our last full day after touring the Cathedral de Sainte Cecille, the largest brick structure in the world (!) we sat down at what we expected to be a routine (albeit very French) lunch at L’esprit Du Moulin. It was right out of a movie. I had a “menu” (fixed price for 3 courses) for €24.50 that had five or six choices for entree (appetizer), plat (main dish) and dessert. It was hard to choose! We decided on no wine. I had soupe de poisson (fish soup), heavenly, and a onglet de veau avec sauce de cepes (veal something, akin to hanger steak, with mushroom sauce). Tarte tatin, usually a miniature apple pie (sort of) seemed doable but was two types of chantilly (whipped creme), a scoop of vanilla ice cream, and the tarte. And a praline cookie. By the time I got to dessert I could barely eat a bite…and the no wine decision was undermined when, after a foursome departed from the next table the waiter, without a word, brought over a huge wine glass and filled it halfway…the remainder of the wine the foursome had left. Delicious and so fun and so French. David had an enormous (truly) beautiful salad with sliced duck gizzards scattered through and some other duck (breast?) pieces, with a small slice of bread topped with foie gras about 1/2 an inch thick, cassoulet, and a similarly overwhelming dessert. We were happy to sit for an hour and a half or so, soaking in the atmosphere and trying to consume this enormous meal.
Our morning of departure to Castres we went back to the wonderful Maison Janin Artisan Boulanger for coffee and croissants. I asked her if they used commercial yeast..of course not, they maintain their own starter. Stupid question!
We drove to Castres, enjoyed the Goya Museum (Spanish artists only, and three Goyas), now looking for supper. Off tomorrow to Le Puy, a long drive through unknown territory!
We left Paris by train, high speed to Bordeaux and then a bit of a crawl to Toulouse. Almost five hours all told, but the five of us were physically and mentally tired and thus it was nice to just sit, each in our own heads. Granddaughter watched her ipad with headphones, Mark read, I wrote about Paris and then veg’d out…the trip went quickly. Toulouse was thankfully the end of the line so we had plenty of time to gather up luggage. We had been worried about the walk to the hotel, fearing Toulouse late afternoon would be hot, but walking on the shady side for 20 minutes was pleasant and eased us into this wonderful, lovely, friendly city. The hotel was on a short street off one of the main streets of the historic center, and we were greeted by the always friendly and helpful staff.
We ate so much each night. Boullion Capitole our first night was so much fun with bustling charming servers and great food that we knew we were going to like this city. Stayed four nights, hated to leave. And to top it off, probably my favorite hotel ever. Comfy rooms, good air conditioning, fabulous breakfast. Hotel Albert 1er, we love you.
Wonderful hotel. That is a part of the breakfast buffet…included fresh squeezed OJ at a do-it-yourself machine and very good coffee.
What’s “All True?” That Toulouse is the easier, less expensive alternative to Paris, as often advertised. The prices were about 20-30% cheaper than Paris. The city is sooo pretty: red brick buildings dominate, streets are clean, walking everywhere was a pleasure, every clerk, wait person…to the woman security guard at the city hall…was smiling, friendly, helpful. Lots of playgrounds made granddaughter extremely happy. One in a plaza otherwise filled with outdoor seating for the surrounding restaurants, one next to the tourist office, one in a large park where the Japanese garden is, one we didn’t have time to find next to the Toulouse Musee. This childtren’s natural history museum enchanted granddaughter—her mother said she had never been so engrossed by minerals, butterflies, taxidermied animals, even the animation of the earth’s landmasses forming and reforming which she watched twice, then as we were getting ready to leave she asked to go back and watch it again, this time wiping a tear and hugging her mom—“the music makes me sad.” Gosh I love them so much.
We were to leave on Saturday. For our last full day we got out of the city by renting a car and driving an hour or so south into the foothills of the Pyrenees to a small town that had a Friday market. David and I had so enjoyed these last time we were in France so I really wanted my daughter to experience one. The only bad part was getting the rental car out of the horrid parking lot in Toulouse!
This town, Foix, is magical and the market was a blast. We arrived around 10, and stayed several hours after the market ended just hanging out enjoying our lunch purchases (the bread! The cheese! The olives!!) and letting granddaughter enjoy the playground smack in the center of town. The scenery is all greenery, flowers, the river, Pyrenees in the distance. A great day.
We returned to Toulouse and ate a magnificent dinner at the Maison du Cassoulet. Yup, we all had cassoulet and a wine suggested by the server which will live in my memory forever.
Only down moment was saying goodbye to daughter, son-in-law and granddaughter. Next morning they left for Spain and we drove to Albi.
It was delightful to be back in Paris, especially because we met our daughter, son-in-law, and almost five year old granddaughter to share the city with. Short version—we ate, we rode the metro, we went sightseeing, we walked, and we ate some more.
I highly recommend our hotel, one of the local chain Astotels. This time we stayed at Hotel Joke, a little higher up in Montmartre than our last visit at Hotel Joyce. Comfortable, welcoming, convenient, snacks out in the afternoon into the evening, big bowls of apples, all part of their services. Our room was huge and had cross ventilation which was great in the pre-air-conditioning month of April.
We were close to several metro stops and we took full advantage of them. Our granddaughter LOVED the metro—the speed thrilled her. On our second day we inadvertently got separated—the doors closed before I could get on, and David was in a different car from the kids—but of course the next train came in a minute, perhaps two minutes, and our cell phones worked fine so we were back together in no time.
This sudden separation made a huge impression on granddaughter, who thereafter was our shepherd, making sure we all got on and off together without incident. She would run back and forth to her grandpapa to tell him how many more stops until we got off, and took his hand to lead him off and on the train. So sweet and so mature of her…and she loved this new responsibility.
Uniquely for us we visited no museums, just wandered and took it all in. I had made dinner reservations for 3 of the nights so we would not have to make decisions and this was a hit. Highly recommended: Au Bord Des Copains in Montmartre, Caboulot in Montmartre, and our last night we said goodbye to Paris with a leisurely and wonderful dinner at Vins Des Pyrenees. Granddaughter ate everything and then some (chewed on the bones from her father’s confit de canard) and was goofily well behaved and polite. Her sweet, soft “bonjour” and “merci” delighted every adult we met.
Now we are en route to Toulouse, way south, on a high speed train. In a few days we will part with our family as they go to the Spanish coast and Barcelona, while David and I spend a quiet weekend in Albi and then meander to Lyon, a night at the airport in Paris, and, alas, home to San Francisco.
Burgers, salads, galettes, madeleines…food in Paris is delightful.A beautiful few days of perfect weather for enjoying the essence of Paris.
We had just a day or two left in Nice and we were happy to take my aunt’s suggestion to see the Ephrussi-Rothschild villa and gardens in Villefranche-Sûr-Mer. Hurrah, again, for a fully functioning public transportation system.
I would compare the ride, which was close to an hour, to the delightful bus ride we took through Kyoto our last day in town in 2024. So interesting, so lovely, the time flew by. The bus dropped us at the entrance to the villa grounds and we walked up the hill in the morning sun, bought our tickets and walked through the very early spring gardens…not a lot was blooming but the views, the great weather, and the ever changing garden designs were delightful. After an hour or so I was, of course, hungry and we walked through the villa itself to the restaurant. In a minute we were seated in the soaring, elegant room, only a few tables occupied. The host, a handsome young man, was from Portugal and we had an extended conversation when he asked where we were from, where we had traveled, and when we mentioned we loved Mexico he said he‘d been there because his dad married a woman from there and they now lived in Cancun. We turned to the menu and soon were drinking a half bottle of rose and devouring our customary French lunch. We’re getting used to this high class life.
The villa itself is rather small with human-sized rooms, though the art is a bit one-note. Nothing to knock our socks off but the film about the doyenne of the villa and grounds was pretty interesting (we’d have liked more details on her apparently strange marriage) and it’s always fun to watch old black and white films about rich and famous strangers.
We walked down to the bus stop and this time we knew how gorgeous the views were and could get a few photos. I post them for you to enjoy and daydream over.
Wrapping up our time in France
We didn’t feel we had fully enjoyed everything in Vielle Ville so determined to spend the morning there and the afternoon at the Archeological Museum next to the Matisee Museum. We really love Roman stuff.
The old city is just a few tram stops away from my aunt’s and thus we arrived fairly early in the morning. We hadn’t made it down to the actual seashore the other day. This time we got off at the Opera stop and walked directly there. Well, almost directly, because I had a mission to have a few specialties of Nice that somehow hadn’t yet touched my lips—socca, a chickpea savory pancake, and pan bagnat, basically a Niçoise salad in bread—a truly appealing sandwich, no? Within a few blocks we passed a boulangerie and I ducked in to see wonderful examples in round, thick buns. We figured we would see them again so walked on, but within a few blocks David indulged my sudden need to turn back and buy two. We continued to the “beach,” a rocky shore not at all crowded at the early hour and definitely off-season, and enjoyed the sound of the surf on the rocks and the few bikini’d women, a few dogs, a few families—a pleasant scene.
We had wanted to see a particular cathedral that we didn’t find our previous time in the old city. David, whose phone has the eSIM and hence manages a lot of out maps and lists (I can get on line when we are together and he opens his hot spot) checked his saved map and we left the beach to find the cathedral. As we walked along I spied an intriguing store and, calling out to David I would need a minute, went in without waiting for his acknowledgment. After a nice conversation with the woman and making a purchase I went back out…no David. I figured he had continued on to the cathedral so I opened my phone to looks at the saved map. Well, it had a picture of where the cathedral was, and lots of streets, but not a single street name. Unconcerned I kept walking. No cathedral, no David—but I did see Bistro Antoine where we had eaten a few days prior. I went in, found our waiter, and showed him my phone. Where was this cathedral, please?
Waiter: “Hmmm. A droit, en suite a droit…je pense…” (to the right, then right again, I think).
I follow his vague directions but see no cathedral and no spouse. But I brighten up when three gendarmes walk toward me.
Me: “Pardon, ou est ce cathedrale (I show the picture on my phone) parce que j’ai perdu mon marie!” (Pardon, where is this cathedral because I have lost my husband.)
Gendarme, looking at his colleagues: “Hmmm.”
He takes out his phone, punches away, looks vaguely around, points in a direction up the street, then “Voila!” The cathedral was a half block away. And there was David, too. We laughed, went into the cathedral, and while it was beautiful there were an unusually large number of gruesome paintings featuring martyred saints and the like. We spent five or ten minutes but left as I announced how hungry I was getting.
I had scored our pan bagnats but what about the socca? Happily on our way out of Vielle Ville we spied a counter which sold lots of Nice delicacies including socca. As the young woman packed my order “pour apporter” I noticed a big tray of petits farcis…little stuffed tomatoes, onions, and zucchini. I added them to our picnic.
My rudimentary French again came to our rescue when we couldn’t find the bus stop. Two cordial women in turn steered us right to the correct spot.
The park was perfect, pan bagnat and socca and petits farci were scrumptious, and we loved the small museum filled with Roman artifacts, complete with a meadow out back filled with Roman ruins.
By the time we got back to my aunt’s apartment we didn’t want to go anywhere or see anything. We rustled up a supper of scrambled eggs with our fellow houseguests, Ronnie and Arthene, and collapsed into bed.
We ate our picnic with a Roman arena in the background!Roman ruins behind the museum. So cool.
i cannot end this last post from France without addressing the sad fracture in our relationship with the Europe that survived World War II largely due to our help. Many Americans died. Many more Europeans died, lost family, friends, communities, almost everything. They have not forgotten—no, they have not let themselves forget—what happened and what we did, what we lost, what we sacrificed.
One of many subtle memorials to the people who died in WW II.
You cannot go too far in many places in France without seeing a memorial or a simple plaque like this one. Here fell Jean Badino, a human being, on August 28, 1944, for the liberation of France. Do not forget him. Do not forget that a war was fought here, right here, for our country.
We arrived in Nice by car and I missed the exit so we ended up driving a bit more through the city up in the fancy hills. So very pretty—everything looks like it came right out of a movie in the 1960s. Large buildings with wrought iron balconies that would be complete with a young beautiful blond woman in a flowing scarf leaning over and calling “Jacques, I’ll be right down” as she scoops up her miniature poodle and ducks inside.
The view from my aunt’s apartment
We didn’t see any blonds with poodles but we have enjoyed the lovely scenery, fantastic food, and the mix of old and new. It is by far the largest city of our trip so far and though I’m still going to hold out for a little apartment in Villeneuve, this place ain’t at all bad. Best of all, it has a museum devoted to Henri Matisse, my favorite painter, which I sopped up. Fortunately for David he is also a fan so he also enjoyed it and tolerates my over-the-top delight.
If he’d stuck with Impressionism he would have been grand!
The museum is here because Matisse and his family donated many many drawings (so many of those that they are rotated into public view), paintings, sculpture, photographs, lithographs, paper cutouts. To watch his progression as an artist from his very early self portrait drawings to his impressionist paintings to his exploration of techniques to transform the flat canvas to a multi-dimensional experience to his abstract cutouts…wow. I wonder if I could convince David to go back before we leave Saturday morning.
We left fully satisfied and walked down the hill to the Chagall Musee. En route I of course got hungry for lunch and we ducked into the only restaurant we passed and had an overwhelming fun lunch. I asked for the “Hamburger au poulet frite”, otherwise known as a fried chicken sandwich, which came with the predictably yummy fries. David had the “Cesar salade avec poulet frite” which looked delicious and which he finished down to the last little piece of lettuce.
Of course we were a bit tired by the time we got to the Chagall museum. We’ve seen plenty of Chagall, and David said he was not that into him because “too many goats.” So we had a contest—first one to see a goat wins. I won—third painting. We wandered the collection which is displayed in airy, spacious rooms and enjoyed it enough but our eyes couldn’t absorb any more and we walked home.
Home is my aunt’s enormous and comfortable four bedroom apartment in the thick of the commercial area, super convenient to the tram, to a large and fantastic Monoprix department store—though all we can vouch for is the overwhelming grocery, boulangerie, prepared food section. Every morning I take croissant orders and am there a bit after 8am, selecting the same assortment (butter croissants for me and the two other friends of my aunt spending the week here; a GIANT pain chocolat for David, and the ‘round thing with raisins’ for my aunt). After three days of buying more or less the same things from the same somewhat dour woman, this morning I said “A demain!” (See you in the morning!) and got a big smile and “Oui! A demain!” I think she might be tired, not dour.
After the museum overload we took the tram, right outside the apartment, to Vieux Ville, the old city. It is not separated from the rest of the city—no wall or gate that we saw—but it reminded us of the old cities and towns we’ve visited thus far. A few touristy shops and restaurants, a crowded plaza outside the old Cathedrale, but the same delightful narrow back streets and assortment of enticing places to eat lunch. We ended up at Bistro Antoine and oh oh oh. When I commented to the woman at the next table (she’s from Cyprus) how delicious our lunch was she said well of course, it’s been recognized under some designation or other by Michelin. We left so happy and full, but managed to eat the three beignets we had picked up at the open market. I mean, you cannot let fresh baked goods go uneaten.
Dogs in restaurants…why not?In Nice, so of course nicoise olives.Indescribable lemon (the white stuff) that the waiter said was not a gelatin but it was smooth as silk.I had to have tartare one more time!
We walked along the waterfront a block or two and took the ascensuer (elevator) up to the top of the Colline de Chateau, walked around the chateau ruins, wandered the gardens (we wander a lot!), explored the Jewish cemetery, then walked back down super tired to the tram and hopped on. In a few minutes we were home.
In this lovely hilltop garden is a memorial to those who saved Jews during WWII…”that their courageous acts will never be forgotten.”
We decided we could live happily in Villeneuve-Lez-Avignon. We have added Arles to this category.
We arrived very early, so early that many Moslem families were racing to the mosque for the end of Ramadan, we think. There is a very large Moslem population as a proportion, it is believed; France does not collect religious affiliation data. We wandered hoping to find something open on this brisk Sunday morning—coffee and croissant first thing have become our routine. We did, and then spent two hours wandering instead of the one hour we’d planned.
There are a few cool Roman vestiges, including an arena which, as in Nimes, is used for events, and what was called a theater but is now just bits and pieces in a pretty setting. Cool to see nonetheless. This is the town where Van Gogh spent a lot of time, and there are posters of his paintings in the places he painted. Not much has changed!
We walked and wandered, then it was back in the car for the drive to Nice. We knew we’d have to figure out the toll road situation and I was a bit apprehensive. Our recent trip to Chicago taught us that sometimes you have to have that darned transponder in the car to get through a toll gate. But here they took cash or card, and we sped along. Even though we were on the highways the drive is plenty picturesque and fast (130 km/hour in some places). We arrived early and met my aunt. We had a week in Nice staying with her in her spacious and beautiful apartment ahead.
Late Thursday afternoon we took the bus to the TGV station to fetch our rental car. I had booked a EuropCar because none of the US companies had an option for English on the French site, nor did they allow a return to a different city. Our plan was to rent in Avignon, tour around outside the city, then return the car in Nice. EuropCar was perfect, had lower rates, and the young man who handled the rental was a pleasure.
It was well after 3 so we drove directly to Pont du Gard. This is one mammoth aqueduct, built in the first century CE and in use until the fourth century. If you want to be amazed by this engineering feat go to Wikipedia or watch a film on YouTube. It ran for 31 miles, weaving around hills and adjusting the slope over the course of the run as needed. At the last section the slope was incredibly shallow. The concept and execution, not to mention the guts, to embark on such a crazy project is unimaginable. It turned out we were very lucky to go in late afternoon when the shadow of the mammoth structure was visible on the downstream river. We walked across and back, trying to imagine the now gone third set of arches which were taken down in order to use the stone for buildings nearby.
Looking westLooking east with the sun behind the bridge
Uzes and Nimes
Saturday we drove to Uzes and Nikes. Uzes is a very small, and sadly getting smaller (now around 8500) town whose market day we wanted to enjoy, so that was our first stop. Less than 45 minutes away and so friendly, we had a lot of fun. First on the list was coffee and a croissant and walking down the main street only 10 yards or so brought us to Le Vieux Cafe. It was chilly and windy, yet there were 10 or so customers sitting outside. Let me take a moment to say that the French sit outside to drink and eat in weather that is way, way too cold for us Americans, and there’s not a gas heater anywhere. In we went and within a few minutes a man swings by, “Bonjour madame, bonjour monsieur, voulez vous un boisson” and 60 seconds later we had our café crème and croissants. Delicious.
We took the first side street and were enveloped by the market. The wind was fierce (gusts up to 48mph) and it felt quite cold but the crowd and the bustle of the weekly market kept us moving and somewhat warm. That wind. Every now and then an umbrella fell over, branches were falling, and the trees in bloom were shedding seeds that were everywhere on everything. And it was fun. We decided to put together enough food for an evening meal because I insisted every day that we take advantage of the custom of a big lunch—and the lunch specials that every restaurant offers and we planned to do a lot that day—I could already imagine not wanting to budge once we got back to the hotel (I was right about that). And, I confess, it is just fun to buy things at an outdoor market where everyone is in a market mood, I have a lot of questions I can ask in my rudimentary French, and who can resist the cheeses, the breads, the olives…
Le Vieux Cafe, so old and filled with stuff that appears to have been there for a few generations.One of the MANY honey displays. There are stores everywhere we’ve been that sell only honey.Uzes is such a lovely little town. I couldn’t resist taking a picture of the herald on the roof.
We decided to head to Nimes and assume we’d get there within normal lunch hours. We’d walked pretty much the entire town of Uzes anyway. Off we set, excited to see more Roman ruins—an arena, a temple, and a tower—and experience a different town. Well, wow, very different. We were surprised that Nimes was so big, much bigger than Avignon, at least the part within the city walls that we had gotten to know, and it made Uzes seem like a closet. We drove through this city, with wide streets and confusing directions, searching for a place to park that would be near at least one of the sites. Happily there is an underground parking garage adjacent to the arena/coliseum. We came up to the very big plaza to see the wind whipping water from a large fountain across the plaza in a cloud. We let the wind push us to the Office de Tourisme where we confirmed that the three things we wanted to see were within walking distance. “Mais, oui.” Off we set, but first, lunch.
The plaza the tourist office woman sent us to is clearly a tourist place—a small square ringed with restaurants, lots of outdoor seating, not too crowded but many people eating and talking. We were a bit dismayed, having avoided these settings as much as possible but too hungry to venture further. We entered one that advertised a gratin brandade (baked salt cod, usually with potatoes). We’d been so lucky regarding restaurants and feared our streak would end. Nope. It was still very windy so we went inside, and small tables close together were pretty packed. We sat and immediately the great table service we have found everywhere was here too. I made a comment to the woman at the next table in French—it was perhaps two feet from us—and she asked if I spoke English. The couple was traveling in their camper from Stuttgart on to Italy and we had a typical friendly conversation. David ordered what her husband was having (linguine with a baked Camembert that he stirred into the pasta, with a side of a small charcuterie) and I got the gratin brandade. Everything was delicious.
The brandade. So good. Potatoes covered with bubbling eggy salt cod.The arena here is used for events. They are repairing the clay surface.The view from Le Tour Magne, the last grueling stop on our Roman ruins trek. Yes, gorgeous but might have been my last tower!
Back we drove to Avignon, very very glad we had bought a supper at the market. We dragged ourselves to the room, scarfed down the baguette, cheese, and olives, and packed. We left Avignon the next morning and drove to Arles on our way to Nice.
Inescapably Rational 