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.
Of course the ironclad rules regarding “bonjour” and “merci” apply everywhere. But here are a few more things we learned.
Surprise terrain
Lyon is flat except where it is absurdly hilly. Our first journey into the neighborhood Croix Rousse was a simple bus ride…and then a climb of at least 200 stair steps. We deduced that taking the bus into this neighborhood could be risky. Nothing in the google directions had a word about stairs or elevation climb (some do, some don’t) and it was not entirely pleasant. Every time we thought the climbing was about over we turned a corner and there were more stairs. The metro is much safer in this regard. There will almost always be an escalator up.
Lunch and dinner reservations
Do not hesitate to walk into a bouchon or other lunch or dinner restaurant without a reservation. We were welcomed every time…it is safest to arrive close to opening which works well for Americans who eat earlier than Europeans. We have found using online reservations (often in the google maps entry) very easy and reliable, and no scary phone conversations required!
Breakfast
In busy times finding a place for morning coffee and a croissant can be challenging and frustrating. If you ID a restaurant that is open early they likely have a petit dejeuner formule…a hot drink, a croissant, fresh juice and a tartine (slice of bread or baguette with butter and jam) for a low price, e.g, €13.50. This is a fine alternative if you have been checking boulangeries and viennoiseries that have no coffee and/or no sitting area, critical information which one must glean by searching the listing photos. The quality of coffee also varies…try cafe creme if you have been disappointed in the cappuccinos, which were delicious in Paris and crummy in Lyon.
When is this store open?
Google maps shows if a place is open at the moment but rarely shows hours and days. Look across the entry for “website” and even if you are not facile in French you will be able to find hours and days open (“horaire” is often the label on the website for this info). Write down the days of the week in French on your phone so you can decipher the horaires; Monday through Saturday may be displayed as l- s, for example, and where in the US it would say “closed Mondays” here it will more often say the days open, mardi – dimanche, Tuesday through Sunday. The days a store or museum is open vary a lot, as do the ways the days open are expressed.
Bus directions
Google maps is good to excellent for finding your way, but making sure you are at a stop going in the right direction is not always clear. Go to the bus stop and read the list of stops. If your stop is there you are on the right side of the street to catch your bus.
Dialing phone numbers
We felt pretty happy we bought the Verizon international plan which allows calls within France and to US numbers. However, the instructions from Verizon are incomplete and we figured it out ourselves after trial and error. Yes, you must start in-country calls with +33. However, when phone numbers are displayed here (e.g. when you select “call” from a google maps entry) they almost always start with zero. 04 36 78 78…etc. You must dial +33 4367878…no leading zero. (For the +, hold down the zero for 1-2 seconds.). Note this requires writing down the displayed number somewhere so you can dial it correctly from the phone dial pad after you add the +33 and drop the leading zero.
Intercity trains
Watch ahead for your stop and prepare for a fast exit! Unless your destination is the end of the line, you will have barely enough time to gather your baggage and get off. Do not wait for the train to stop…get your stuff and get to the door.
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.
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.
We arrived in Naples via il treno from Rome Sunday afternoon. Thank goodness we had booked a taxi to get to Roma Termini, because there was a marathon underway and all the buses were delayed, rerouted, etc. The driver told us there is a marathon about once a month. That would have been nerve-wracking!
The train was a low-cost local, the ride was two hours, and it was extremely comfortable. We bought sandwiches in the terminal and the table between our seats was ample. And because we had booked ahead, the fare was about $10/each. All good!!
I do not recommend arriving in Naples on a Sunday without a clear understanding of the transportation system, as, unusually, google maps gave us terrible directions. The first and seemingly simplest was to take the bus. We wandered a bit, had to ask a few people, but found the bus stop. In Rome you pay for buses and trams with a credit card and just ping the device on board. Faulty assumption that Naples would be the same. I asked a woman how to pay for the bus, and after a spirited discussion among the group waiting, the answer was to buy a ticket first—not available on board. Where? Any tabacchi, small stands that are everywhere selling cigarettes and sundries. Open on Sunday in the surroundings of the Garibaldi station? Nope. Second option in google maps—the metro (subway). Directions were to go to MET, walk 8 minutes to Line 2, ride to another stop, transfer to Line 1, get off at Toledo. I asked 3 or 4 people in the station what/where is MET. No one knew. We looked around for a ticket machine, found one, it refused to take any of our cards, and a nice young man (from Brazil, spoke a little English and Spanish, thank goodness) helped us get our tickets. We were hot and tired and relieved that we were on our way at last. We walked around a corner where a transit guard was checking people going through—helping as necessary. I showed him the directions on google. Yes, yes, he said, Line 2, go one stop to Museo, change to Toledo. Great, sounds easy. Alas this wasn’t true—there are only two metro lines in Naples and we were already on Line 1…and we had to ride only a few stops before we saw “Toledo” coming up. Get off here? I asked the two tattooed twenty sometimes sitting next to us. They advised yes, get off. So we did. After two very long escalators (think Dupont Circle in D.C.) and two staircases, we trudged out onto the street and found the Toledo stop is literally in front of the alley where the door to our B&B is. So much running around and fuss for such a simple trip.
Note: the metro is so very deep because of all the buried Greek and Roman streets, requiring public works to keep digging past all of that ancient stuff.
Our B&B is fine…pretty modern, slightly off kilter as Italian places seem to be (loose screws on towel bars, that sort of thing), and I had the instructions to get in. A code at the front door, an elevator that operates only with a €20 coin and is so tiny the two of us with luggage were squeezed into a comical contortion, go to floor 4…elevator labors up and stops on 3. We were rather desperate to get out so did, and yup, we were on floor 4. (We should have known this…ground floors in Europe are floor 0.). A 7 digit code to open the door and everything we needed was on the desk inside. Big room! Good air conditioning! Comfy bed!
We are staying in the recommended Spanish Quarter, the old part of the city, on Via Toledo, a major commercial street that is a pretty constant roar of traffic and motorcycles, honking and beeping as pedestrians weave through intersections while motorcycles and cars weave around them. It is semi-organized bedlam. The sidewalks are especially uneven as are the streets, so walking you must look down and around you at the same time. It’s rather exciting once you get the hang of it. We saw no crashes, no fallen pedestrians, so it all seems to work. Courage required, however.
Our room has a balcony looking out on Via Toledo
We had no dinner plan so just wandered the streets behind our B&B, getting hungrier and a little confused. We let ourselves be hawked into one of the gazillion restaurants (it had pretty good reviews) and collapsed at a table on the street and ordered wine and alici fritti and calamari fritti. Delicious. Then, too tired to go looking further for a proper dinner, and a bit, uh, relaxed, we ordered pasta. It was all so good…and we toddled back to our rooms to collapse.
Fried anchovies, so freshNever had fried calamari like this!Pasta with seafood as good as it looks. The pasta is specific to Napoli, like a super thick soaghettiSpaghetti con vongole…even after exchanging plates we couldn’t finish.
When Orvieto was not possible we had a free day Saturday and it turned out a lovely, and, compared to our normal pace when traveling, a relaxing day.
We dawdled over breakfast at Geselda’s, wandered back to the room, and decided to have a long indulgent lunch. Our host had suggested Dal Cordaro if we wanted an osteria, and when I checked for a dinner reservation they only took them 15 days ahead. We decided to try our luck walking in when they opened for lunch. We were the second customers and were seated right away. The atmosphere was somewhat cold and brusque and we were a bit uncomfortable until we were about halfway through ordering when the waiter suggested they had a special salad not on the menu…he was struggling to find the right word when one of the owners came by and said “cabbage.” Yes, he said, with olive oil and anchovies. We were game. We have learned dishes with just a few ingredients in Italy are very often delicious. It was. But everything was fabulous…with the antipasti’s cannellini beans, polpetto, and artichoke were beyond expectations. It was a meal to remember. As we left the man at the cashier asked if we enjoyed the food and I stopped to talk a bit. We are from California, we are so sorry about our insane president, the very typical conversation these days with Europeans. “We do not understand how he was elected again” he said to me. Yeah, we don’t either. He reached over and shook my hand. “Good luck to you!” And to all of us.
If only I could make cannellini beans like thisThe Tiber riverA lovely walk to end our Rome stayWherever we were there was a view of monumentsIn the Ghetto, a tribute to Jewish lives lost in WWIIIn the Ghetto looking back on the Portico d’Ottavia
One reason we wanted to try Dal Cordaro is it is steps from a bridge over the Tiber, very picturesque, and we took the long walk along the river back toward the Coliseum, and finishing with a wander through the Ghetto. Really lovely on a Saturday afternoon, not crowded at all. Suddenly we were back in familiar territory and hopped on the #8 tram back to our room.
Saturday Night Madness
We had one last meal in Rome and we couldn’t decide what to do. I wanted to try Eggs, a super modern slightly strange “all about eggs” place where you can get a course in which every dish is served in a half eggshell, yes, in a cardboard carton, but David thought it would be too weird. So instead we decided to walk through the restaurant district of Trastevere and discovered why you might hate this neighborhood. We had wandered into this area and it is where we ate several times. It was a little crowded but fun and eclectic. Saturday night is an entirely different experience.
It was not yet dark, 6:30 or so, and it was absolutely jammed with tourists and partying teenagers, little kids running around the piazzas, motorcycles…insane. We had not selected a destination so kept pushing through, hoping something would appeal. There was one sort of odd suggestion from our host that we were iffy about, a tiny place Maritozzi. This is the name of a slightly sweet bun typically served in the morning filled with whipped cream. Reviews were mostly raves with scattered hates, intriguing. The place is so small that reservations are a must but we wanted to see if we could walk in since it was still early, and the location was deep in this insane neighborhood so it gave us a destination. When we arrived there were only a few people there—it filled up quickly—and we were offered a perch (this place is really small) if we would be ready to leave in an hour since it was reserved at 8. Sure!
The menu thankfully had guidelines—order two small maritozzi and one main. The maritozzi are filled with savory things so we chose beef tartare and smoked salmon, and gnocchi for David and cacio e pepe for me. The quality of everything is very high, the tiny open kitchen a whirlwind of activity, and they have even been given “best carbonara in Rome” award from somewhere or other. They make their own pasta and offer pasta workshops which I wish I had known about. For me, though, the slightly sweet bread filled with savory food was not my favorite (yup, too sweet) and the pasta was for me too heavily sauced. But the experience was a lot of fun, all the diners seemed in celebratory mode. I guessed the place was all foodies, chefs, etc. Glad we went, wouldn’t return. Best if all it was down a narrow alley out of the fray.
The walk back through the crowds was okay, we never felt in any danger, but again not our scene. Arrivederci to the Rome food world!
Overall we would recommend staying in Trastevere over more central neighborhoods as it was, during the week, pleasant and extremely convenient. The tram stop was literally in front of where we stayed and it ran right to Piazza Venezia, from which we walked to the Borghese and the Coliseum. So convenient and when we returned “home” it was almost an escape from the Rome of crowds.
Several years ago I read a piece about why Americans who live in less populated areas are so afraid of foreigners and so convinced Democratic mayors are inept—these Americans have never spent time in a big city. If you have not experienced the messiness of New York, London, Paris, San Francisco, even little old Oakland, it is scary and crazy from a distance. All big cities are messy, noisy, heterogeneous, confusing.
Wow, Rome covers all of those bases. It is big; it is messy; it is noisy; it is complicated. Also fascinating, exuding history—ancient history—at almost every turn. Yup, we’re having a good time even in our first jet-lagged days.
Random ruins we passed on a walk to the Pantheon.
We chose to stay in Trastevere, a neighborhood known for excellent restaurants and a bit removed from Roma Centro, the historical district. It was a good choice. We are staying at Dulcis in Fundo, a B&B right on the tram line. Our host met us at the tram stop from the train station from the airport (easy to navigate even as tired as we were after 24 hours of travel) and walked us into the building, up the steps, up the ancient (our host called it vintage) elevator, and into our room. Room is large, host Alberto is as friendly and helpful as you could ask for, and the plumbing works.
I had asked Alberto for his walkable restaurant suggestions and we were only a few blocks from all of them. Pizza first night, pasta second night, all delicious.
Peppo al Cosimato in Via Natale Del Grande. As good as they look.
Our second night we went to the famous Tonnarello for pasta. Not only were we seated immediately (they often have a 30 minute wait but we were on the early side) but we were surrounded by happy families, gracious and friendly service and delicious pasta. There are comments on the web re Tonnarello—is it still good? Worth the wait? If you are in Trastevere do not hesitate to go.
Villa Borghese
Our first booked tour was of this private family art museum from the 1600’s. If you have read any of my trip reports you know we love museums and this was spectacular. Much smaller than Musee d’Orsay or the Louvre or the Uffizi, it is overwhelming nonetheless with rooms decorated with frescoes, paintings, finely detailed mosaics (I thought they were paintings until I looked closely) and stunning marble sculpture. We were not so familiar with Bernini and we were wowed over and over. The Rape of Persephone, terrifying…but not as terrifying as Apollo and Daphne, showing her transformation into a laurel tree at the moment Apollo touches her. Those Greek myths are not kind when it comes to forcing young women to submit to the gods who want them. Bernini’s skill at depicting movement turns cold white marble into hot violence.
Our guide was an expert, so articulate in English and so charming to our ears with the beautiful rolling “allora” with which she began each explanation. Every language should have “allora!”
David’s intensity as he prepares to sling the rock to kill Goliath. The face is the sculpter’s.The pressure of the hand on Persephone’s thigh…wow.Persephone has no chance of escape.Truth, the blond woman, is revealed by Time, the bearded man on the right. The eagle head that Time forms in the white sheet is a symbol of the Borghese family.
We would have called ourselves experienced travelers but there are always things to learn.
Even if you have used an airport dozens of times for international travel, be sure to confirm which terminal your flight departs from. We started in the International Terminal at SFO, not knowing that there are now two—at opposite sides of the airport. The only way to get from one to the other is a 30-40 minute walk. Thank goodness we had allowed plenty of time.
Even when your agent and the airline sell you an itinerary with a connection in a foreign airport, double check that it is doable. For example, a 90 minute connection at Heathrow via British Airways sounded reasonable; now we know we would have had only the tiniest chance of making it. “Luckily”our initial flight from SFO was on the ground an extra two hours due to a customer incident so our initial 90 minute connection was not to be and British Airways automatically rebooked us to a later flight to Rome with a 3 hour connection. It took more than 2 hours to get from arrival gate, passport control, security (agonizingly slow even with light traffic), and to find which side of the very large and crowded concourse our gate was…and…
Do not assume the departure gate information is correct. When we arrived at SFO International Terminal our departure gate was posted on the boards as G2. We left from A11. (When we asked about this the answer was “oh, you cannot trust the board.”) And at enormous Heathrow gates are not even posted until 30 minutes before boarding time, probably why we saw so many people literally running down halls looking panicked.
Do not expect new processes to work well. Europe is instituting a new biometric system to track visitors which entails photos and fingerprints. How hard can this be? The Rome Airport is riddled with brand new kiosks and signs instructing foreigners to stop at a kiosk to preregister. Kiosks which were all blocked off until right before passport control. Why quickly became obvious—the kiosks are incredibly slow, so slow that they are difficult to use. Attendants wandered the crowd helping travelers follow the instructions. In the end it was pretty simple, but the learning curve was steep.
Just because there are elevators doesn’t mean they work. Especially when you are hauling baggage.
Lots and lots of vaping, and still more smoking than in the US. Why?
Contraceptive vending machines are common in the metro, which seems, uh, handy?
People watching on the metro is great! And the metro is extremely fast. However, the bus allows you to see things and to stay, or get, more or less oriented geographically. The metro just whisks you along and boom you’re in another part of the city. Our rules: If it is rush hour, take the metro even though it is crowded because it is so fast. If not rush hour, try to take the bus for its sightseeing benefits. And while the metro is too noisy for conversation, I had a few lovely conversations on the bus.
Weather in the fall was perfect for us. Cool, one or two bits of light rain, and the gradual turning of the leaves was very pretty.
I recommend having a few shopping quests that will take you to non-tourist places and activities.
I speak almost intermediate French (i.e., not a lot), but I have a very good accent. Hence my French was complimented virtually every time I had even a short conversation. Made me feel wonderful! Learn a little French, and also never forget, I mean never, to say “Bonjour” to initiate a question or conversation. One of our first days we got flustered in the metro because our passes didn’t seem to work, and when I approached the agent I launched into our problem. He smiled and said “Bonjour, madame” and I realized my mistake. “Pardon, bonjour monsieur, mais le billet ne marche pas” and he smiled and helped us. I cannot emphasize enough the magic of being polite in the local language.
Paris has the typical amount if street work which in a city of lots of buses means bus stops move temporarily. Several times I had to ask a local for help, which, (see above) was given with a smile after the requisite “bonjour.” Once a clerk even left his post to come out onto the street to help us find it. Fortunately the transportation system is excellent and missing a bus means maybe a ten minute wait in most cases. Breathe.
Enjoy seeing dogs in restaurants!
Save time to simply wander a neighborhood.
We use an eSIM on David’s phone and I join his hotspot. Monday while I was at baking class and he was walking around the cellular network went down. Yikes! We had been in Paris for 8 days and knew enough to make our way home by getting on a bus that went to a major train station and finding a bus there whose route we knew would get us back. This was only feasible because we had been there long enough already. As a backup, block key routes (we use google maps and google lists, very functional if often annoying) out on your phone and take a screen print.
We have yet to conquer the problem of getting verification codes via email OR text. They just don’t show up…until you’re on the plane heading home. Sigh. So try to get all apps loaded while in the US.
Inescapably Rational 