An evening on vacation

I am on vacation.  Again.  But this time I have no travel plans taking me all over- just 4 days in Normandy for Easter to visit my host family.  The rest of the two weeks I shall be here, in Lyon.  This is both good and bad.  It’s good because I get to relax, do a few things I enjoy doing like blogging, knitting, reading and sleeping, not to mention enjoying the city I live in.  It’s bad because it makes it easy for me to sit on my tush in my room a lot of the time, knitting, watching movies, reading, blogging and sleeping.  But I promised myself that I would go to the Monté de la Grande Cote every day I was here for the remainder of my time in France- it’s a beautiful site and it makes me happy to sit and stare at it. 

 

After spending the largest portion of the day up in my room, reading, knitting, etc. I decided three things: 1. I was hungry, 2. I wanted a hamburger and 3. I needed to go to the Monté- I was determined to keep my promise to myself.  So I left my apartment and went to Quick- not as good as McDonalds, no where near Burger King and nothing like a homemade, home grilled burger, but it was the best I was going to get without going to great lengths.  It’s always interesting when I go there because I have to ask for a burger with nothing on it.  This makes them confused.  I don’t like cheese on my burgers anyway- I never have- but in France they load on Mayo like it’s the main ingredient and the burger is the condiment; not to mention all the other crap they load on there.  I like my hamburgers with ketchup- that’s it. 

 

Once the French figured out what I wanted I took my Quick and headed to the Monté de la Grande Cote.  It was dusk, just enough light in the sky to make out the red roof tops of Old Lyon with the greens of the trees on the hill that rises to Forviere’s grand Basilica- tall and majestic- overlooking the sprawling ancient city below.

 

I sat down and began to eat, mildly aware that the French-Arab boys to my right were speaking of vulgar things and glad that my knowledge of dirty French slang didn’t go beyond the few words I was able to make out.  They had their phones blaring music- I sat there thinking about the evolution of listening to music in public.  In the 80s everyone had their own boom box they walked around with on their shoulder.  Then we got kinder and more thoughtful to those around us… or we just got tired of carrying a stereo with us everywhere… and everyone had their own walkman with headphones.  Over time people progressed and now people have the iPod- still respecting other’s choice to NOT hear our music by using headphones.  The big thing in France these days, I’m not sure if it has progressed to the US or not, but I know it’s not a German thing as Andrea informed me, to listen to music on your phone.  Not via headphones.  The music plays on speakerphone turning each person’s phone into their own little stereo- taking us back to the 80s.  Some people have realized the obnoxiousness of this to those around them and it is now forbidden to play your music like that on trains.  But here, on the free open space at the top of the ancient and glorious Monté, this was free game. 

 

At any rate, I sat there, mentally blocking out all that was transpiring to my right and concentrating on the beauty of what was in front of me.  I ate my frite rustique and watched and the light faded from the sky and as, slowly, the lights of the city below me began shining.  It was a slow but fascinating process to watch St. Jean come to life, it’s tall Cathedral walls towering over the rooftops of Old Lyon surrounding it; To watch as the lights around the bridges illuminated the Soane River that snaked and separated one part of town from another; Then finally to watch as the lights came on illuminating the Forviere Basilica in all her glory and the fake Eiffle Tour to her side.

 

Eventually the gentlemen to my right dispersed and I had a few minutes to enjoy the view in the calm quiet.  And just as the light chill of the night air began to swirl around me and I contemplated heading back towards “home” the bells began to ring.  Church bells, I couldn’t tell if they were coming from St. Jean or Forviere, but they rang out over all of Lyon and I sat there a few moments longer, taking in this image- my favorite image in all Lyon- with the history beaming up at my like a picture from a different century and the bells tolling like they had for centuries before and shall continue to for centuries to come.  And then slowly, finally, I turned, threw away my trash and headed back towards my apartment.