A Shopping Day

A Proper Good Morning to You,

I leave tomorrow, so I shopped today.  I'll tell you where I went, and those destinations provided unparalleled opportunity for window licking, but I'll only say what I got for myself.
I went to the Sainsbury's down the street for a last bottle of cidre and a couple of boxes of tea.  I'm going to have to take the bags out of the boxes in order to fit all this tea into my suitcase.  I'll be glad when I have it to drink at home, but I won't like carrying it!  Too bad I am leaving just as I have almost mastered the self checkout machines.  I wonder if the skill will carry over until my next trip.
Then I went and got some cash and took a stroll down Covent Garden way.  This is primo shopping territory, but not necessarily for me.  In the old days the neighborhood was--shall we say sketchy, but it got nicely cleaned up for the tourists and featured a lot of quality arts and crafts sort of shops.  No more!  This is a high rent district now, and the street surrounding the Piazza and the Piazza itself are Brand Territory.  It made me wonder.  What sort of travelers are so awash with cash that they come to London to frequent Dior and Prada?  I mean I know people who travel with the purpose of shopping, but they don't need to go overseas to do it.  And the rich folks I know are on trips for reasons other than picking up luxury items.  There's a big Apple Store, too, that seemed to be very popular.  There was a queue to get in.
Then I took the tube from Covent Garden Station to Knightsbridge.  I walked down Sloane Street because I wanted to visit Chelsea, a part of London I had not been to.  Before Chelsea became a popular girl's name it was a London suburb. The original Saxon name of the place means chalk wharf.  Ok.
It's very tony, or at least the parts I saw were.  There are expensive-looking flats, and all the major brands are represented.  I saw a lot of beautiful items.  Of course I also saw goods that I thought were ridiculous and solely for the purpose of conspicuous consumption.  Each shop featured an attractive and elegantly dressed attendant, who looked bored and lonely.  I wonder if they work on commission?  And if it pays.
I wandered Chelsea for a bit then walked back down Sloane Street to Knightsbridge and Harrods because I needed a toilet.  I walked around the store, and it is beautiful and worth seeing.  I saw a few people buying or at least seriously looking at the luxury goods.  I helped myself to a squirt of high end perfume from Jo Malone, but I explained to the cheerful and gracious shop assistant that since I was a tourist that was all I was after.
I tubed back to Holborn, which for all its bustle is more of a real people neighborhood. I felt more comfortable shopping here.  For one thing I got some food.  I have a nice baguette sandwich from Pret a Manger.  All their food is good!
Everyday I passed a chain called Patisserie Valerie acknowledged to be one of the best French bakeries in London.  Today I succumbed.  I got a slice of double chocolate gateau.  Hey I am just test driving the place for a friend who loves pastry and wants to visit London.  The sacrifices I make . . .
Also I saw a lot of Priuses on the streets today.  Go hybrids!  On the other hand I don't--truly don't--understand why anyone tries to drive in London.  You can get anywhere on public transport and your own feet.
Also Londoners smoke or a lot of them do, and since they can't indoors, that means they smoke on the streets.  Ugh!
You have lost focus, Pil.  That double chocolate gateau--that means cake, right?
It's French.  The French have a lot of word for cake.  Gateau means sweet cake with frosting.  So this particular one has a knob of choux pastry filled with cream on top like a tiny eclair.  I'm eating it first.
Good for you! And?
The main event is chocolate cake with thick chocolate frosting.  The cake part is very light and fluffy.  The frosting is dense, dark, rich chocolate.  Perfection!
Thank you to my many readers!  I appreciate your support of my blog, and I hope you enjoyed following along.

Strawberry Hill

A Proper Good Morning to You,

On the tube on my way home a nice young man offered me his seat.  I was getting off in two stops, and if I sit I stiffen, so I turned him down.
I finally got to see Strawberry Hill House!  Although getting there and back is rather an expedition (I had my choice between bus, a combo train/bus, and a train that would let me off five minutes walk from the house. Which one do you think I picked?), but I did fulfill the desire of many years.
What's the big deal, Pil?
Let's start with the designer and owner, Horace Walpole, later Lord Orford.  His father was Robert Walpole long time Prime Minister to various King Georges, and our Horace grew up rich and privileged.  He was also clever and creative, and in contrast to the rest of high society was Mad for the Middle Ages.  I was struck by a quote they had at the house.  Walpole said (something like) "To appreciate classical Greece and Rome takes taste, but to appreciate the Middle Ages is a passion."  The passion comes through in his work.
He bought himself some land along with Thames near Twickenham and proceeded to build himself his own castle in pseudo Late Gothic Style to his specifications. That's Strawberry Hill.  He also turned his hand to writing.  These days he's more famed for his letters, in print and very much worth reading for wit and insight into his contemporary society and times, but he also penned and published the first "gothic" novel, The Castle of Otranto, set in a Medieval melange of castles, evil monks, poisoning, and trap doors.  In this and his other activities, he set a fashion.
So there's this fake castle?
Recently restored and reopened although it's not open all that much.  I began by trying to get some cash from my local Barclay's machine, but it was out of order, and Holborn Station is closed much of the morning.  I walked down Oxford Street.  My plan all along was to get the Bakerloo line there, but in addition I had to find another cash machine because I needed to top off my Oyster Card in preparation for the journey to the suburbs.
My first destination was Waterloo Station where I could get a suburban train to the Strawberry Hill Station.  Don't you just love the internet?  I do especially when I'm traveling, because I can look up train times.  I picked one that would get me there a few minutes after opening.  But on those lines most trains were delayed--going and coming.  I eventually got on just tapping my Oyster Card as on the tube.  I did this coming back, too although the return train was also delayed about half a hour.
There was a couple sitting across from me and from their conversation either they or I had gotten on the wrong train.  Fortunately it was they.  The train was a slow local that wound around south of the Thames through mostly unpicturesque neighborhoods.  Twickenham and environs seems pretty traditional although gentrified.  The house was an easy walk from the station.  It is part of St. Mary's University, which is a Roman Catholic College.
I was surprised to find it so white and smaller than I expected.  The rooms are also small, and the place is quite livable and very beautiful.  Walpole paid close attention to every detail of decoration. Many of the rooms are largely empty because the house's furniture, etc. was sold off.  In fact I saw a lot of Walpole's personal effects yesterday at the Victoria and Albert. But the wood work, stained glass, and ceiling paintings are worth the trip. My resolution to take over Chiswick House was severely shaken.  Wouldn't Strawberry Hill be more fun? But eventually I decided to stick with Palladian and leave Gothic Revival to others.
I had a very different reaction to Strawberry Hill than I did to Neuswanstein in Bavaria.  The latter although beautiful also seemed like a desperate and pathetic attempt at escape.  Strawberry Hill comes across as more of fun art project.
Cherrio!

Advice for a Drizzly Monday

A Proper Good Morning to You,

In Southern California one can pretty much count on the forecast.  Our weather has a clear and rather monotonous pattern.  The exception seems to be when promised rain does not arrive after all.  Britain's weather is more exciting.  We had gloom and drizzle today although it wasn't cold.
I went to the grocery store for more cidre, but you have to realize that even a trip just to pick something up turns into an expedition.  This morning I was mesmerized by the condiment aisle.  So many familiar things mixed in with utterly foreign concoctions.
I took a sudden notion to go out to the Victoria and Albert.  One piece of advice for a drizzly Monday (and if you visit London for any length of time, it will rain!) is to go to a museum. There are dozens of choices. V and A happened to be mine today.  I had to walk down to the Covent Garden Station because Holborn was closed to entry although one can get off there.  Not a big deal.  It's an easy stroll and I know my way around.
The stop is South Kensington, which is a museum neighborhood.  There's a sign posted tunnel which you can take to the museum of your choice. So here's where it gets a little funny.  I wanted the V and A, and I came out at the right entrance and spotted the huge brick Victorian structure.  There was a line to get in as expected, security as expected, I walked into the great hall and saw something I did NOT expect.  Why is there a whale skeleton hanging from the ceiling?  Wait a minute. Why are all these dinosaurs around?  Ha ha!  I'd come to the wrong place.  I was in the Natural History Museum.
Smooth move, Pil. What did you do?
Well, I was there, so I figured why not? I didn't do it very well or thoroughly because I really did want to go to the V and A, but I saw some very cool exhibits.  Since I have a BA in Anthropology I made sure I attended the truly excellent exhibit on human ancestors.  Then I walked out the back and across the street to the V and A.  I mostly stuck to the European halls.  The museum has some sculpture and painting as well as Raphael's Cartoons for a tapestry, the latter lent by her majesty.  The theme of the museum is applied arts, so there is a lot of incredible furniture and other decorative arts, some amazing textiles including a costume gallery, and one of my favorites--china.  I lust in my heart after the beautiful tea and breakfast sets.  The grand dinner settings I'll leave to others.  In fact I did take a detour through the Chinese galleries where I admired many things but really fell in love with some humble looking (but probably priceless) teapots.
As readers of the blog know I have a strong taste for Late Medieval Art and the V and A has some wonderful polychrome carved altarpieces.
I also finally FINALLY got to see the Torrigiano portrait bust of Henry VII.  One time it was lent out, another time it was being restored.  This time I scored.  The artist, otherwise famous only for breaking Michelangelo's nose, did a lot of work for the early Tudors.  Henry VII looks like a real person--intelligent but closed in.
I walked up the street to Knightsbridge, because I figured I might as well peek into Harrods while I was there.  The store was crowded and bustling, and I would bet good money that every individual in the place was some form of tourist life.  People were actually buying things in the food hall. The luxury goods attendants were standing around giving directions.  A very nice and probably bored young man offered me a perfume strip.  Since it smelled pretty and fresh, I asked for a spritz, and he was kind enough to accommodate me.
Then it was time to tube home--and eat . . .
Mmm.  Fish and chips--so good.  Perfect for a drizzly day that turned a bit chill.  This is the second piece of advice for a drizzly Monday.  I hiked to my local chippy, which is not actually that close, but they fixed me right up, and the goods being well wrapped were still hot when I got here.  The batter is so crisp, and the cod fish it incloses is so flaky and tender. The chips are robust and doused with salt and malt vinegar. This is one of the other National Dishes of England, but truth to tell the biggest show in town appears to be East Asian.  Chinese has always been popular, but now, as in the rest of Europe, sushi is the deal.  Korean also seems to be making a running.   But no one does fish and chips like the English, so I'm sticking with that.  Cool Cidre to my mind is the best and most appropriate accompaniment.
Cherrio!

Lovely London Sunday

A Proper Good Morning to You,

Despite a forecast of gloom and possible rain, the day turned out to be gloriously sunny and warm--just perfect!
I began the day with a stroll down High Holborn to Chancery Lane.  Now we're in Dickens's territory!  I came back and then ducked down an alley literally across the street from my place and entered the Legal World!  Lincoln's Inn's Fields is about two minutes walk from Citadines, but I rarely think to go there.  I had a nice stroll around and also by the other Inns of Court nearby, which of course were deserted on Sunday morning.
Once I'd had enough of that I walked up to the British Museum. They were letting folks in early. Nice!  I took a different stairway up and came across a rich vein of things I had not seen before, and I am pretty sure had never seen on numerous previous visits.  Perhaps they are fairly new?  Anyway the most impressive was some stunning art from Ancient Cyprus and a wealth of wonderful everyday items and fine art from the Pre Roman Italian Peninsula.  The Etruscans were there of course, but there were also some amazing artifacts from Sicily, Sardinia, and the Southern part of the Italian Peninsula.
I also paid much more attention to the shops this time.  At the British Museum you will always be able to find food--either a snack bar or the fancier restaurant in the central pavilion, and you will always be offered an opportunity to spend your money.  Mind the shops are great!  A couple of them on the periphery are the high end shops with fine jewelry and full size reproductions, the most elegant of chinaware, and the silkiest of scarves.
In the center you will find a wealth of books, and I had a good time looking, plus a lot of other very nice merchandise.  You can buy doodads of course.  I confess to being tempted by the prospect of having my own pet Lammasu, but I was deterred by the weight.  But you can get scarves and umbrellas and t shirts and that sort of thing as well.  They have a lot of fun looking stuff for kids.
Having museumed myself out, I then set forth down Oxford Street, which is London's major shopping street.  It's also one of London's major thorough fares so none of it is pedestrianized.  I had a long walk to Selfridge's.  By that time Oxford Street was very lively.  A lot of stores now open on Sunday, which is something new since my last visit.
Selfridges is a high end store, but to my mind more user friendly than either Harrods--go look of course--or Fortnum and Mason--I don't think I've ever bought anything but tea there.  Selfridges has everything those admittedly elegant stores have, including an extensive food hall, but I have the idea that Londoners actually shop there.  I shopped this time mostly for ideas as I did not buy anything this trip. By that time I was footsore, so I tubed home via Bond Street and the Central Line.
I was hungry when I got home, too, so I made up an English apero of cidre, cheese, and olives.
Dinner is more chicken tikka masala. England is the only place I eat it because England is the only place I think of it, this dish being after all one of Britain's national dishes, and by all accounts was invented in Britain much like the ultimate doner kebab was invented somewhere in Europe.  Glasgow tried to get EU Origin Protected status for the stuff, but other people and places disputed Glasgow's story of the dish's invention.  Chicken tikka is just piece of chicken cooked on a tandoori oven with a spicy tomatoish sauce dumped over it usually served over rice or naan.  There are probably as many versions as there are cooks.
Cherrio!

British Portraits and English Cheese

A Proper Good Morning to You,

I started out the day with a trip to the cash machine where I was thrilled to receive a couple of the new ten pound notes with Miss Jane Austen on them!  Then I went to the grocery store to replenish my supply of cidre and other items.  The sky spat at me a little, but it wasn't bad or too cold.
I then strolled down in a leisurely fashion to the National Portrait Gallery to visit a lot of old historical friends.  I think most people walk through and appreciate the portraits without knowing who the people are.  I can't claim to know all of them.  Many I recognize without having to read the labels, but not all.
The portraits are in more or less chronological order from the top of the museum, so that's where I started with the Tudors.  I know ALL of them and their courtiers. I passed on to the Stuarts whom I know well, but I did not recognize all the courtiers, officials and artists of the later Stuart Period and that is true of the Georgians and Victorians as well.
The quality of the painting is uneven. I would say the quality of the sitters is uneven as well.  Some of the works are brilliantly evocative and the personalities just pop off the canvas.  And then one has the well meaning but crude sketch that Cassandra Austen made of her younger sister, Jane, which is the only authenticated contemporary image of her, and I have no confidence in the portrait claimed by Paula Byrne to be the adult Jane.  So Cassandra's is it.  The ten pound note portrait is a reproduction of an engraving much gussied up of Cassandra's sketch.
The hanging of the works is meaningful, too.  For example Robert, Earl of Burlington looks across the room to his collaborator on Chiswick House, William Kent.  William Gilbert is next to Arthur Sullivan.  Usually Whigs and Torys are kept separated.
Most of the portraits are of male politicians (although you can also find Mrs. Thatcher) and some of the men are surprisingly handsome. I still think Michael Faraday the scientist is hot, and his colleague Humphrey Davy is, too.  Prominent writers, artists, and actors are also featured.
I like the portrait paintings very well, but I appreciate the portrait busts more as I think the three D image gives a better idea of what the person actually looked like.
Admission to the National Portrait Gallery is free although they ask for a donation, but I also bought a ticket to a special exhibition of drawings, which was amazing.  Would you like to see sketches by Leonardo and Michelangelo?  Durer?  Rembrandt?  A host of others--all fascinating.
I walked back via Covent Garden.  It's just a fun place to prowl around and lick windows.  There are museums and other touristy things there, but I've been to the London Transport Museum a zillion times.
I did just happen by Neal's Yard Dairy, and I just did happen to come away with more cheddar cheese.  I am insulting my French cheese and butter by having them on English water crackers, so I can save the bread for breakfast.  That's so American of me.  But the cheese and butter are just as good. The cheddar is just lovely with the cidre.  It's so English.  Cheddar and cidre are both from Somerset, so they go together perfectly.
Cherrio!

Snooting Around in London

A Proper Good Morning to You,
I had a good nights sleep and felt pretty perky this morning, but I had a pleasant low key day doing nothing much.  Since Holborn Station was closed to entry, I strolled down to Covent Garden Station licking windows along the way.
On the way I experienced a London Underground Security issue.  Our train was held at Russell Square Station for about ten minutes.  I was contemplating getting off and continuing my journey on foot when it was announced that the Transit Authority had found an unattended package at Caledonian Road, but it was all clear now.  We proceeded.
I did do something touristy today.  I went to the British Library.  It's free to enter although one has to open one's bags at security.  I was surprised at how busy it was, but that's a good thing.  The British Library's collection is huge, so the documents exhibited rotate although you can always find Magna Carta for example and a Gutenberg Bible.
Among the things I was most excited to see was Miss Jane Austen's juvenile "Volume the Third" and to go to rather another extreme the Codex Sinaiticus, the earliest surviving version of the entire New Testament in Greek and part of the Greek Old Testament.  It dates from the Fourth Century CE. Amazing.
One of Leonardo da Vinci's notebooks was displayed along with a letter from Michelangelo and some drawings by Albrecht Durer.  Numerous and very intricately illuminated Books of Hours were also shown, some no bigger than the palm of my small hand.
The lighting is kept low to protect the manuscripts.
After that I walked up to St. Pancras Station. Yes.  I know I just came from there yesterday, but I didn't have a chance to look around, and this is London's version of a Hauptbahnhof, so I could hardly resist.  I'm pretty sure that the traveller can get from pretty much anywhere from there that doesn't involve actually crossing an ocean.  Something I forgot to mention yesterday was that the Eurostar I took came from Brussels and all the announcements were made in French, English, and Flemish.  Pretty cool!
St. Pancras also hosts a high end shopping mall.  I had a good look around and ended up spending all my money on fancy tea from the local branch of Fortnum and Mason.  One is a special blend called St. Pancras which comes loose in tins, and while you can get it on line, the station store is the only brick and mortar place it's sold.  I got some. I don't know how I'm going to pack all this tea, but I am sure I'll manage.
I brought part of France home with me, so with my refreshing and English pear cider, I am having some luscious Rocamador goat cheese.  As it melts at room temperature, it melted on the trip, but that's ok.  It's lovely--all mild and creamy.  Next up is some Pont L'Eveque cows milk cheese.  It's got a slightly stretchier texture and a much stronger flavor.  Both are divine with the pear cidre.  Both are raw milk cheeses that I have to eat now because it is illegal to bring them into the United States--and you just know that LAX employs cheese sniffing dogs.
For dessert there is Butter!  Yes, I love butter so much I eat it for dessert since it's a rare treat in my life.  This is the wonderful demi sel (lightly salted with sea salt crystals) raw milk butter from my friends at Pascal Bellevaire.  It just tastes so marvelously buttery!  I had it with the apple cidre, and it made a nice combination. All these spreads were served on Pain Polaine.

Tren a Grand Vitesse

A Proper Good Morning to You,

Although it's late afternoon/early evening here in London.  Upon arrival, I actually suffered some culture shock!  After laid back Lyon, Central London's crowds and bustle were unsettling.
I spent the day in travel.  After checking out, I made my way to Gare de Lyon Part Dieu where I arrived three weeks ago.  Had I but known the train station is an easy walk plus short cut through the Giant Shopping Mall from my hotel.  A lot of travelers use that short cut by the way.
I arrived in good time.  The website had told me I did not have to check in anywhere, but the ticket said I needed to validate it, so I did.  I was not getting on the Eurostar but a TGV that would whisk me from Lyon to Lille Europe International in a remarkably short time.  Because these trains are fast. The French name means train of great speed.
The trains I had been taking in Lyon were regional or TER trains.  You can just show up and jump on without a reservation.  The TGV are different as reservations are mandatory, and each passenger has an assigned seat.  If you want to travel less spontaneously than I do and will make specific reservations in advance--and you can do it on the SNCF website, then a host of destinations would be within your reach from Lyon or any other major city.
I had a window seat for the whole of my journey although I was sitting backward until we got to Lille.  I believe these trains mostly run on TGV dedicated tracks because of their speed.  I had no idea where we were until our first stop at Marne-La Vallee where I caught quick flash of Euro Disney as we pulled out.  The train also stops at Charles de Gaulle Airport.
The train I was on was bound for Brussels, so when we arrived in Lille, which is one of the stations for the Eurostar, many of us got off.  My seat mate (from Australia?) had been given bogus information about the stop.  She was to meet her cousin in Lille, and some of us had to convince her that this was indeed the place, and she really didn't want to end up cousinless in Brussels.   There was a while before check in opened so I wandered around and paid to use a toilet.  I'd put my Euros away and dug out my pounds, but I had to redig the Euros.  Sigh.
I don't know if this is normal or on account of Brexit but we had to clear passport control, customs, and security before boarding in London, and the stop in Lille was for French and UK boarder and passport control, customs, and security.  The British passport officer asked me a lot of questions, too.  She wanted to know what I was doing in London and for how long and was I going to meet anyone.
The trip back was smooth but it was a route, I was unfamiliar with via Calais and Ebbsfleet.  Even after the Euro Tunnel we spent a lot of time underground.
I got the tube at Kings Cross with my faithful Oyster Card.  They sell them on the Eurostar and you can get tickets to Mme Tussauds as well.  A short tube hop brought me home to Holborn.  I checked in and then went and got some cash and food.  It's just microwave spinach cannelloni, but it's pretty good--or else I was really hungry.
Cherrio!

Living in Lyon

Bon Jour Mes Amies,
Of course I don't actually live in Lyon.  I am just visiting and I hit the rails tomorrow morning back to London.  I spent the morning shopping, and then took one last afternoon walk across the city and its two beautiful rivers.  I did come back early because I have to wash my hair and also pack and figure out how to bring some of France back with me to England.
It's chilly in the morning, but the sun was out and the afternoon was warm and glorious.  One of the things I come to Europe to do is walk, and Lyon is even more walkable than the many other supremely walkable cities I've visited.  As I've mentioned my side of the Rhone is flat.  The Presque'ile is flat, and the hills only start on the far side of the Saone, and then it gets steep.  Crossing both rivers is easy and so is crossing the Presque'ile.  If I take Cours LaFayette down to the Rhone and cross there's a street that will take me to the Saone crossing and the Old Town.  I did learn by experience that it really matters which bridge one takes, and I realized that it's better to come back the way one went out.
The streets of the Old Town or Ville Vieux as we French say are heavily cobbled.  Even with my stout shoes I find it a bit of a heavy go, but I enjoy the narrow streets and pretty shops.  Of course by the time I got there the tour groups were out.  By the way, one can recognize the novice foreign visitor in Lyon by the way he or she hesitates to cross streets when the light is against them, but the coast is clear.  Ha ha!  That was me three weeks ago.
Naturally I had one last walk through March St. Antoine.  Simply fabulous!  And on some days not entirely French.  There's an Italian stand and a guy selling Mexican from a truck.  I had a look, but being from Southern California, I was not especially impressed.  One reads that the French prefer milder spicing, but that may be changing.
Oh and speaking of markets and food, one of my stops this morning was Les Halles de Paul Bocuse, which is literally a minute and a half's walk from my aparthotel.  I'll be discussing dinner later.  Right now I am sipping my aperitif.
Here's dinner.  For my last one in Lyon I have returned to quenelles de Brochet, which are so characteristic and justifiably beloved by both the Lyonnaise and tourists alike.  So good!  The taste is rich, but mild and not overwhelming.  I poached them in some wine I had to use up and have seasoned them with the crayfish butter and a glop of olive oil.  I still don't have the right kind of wine to go with them, but--know what?--it does not matter.
France is of course a popular destination, but there is more to France than Paris, and many Americans never do get beyond Paris, which admittedly is an incredible place.  Lyon is called France's Second City, but I think the Lyonnaise and I would cavil a bit.  Do you like to eat?  Drink?  This is the place!  Interested in the Romans?  Come here!  Just want to hang out in a relaxed and friendly city?  Lyon is the place.
I have felt very welcomed and cared for here.  I am very sorry to leave, but then I love London, too.

It's not JUST a Color

Bon Jour Mes Amies,

The weather forecast for Lyon was cold and rainy.  I cared nothing for it.  My plan was to go south and bask in the sun.  My destination was the historic city of Orange, once the Roman center of Arausio.
Ok.  I get the title of the post now. (Someone thinks she's cute.)
The current name is the Occitan version of the Roman name.  It has nothing really to do with the color.
I began with the first of several disappointments.  My faithful cash machine was down.  Fine.  I can pay for my ticket with a credit card, which I did.  Here I want to mention that French boys and young men are carefully taught to be nice to old ladies.  I think that at least partially explains the charm with which I have been met by them, including the guy that sold me my ticket today, and very excited he was to give me the off peak travel discount.
In fact the travel times I chose were crucial to avoid the twin horrors of changing trains (I am capable of this; I just don't like it) and busses.  Some of the trips involved getting off the train and boarding a bus, and then getting back on a train a couple of stations down the road.  Non, merci! And this was a long enough trip without that.  Two hours is my day trip limit and this fulfilled it.
The trip down to Orange was somewhat dull.  Our way took us beside the river a lot, which I liked, and sometimes I caught glimpses of crumbing castles, but mostly it was industrial parks and things like that.  But then south of Vienne the country began to change.  It became bony by which I mean even though we weren't in the mountains a lot of exposed stone appeared.  The green of the vegetation altered, and when I saw the groves of olive trees, I knew we were in Provence.  The land began more and more to resemble Southern California albeit after a good rainy season.  The grass was gold, and I saw dry burnt looking fields and soil.
Orange made an initial bad impression on me.  We crossed a dry river bed and passed a junkyard full of rusting cars. Shades of Los Angeles!
The impression was not improved when I found that both google maps and the signs posts had let me down once again as to the location of the Tourist Office, and the public toilet I found (I was in need) took my money and did not open.  Fortunately I did find the Tourist Office, and another charming and gracious young man to whom I explained my need for facilities.  I decided that my first stop should be the Roman Theatre.
Zowie!  Orange's Roman remains are impressive, and this is probably the best preserved Roman theatre still in existence.  They still use it, too, touting its superior acoustics.  And it's not the only one.  Bits and pieces are scattered about the city, but I also walked out to the Triumphal Arch.  Incredible! Amazingly well preserved.  The center of the city is pedestrianized and very pretty although I did not have the good weather I'd hoped for.  It was cold, windy, and occasionally rainy.
Orange became an independent principality, and by various dynastic alliances came to be inherited by Willem of Nassau, later called "The Silent" and leader of the Dutch Revolt against the Spanish.  Orange was a Protestant enclave in this Catholic area and was eventually incorporated into the Kingdom of France by Louis XIV, who was understandably perturbed by the enmity of the current Prince of Orange, who ruled not just the Dutch Republic but Britain as well!
It's a fair step from the station to the town center and back, but when I arrived at the station the notice was that our train was going to be late.  I understand enough French to know what "en retard" means.  Phooey. I was cold and tired by then, but I'm home now, so all is well.

Chambery

Bon Jour Mes Amies,

I set off for the Alps again today.  I have getting to the train station down to a science.  There's a short cut through the giant shopping mall that I use coming and going.  I always make sure to arrive at the station in good time because I need to get my tickets and the wait in line can be uncertain.  I don't understand how or why it takes some people forty-five minutes to buy a ticket.  Most of the SNCF counter folk speak a little English, so that helps, but I know how to ask for the kind of ticket I want in French if need be.
I had a very pleasant day out.  I do have to confess to disappointment with the scenery on the way to Chambery after the landscape on the way to Annecy.  We passed mile after mile of industrial parks and Courbousiervilles.  Ugly.  I saw some nice rivers and fertile fields, but nothing especially alpine.  A common crop is maize.  I have not seen many vineyards.  I'm guessing they are north of here in Beaujolais land.
At length we arrived in Chambery.  Fortunately the Tourist Information Office was well sign posted and easy to get to because the directions I got from google maps were---odd.  I was instructed to cross a non existent pedestrian footbridge for example.  But I got a nice map of the town and set off to explore.
There are no great historical sights in Chambery. It's just a pretty town.  Like Annecy Chambery is proud of its heritage as part of Savoy.  This was especially evident today in the number of Italian grocery stores in Chambery, as Savoy although French speaking, was once a possession of the Kings of Sardinia-Piedmont.
There are some nice old churches and a castle.  The latter was closed, but I peeked in.  Almost all of the historic center is pedestrianized.  Annecy has a more beautiful setting, but as it happens I liked Chambery better as a city.  The streets and places are wider, and it has a more open feel.  It was also much less of a tourist carnival.  The buildings are elegant, and almost around every corner stands a statue or a fountain or both.
In addition there are some really old narrow streets and covered passages winding through walls of stone buildings something I find irresistible--lots of fun in late summer.  I am guessing that they would be pretty bleak in winter.
Also the public toilets are free.  Sometimes this matters!
Dinner is left overs.  I don't have much time left in Lyon, so I am enjoying the last of the foie gras de canard.  It's so good!  I have some sparkling wine to go with it, and then I will eat the rest of the pastilla.  I looked it up on the internet and the non-meat part of the filling is ground almonds.  No wonder it tasted so rich.  And almonds are so healthful.  I am sure they make up for all the sugar in this dish.
A demain.

Sunday in Lyon

Bon Jour Mes Amies,

I had a low key Sunday, or as we French say, Dimanche but got in plenty of walking, which I needed to do after yesterday.  After my leisurely breakfast of Pain Polaine liberally spread with hummus, I went out and first replenished my supply of euros from the BNP Paribus atm.  This particular bank is one of my bank's foreign partners.  I had an unpleasant time this summer watching the dollar/euro exchange rate deteriorate, so I am happy not to be paying additional transaction fees.  Moreover, the animation on the atm is super cute, which helps with the exchange rate pain.
Then I attended the local flea market set up in the place in front of the Mairie of the sixth? arondissement.  If you say Mairie then you get mayorie, which helps to explain city government.  I also mailed some post cards.  Then I set out for the park Tete d'Or, which is a brisk twenty minute straight shot from my home.
When I am abroad, I observe and follow the local rules of road crossing.  When last in Paris I was a hardened and shameless jay walker, and the deal is very similar in Lyon, except we pedestrians congregate at the crosswalks.  Even if it says "no walk" if there are no vehicles coming we feel free to cross.  Some brave souls cross anyway, but they are better at judging on coming traffic than I am.
Parc Tete d'Or is big--I mean really big, and I saw a lot of it I had not before, and I still did not cover the whole thing.  I found the velodrome for example, and some other recreational areas. The place strongly reminds me of Kew because there are extensive botanical gardens with green houses and planted beds of different habitats.  I wondered how the managed to maintain the Southwestern desert (complete with cacti) in this damp climate.
Since it was Sunday I shared the paths with many joggers and some bikers.
I was rude to some geese. They honked loudly and clearly recognized the woman who had come to feed them because they flocked towards her.  "Foie gras," I whispered as they crossed my path flapping and honking.
I came upon the station and tracks of a petite train.  Now this is something I am incapable of resisting, but alas today it was not running!  I walked along the tracks and listened, but instead of a real train there was a kind of Disneyland tram going along the regular roads.  Meh.
I went back to the park because I craved green.  The lush and varied green of the Rhone-Alps region of France feeds a deep hunger in my soul for green vegetation, something not widely available at home.
I Always carry a packet of tissues with me.  Always.  Because at the park I availed myself of the free and clean automated toilets, but the automation does not include refilling the toilet paper containers.  This is a common situation. Be prepared.
I came back via Les Halles de Paul Bocuse, which was in full spate on a Sunday afternoon.  It was packed with a combo of locals and tourists, and was crowded and crazy.  A lot of folks were there for oysters since it's the beginning of the season, and the shuckers were working non-stop.
I chose to get some fancy and expensive mezze.
Reverting to the Mediterranean Diet, Pil?
Well, I have missed some aspects of it. My digestion is too fragile for most foreign fruits and vegetables, so I've been indulging in saturated fat. But today I feasted on some nice dolma filled with rice followed by some really good falafel!  They can be dry.  This wasn't.  I followed up with a sort of  deep fried tacquito looking thing called brik.  Mine had spicy vegetables.  Mmm.  Crisp.  Tasty.
But let's move on to the main course. I have for a while been intrigued by a North African dish called Pastilla, but it looked far too complicated for me to try to make at home. It involves pastry . . . so.  But I got one filled with chicken.  To  accompany it I have some rather watery rose, but I am not in a position to complain too much since it's AOC, and I did not pay much for it.
The deal with Pastilla is that like many North African dishes it combines sweet with meat.  This is good!  It's not something I'd eat very often, but I sure am enjoying it now.  The pastry is like filo dough.  Apart from the chicken I can't tell what the filling is.  Couscous maybe.  Anyway it's awfully good.
A demain

Nothing Personal

Bon Jour Mes Amies,

I felt under the weather today, something that is most unusual for me on trips or in my life in general. Maybe this has to do with being older?  But the last time it happened was twenty years ago so maybe not. I've had a nap so I feel better.  I did manage to take the trash out and do some recycling.
I also have some thoughts.  I mentioned the transport police yesterday, and I also noticed some heavily harmed French Military at the station in Lyon--very heavily armored and armed.  It was not until I thought about it this morning until I connected it with the terrorist attack in London.
I do not ever worry about terrorism although I recognize the reality of it.  It just doesn't stop me from going where I want to go or doing what I want to do, and I observe that the Europeans just carry on normally, which is the appropriate response.
I have some observations on Lyon.  When I was in Paris a few year ago I was a shameless jay walker. The rule in Lyon is as follows.  There are traffic lights and walk don't walk lights, but if there is no on coming traffic, feel free to walk.  Just be aware of the bike lanes and on coming bikes, which are common here.
There are beggars who seem to be ubiquitous in Europe.  Most appear to be able bodied men whom I suspect are alcoholics or drug addicts unwilling to become part of the social support system universal in the European Union.
I am so French in my ability to blow off solicitors or beggars.  For the former a snappy statement in English, "I am a tourist, or  I am on vacation," works wonders.  Employ it as needed in whatever country you are in.  The Boy Scouts were very disapproving though.
But then there was that old woman making her painful way down Rue Victor Hugo with a cane--all bent over and bandaged--no one to take care of her.  I saw she carried a paper cup, so I gave her some money whispering--"There for but the Grace of God and Fosamax go I."
I am returning to London--fearlessly--in under a week.  There's security of course.  It exists here in Lyon.  Visitors are expected to open their bags upon entry to museums.  Not a big deal.  Sometimes one walks through metal detectors.  Still not a big deal.
People have told me they and their families have altered plans to visit Europe or other parts of the world because they fear terrorism, and I find that heart breaking because that's that the terrorists want.  I have never NEVER felt unsafe in Europe.  And sometimes I do feel unsafe at home in the United States.
Public venues such as museums or tourist offices want to keep track of the origins of visitors, so I am always asked--as it is clear either from my atrocious accent or my preference for English that I am a foreign visitor.  "Les E'tat Unis." is what I say.  The United States--because America is a geographic expression, and as an historian I refer to the actual nation.  The United States is the name of my country, and I am not ashamed to state it, and no one here has ever raised an eyebrow or curled a lip.  Or mentioned you know who or given me any attitude other than complete respect and courtesy.
Don't be afraid to travel.  Get your passports and save your money and come here or anywhere you want.  The world will welcome you. I promise.
A demain.

Annecy

Bon Jour Mes Amies,

The storm blew over and we had a brilliant late summer day.  It was a good time to visit the Alps.  The term alp seems to be from an Indo-European root meaning shiny.  I did not in fact see any shiny snow capped peaks, but I had a great day out.
Annecy makes a long day trip from Lyon.  The train ride is two hours which is pretty much my limit for day trips.  SNCF offered a bus option.  I did not chose it.
The Rhone area is flat, but after we passed our first stop Amberieu, the country grew hilly and then I spotted granite cliffs.  The train began to climb through canyons of steep granite walls with swiftly flowing rivers and intriguing looking villages.  A lot of the ride was spectacular.  The track runs right beside blue gray Lake Bourget for quite a while on the way to Aix les Bains.  After our stop there we climbed some more and at length fetched up at Annecy.
What a lovely place! Of course I almost immediately got lost when leaving the train station because of a combination of confusing google map directions and misleading signs, but I eventually made my way to Tourist Information where I obtained a map and instructions from a young man so charming, I wanted to bring him back with me.
Annecy has a lake also called Annecy, and that is where I headed first to stroll along the shore.  Of course a lot of other people had the same idea. Annecy is very touristy, but I think none the worse for it.  Boats offer tours of the lake, or people who know how to sail can rent boats.  I just walked along.
Then I explored the old town.  There are a lot of wonderful pedestrianized streets, covered passage ways, arcades, bridges, parks, and fountains.  I poked around the historic sights, but mostly I just wandered around and licked windows.
Something happened on the train back, but since my French is limited to Bonjour, I have no idea what it was.  The transit police showed up in our carriage, and folks they are Serious and Armed to the Teeth.  There was a lot of talking, but as far as I can tell no one was taken into custody.
Dinner is something simple because I got back later.  I pulled out my Pain Polaine and spread one slice with Cervelle de Canut and cut another slice in half with one half rillettes and the other Pont L'Eveque.  The wine is some cheapo--ahem--thrifty rose I pulled off the shelf that is actually rather good.  It's made from the grapes of Bordeaux and bears a AOC designation.

Art of the Apero

Bon Jour Mes Amies,

It's positively stormy today, so I did not go far afield.  The most exciting thing I did was go to the big grocery store in the basement of Monoprix at the giant mall.  Monoprix is the French Target, and a very useful store to know about.

If you ever wondered why Europeans go food shopping so often as do I when in Europe the answer is simple, and no it's not the love of fresh, fresh food.  Refrigerators are small even in houses.  The big double door fridges are virtually unknown for domestic use.  In apartments they are small ones like mine that don't hold much.  Moreover for stores in town, there are no parking lots, so it's not like home where I can wheel my shopping cart out to my car and load up.  In fact most grocery stores in town don't have shopping carts.  You can pick up a carry basket or a wheelie basket.  And just like now in California, one is expected to bring a bag--or you can buy one.  The customer also bags the goods herself.

People walk or take public transportation so carrying a lot of stuff at once is just not practical.  Stores do deliver though, and if you want a more American Experience you can always go to the HyperMarket Centers on the edges of cities.  They have big parking lots and McDonalds, too!

But since I am sitting around this afternoon instead of touristing, I thought I'd do an apero. 

Because this blog aims at being educational, I will explain the concept which is pretty much Pan Continental European.  It's generally a social occasion and can take place at a home or cafe.  My readers are my company.  Relax. It's all casual.  We'll have a little alcohol and some snacks before dinner.  The French normally don't drink cocktails unless they are out to eat and drink.

There are specific drinks designated as aperitifs, but wine will do.  Some French like whiskey.  I'm sipping some Cremant, which is the non Champagne sparking wine of France.  And some nicely spiced green and black olives makes a good accompaniment to the drink.  If you want to be fancy have pate, or a little sausage, some spreads, or high end chips.  More substantial offerings are an apero dinatoire meant to serve as the evening meal.

The French do not serve cheese before dinner--because what's the point of that?  Cheese comes after the meal bien sur.  But if you ever invite me, please be assured that I hold no such prejudice and will gladly eat cheese whenever it's offered.

I am having some Cervelle de Canut, and if you want to try it it looks pretty easy to make.  Get a container of fromage blanc or cream frais or even ricotta, and add minced garlic, and chopped up parsley and chives.  The French like a pinch of tarragon and olive oil, vinegar and salt to taste.  It should be fairly loose and spreadable.  Let it sit in the fridge for several hours for the flavors to blend, but serve at close to room temperature.  It should have a definite tang. If you pour a glass of wine and call it apero, I won't tell.

A demain.

Rest Day--But with Food

Bon Jour Mes Amies,

I wanted to give myself an easy day today, but since the activities would not be exciting, I wanted the food to be.  Besides, I can't help but notice that when there's some reference to food in the blog title my reader count goes up.  I am not blaming anyone for that.  As I've said before, I know my audience.
Today was a lot of walking around and some shopping.  I began by attending Les Halles de Paul Bocuse to obtain some nice comestibles.  We shall discuss my purchases one by one, but if you are offended by foie gras skip the next paragraph.
Because foie gras de canard with truffle bits is my apero along with some sparkling wine from the Loire Valley.  Foie gras is best served lightly chilled on a slice of good bread.  Sparking wine--Champagne for the deep pocketed--is a traditional accompaniment, but also a sweet white or even a dry white would do.  Not red wine, ok?  Or beer.  A dry cidre would work.  Oooh.  So rich and creamy.  Just the fois gras would have an almost nutty taste of liver--umani?--the truffle bits add something I cannot describe except to say it's definitely vegetal, but not at all mushroomy. They also add to the price!
One very characteristic product of Lyon is quenelles, which may take some explaining.  They are a sort of rich dumpling affair with meat or fish, or sometimes mushrooms that are very popular in some regions of France. I got Quenelles de Brochet, which is made with pike perch mushed into a paste and then mixed with cream, flour and sometimes egg.
Uh.  How are you going to eat these?
Poached. Yes I had to cook them, and I got some crayfish butter to put on them, too.
But, Pil, how did you know how to cook them?  This isn't your usual fare.
Well, I can follow the instructions on the box the nice lady at the counter put my quenelles in, and failing that--you do know you can find Anything On the Internet. I don't have an appropriate wine to go with them, but you can always try a crisp white wine from the Loire Valley where Quenelles de Brochet are also popular. I had two quenelles which I thought was a good portion.
Ready for a bite?  They smell slightly fishy.   Mmm.  Very mild and dumpling like. It probably needs a stronger sauce, but it's still good.  Yes, a nice dry wine would set this up very nicely.  I like these.
Now in French fashion I am going to have some cheese after dinner.  Pont L'Eveque is a cows milk cheese from Normandy, and the cute young cheese monger was especially enthusiastic about it.  I don't know if it was because he was instructed to push it or if he recognized a true cheese lover in me.  The cheese is semi soft and has a rather stubborn rind.  Rinds apparently are edible, and some people like them. I trim them off, but I don't get upset if the rind is not perfectly removed. The truth is in the eating.  To give it every chance, said cheese is served on Pain Polaine with a nice dry red wine, which as far as I can tell is an AOP from the Auvergene-Rhones-Alps.  In other words something fairly local.
This is good!  I would call Pont L'Eveque, a medium strong cheese.  It's got that definite earthy Norman taste, I happen to like, and the cheese and wine pair very well together.
My last purchase was some cream because ugh! my skin was so dry and getting flaky.
Flaky.  Pil, somehow that's so appropriate.
Bleah. Is the water in Lyon?  My advanced age?  French skin care products are widely available in the United States. I got a kind that isn't, but I can read simple French so I think it's ok.

Bourg-en-Bresse

Bon Jour Mes Amies,

I forgot to report yesterday that I came across a google car doing street level photography.  If you look up Place Bellecour in Lyon you might be able to spot me walking along.
Ok.  So this is why I hate busses.  Trains have stations and run on rails and there's a reasonable expectation that they will arrive and leave on time.  Not so with busses.  SNCF is increasingly in the bus rather than railway business, so I'll probably be taking a lot of their busses this trip.  The bus runs from the train station--in my case Part Dieu to the train station in Bourg-en-Bresse.  The trip out went smoothly.
I enjoyed looking at the countryside.  This part of France is gorgeous.  I found it just as green and lush as Normandy, and I like to see farms and small towns and all.  We arrived in Bourg a bit late, but no big deal.
I set off.  It's a pretty down and easy to get around.  I got a cordial welcome at Tourist Information where I picked up a map and got directions.  Bourg is known for two things.  One is the region's famous high end chickens, which are beloved of top chefs and discriminating eaters.  The chickens bear an AOC designation, and I have seen them at Les Halles de Paul Boucuse.  Ahem.  They come with their heads and feet attached.  I'd spring for one that was cooked, but I have no chicken cooking facilities here.
The other thing Bourg is known for is the magnificent Monastere Royal de Brou, the Royal Monastery (actually a convent) founded by Margaret of Austria the daughter of the Holy Roman Emperor.  In large part the foundation is a tribute to her third husband Philibert of Savoy.  Margaret was much married.  Her first husband was Charles VIII of France who threw her over for Anne of Brittany, but that's ok because then she was married to the Infante Juan of Castile and Aragon only he died.  She seems to have been happy with Philibert, and this part of France was evidently part of Savoy back in the day.
The building is exceptionally well preserved without any clunky restoration.  I was utterly enchanted by the Early Modern stone carving and wood carvings.  There's quite a bit of the original stained glass with tributes to Margaret's family and also the Bourbons.  Margaret and Philibert are buried there, and their tombs are elaborate and most beautiful. I am not sure Dijon or the rest of Burgundy has anything better.  The church was just incredible.
I also enjoyed the cloisters and the other parts of the convent that were open.  The place doubles as Bourg's fine art museum, but apart from some Late Medieval items, I was not impressed with the collection.  What was fun was a "virtual reality" experience.  A nice French woman outfitted me with  goggles and showed me how to press the button.  Whoa Ho!  The original look of the rooms suddenly appeared.  "Incroyable," I croaked pretty much exhausting my French.
The Royal Monastery is a fair hike from the city center, but I made my way back in a leisurely way so I could get the bus back.  It showed on the departures board, but no bus appeared and the notice of departure disappeared all of a sudden.  What?
Well, fine. There are worse things to do than hang out in Bourg-en-Bresse until the next bus was to depart.  I showed up when it was supposed to arrive.  It didn't.  Well of course, it finally did come because I got home all right.
One thing I noticed about the French folk of this region in Lyon and the other places I've visited.  They are far more willing to make eye contact and share a joke or a companionable feeling with a look or a smile.  That's a rather nice contrast to the closed in Parisians.
Dinner is very simple this evening.  I have Pain Polaine--google it if you don't know what I'm talking about one slice spread with some Cervelle de Canuts and the other with Rillettes de Poulet.  Rillettes are usually made with pork but any meat will do. The meat is cooked down and shredded to a paste and then covered with a layer of fat to preserve the meat.  It's a very traditional country dish.  With it we have some cheapo red wine which is not bad but not as successful a purchase as my previous one.
A demain

Old Churches

Bon Jour Mes Amies,

Lyon has plenty of churches--most of them old--some of them Very Old.  I visited a few today. The weather report was uncertain, so I needed something I could do even if it rained.  I covered a lot of ground and saw more than I could actually visit as it happens.  Some I thought would be open weren't.  In one a funeral was going on and fortunately I saw a notice outside before I went barging in.  All the churches in Lyon are living churches meaning that they are community centers where people worship regularly even in officially secular France.
First I crossed both the Rhone and Saone to Old Lyon.  Shall we start out with Lyon Cathedral also known as Eglise St. Jean since it is dedicated to John the Baptist.  But how many churches do you know that have their Roman foundations visible?  Christianity had certainly come to Lugdunum by the end of the Second Century, and church buildings were being built by the Fourth Century.  The original church on the site was dedicated to St. Stephen in the Fourth Century, and some of the fabric is still incorporated in the current building.  Not all went smoothly for the Christians or the Church.  During the persecutions, martyrs died in the arena, one of them was the Bishop known as St. Nizier.  He has a nice church dedicated to him near the Cathedral but it was closed.  Another was Blandina whom the lions did not find appetizing.  The Roman authorities had to find a another way to off her.  She has a church, too, but it's way down near the Confluence.
St. Jean is a Gothic Church and very beautiful although it has been heavily restored.  The place was pulled about a lot during the Wars of Religion in the late 1500s, a fate suffered by many of the older churches in Lyon. St. Jean has some original Medieval stained glass, and it is glorious!  It is not a very large church compared to some other Gothic structures I've been in, but I liked it a lot.
Then up the funicular.  I was not on my way to Fourviere this time.  When I visited the Gallo-Roman Museum I also entered Notre Dame de Fourviere.  I also learned yesterday that that thing on Fourviere that looks like the Eiffel Tower with a candle stuck in it is actually a smaller copy of said tower. You cannot possibly miss these as they dominate the skyline from its hill, as far as the church goes--meh.  I don't like the Nineteenth Century fake Byzantine.  Inside it's all over mosaics, but they are modern.  I also turned my nose up at Sacre Cour in Paris--just not to my taste.
I was going to a much much older church.  St. Irene has both Merovingian and Carolingian parts, and these are so rare.  They aren't spectacular, and in fact the church is quite small, but I love that they are so old.  The church was easy to find, too.  I'd pictured myself wandering the plateau like I did looking for the Musee des Canuts, but the church was sign posted.
I'd saved the best for last, but I did not realize it until I arrived at the Benedictine abbey church of St. Martin d'Ainay.  This one is on the Presque' Ile about a ten minute walk from Place Bellecour and if you can only do one make this one it.  Unless you hate Romanesque.
The non cruciform basilica dates from the early Twelfth Century, but there has been a Benedictine Abbey here since the Ninth Century, and there might have been an earlier larger church during the Merovingian Period.  The pretty chapel dedicated to Blandina the Martyr (and she may have been buried here) may be a survival of that or Carolingian. The current church is just wonderful--pure Romanesque, but not large or heavy.  The decorations inside (heavily restored as I guess) are lovely and period appropriate.  Apparently the only thing that saved the building from the fury of the French Revolutionaries is that it was a handy place to store grain.
I am taking a vacation from saturated fat today, so it's pasta for dinner. I'll try to do better tomorrow.

History of Lyon in Thirty Rooms

Bon Jour Mes Amies,

After complaining the other day about not being able to find Cervelle des Canuts, I finally came across some at Marche St. Antoine on the banks of the Saone this afternoon.
Oh yeah?  How does it taste?
Good! It's like a superior version of something we can get at home--soft cheese with herbs only this is softer and a bit yummier.  Just be careful what you are asking for.  Apparently there's something with a similar name that involves tripe.  The key words are Fromagier and not Charcuterier.
I know my way back home well enough that I can pay more attention to my surroundings.  Thus I was bemused by the vending machine selling condoms on Cours LaFayette.  In French condoms are called preservatifs, which has the potential to cause hilarious misunderstandings between French vendors and American organics.
I was also able to render actual assistance to a fellow traveler this morning.  I was walking down Cours LaFayette when a woman at the bus stop spoke to me in English. I asked if I could help.  She needed a bus.  Well, duh.  I know nothing of busses in Lyon, but I looked at the posted schedule and explained to her that her desired bus did not run on Sundays.  Oh was she impressed with my knowledge of French or what?  Anyway, I invited her to walk along with me, so I could show her to the metro.  She was from Taiwan and was thrilled to pieces that I knew her country.  We discussed tea and how the British mangle Taiwanese tea with (urg) milk and sugar.  I am happy to render help to my fellow travelers if I can because I have so often been helped.  It's the Travelers Code. We look out for each other.
An interesting thing I have observed in Lyon is the prevalence of scooters. A few seem mechanized, but by far the majority are human powered.  They are used by the old--sometimes by the very old to the young--and sometimes by the very young.  Is this unique to Lyon?  I don't remember anything of the sort in Paris, but perhaps the Parisians would consider scooters to be inelegant?  But it seems to work well as a good, clean way to get around.
And now on to the history in short the Musee de l'Histoire de Lyon.  The museum does not open until 11:00 so I had plenty of time to help fellow travelers and snoot around shops in the tourist district. The admission price to the museum includes a good and and helpful audio guide, and the museum itself is housed in a Renaissance mansion created by the Italians invited by King Francis I to develop the silk industry in Lyon. The building has been messed about a good deal, but one can see Renaissance echoes here and there.  The exhibits are good on Romans and Middle Ages and show some nice furniture and ceramics from the Renaissance.  I appreciated some interesting French Revolutionary and Napoleon Era stuff. One thing I always like to see is artifacts from everyday life, and these are in abundance.  Along with those are a lot of documents and engravings and mediocre paintings, but one gets a good sense of how the city developed and why it developed the way it did.   Also one can get a chuckle over the abrupt renaming of Rue Imperiale to Rue de la Republique after the fall of Napoleon III. There are a few very nice period rooms.
Dinner is left overs, but these are French left overs.  The foie gras won't keep forever, so I'm having it on Pain Polaine with a little sparking wine and then I'll have the goat cheese.  The foie gras is so good, I'll probably have to spring for another slice, but I think I might move on to cows milk cheese.
A demain!

Wallowing in History and Food

Bonjour Mes Amies,
I found it amusingly ironic that my first birthday in retirement falls on a Saturday.  Usually I was so caught up in the the start of school--trying to get my courses organized, frantically trying to learn my students' names, learning new software and policies--that I barely thought of it on the day.  We celebrated the weekend after.  Now I am at leisure, and of course I can celebrate my actual birthday, which I share with the Emperor Aurelian, Cardinal Richelieu, William Bligh of the Bounty and the State of California.   Hmm.  Not sure there's an astrological pattern there.
It's raining, which I regard as a lovely birthday treat and can only wish I could send some home to my sweltering and desiccated friends.  Since rain was in the forecast, I could plan this time, so I had a nice activity lined up. As I have mentioned Lyon is famed for its silk industry and weavers.  I went to the Museum of Textiles and since it was right there also the Museum of Decorative Arts.
One great thing about settling in a place is that one gets to know one's way around and one--meaning I--stop getting lost every time I set foot out the door.  I had a nice walk in the cool morning and gently falling rain.  I came across a market and of course I had to visit it--just checking, you know.
I found my target museums easily, bought my ticket, and started in.  The textile museum is amazing.  It's all high-end fabric art both weaving and embroidery.  The cloths look like paintings as they are so detailed and complex. I had to put on my glasses and get close to the works to see the teensy tiny threads.  I have so little fine motor control these days, I can barely sign my own name.  The skill and the time it took to create these fantastic pieces of cloth leave me in awe.
Then on to the Museum of Decorative Arts where I found one right after another a lot of period rooms.  I love these, and whoever designed them did an excellent job. The rooms had harmonious color schemes with an interesting variety of shapes and textures.  Just the right amount of furniture and decoration was in each.  I saw several pieces that would do nicely in my condo. I really enjoyed this, and I also like looking at fine old china and picked out some tea sets. But the French are like everyone else in Europe--really narrow minded about me making off with their national treasures.
Happy Birthday, Pil.  I bet you planned something Really Special for a birthday dinner. Eh?
Well, yes. I wanted to try something I've never had before, so I thought I'd get and cook quenelles and try the fish kind.  I can do that next week.  I came across something I liked better.
What could that be?
Well.  Do you remember how obsessed I was with macarons when I was in Paris last time?
You mean the new French President?
That's so cute.  Macarons are a kind of cookie.  They are Still A Thing.  One can find them everywhere, but I am done with them--except---I came across--savory macarons.  Instead of being made with sugar and filled with ganache they have other stuff.
Are you ready for a savory macaron?
I guess.
This one is filled with cepes--that's mushroom to you.  And it wasn't what I was expecting. The shells are still the same and sweet but the filling had almost a chocolate quality.  It was really good and not exactly like the macrons I'd had before.  I am liking this so far.
Are you having wine with dinner, Pil?
As usual when I'm in France. And before you ask, I bring wine stoppers with me, so I can keep a bottle two or three days.  Today I'm drinking cremant which is a non Champagne sparkling wine.  I like champagne, too, and drink it when I can, but I am not interested in paying for it and other sparkling wines please me as much.  On to the next macaron.  I have one with a goat cheese filling and the shell is encrusted with sesame seeds.
Oh Yum!  This one is good, too.  The combo of sweet shell and salty creamy filling is fantastic.
Ok.  I'm not sure what this next one is.  The filling smells spicy like gingerbread.  Let's have a bite.  It tastes like gingerbread, too.  It's good.  Not my favorite because it's too sweet and not savory enough. We proceed to the last one filled with pate de foie gras de canard.
I am predicting you'll like it.
That's a pretty safe bet, but let's test it out.  It's ok.  I can taste the pate, but I really like the mushroom and cheese ones better.  This one is a bit bland in comparison.  But hey!  Since I had Birthday Week and there's plenty of September left, why not continue with Birthday Month?
A demain.

Vienne

Bon Jour Mes Amies.
The charming city of Vienne on the banks of the Rhone has been a popular spot for habitation since the bronze age, and it makes an easy and delightful day trip from Lyon.  Fortunately I had a day of spectacular weather for it.
I was puzzled when I researched my time table and ticket. The trip out was fast, but the trip back look significantly longer.  Stops I guessed.  Yes, but that was only part of it.  We trained out but bussed back.  I don't know why, but it did'n't bother me because I got to see more of the region.  What did bother me was the string of large and busy McDonalds that lined our route back and the sad (to me) spectacle of French cars lined up for drive through.  People worry about cooking being a lost art.  I hope not.
Vienne was easy to get around.  I quickly found the fancy and welcoming tourist information center and was provided with a clear map to all the historic goodies to be found.  Vienne was at first an important center of the Gallic Allobroges tribe who used the river system in the area to build up a trading empire.  Then, of course, the Romans showed up.  Interestingly the Roman name for Vienne in France and the better known Vienna in Austria are the same.
There are some impressive Roman sites here.  Probably the best known is the nearly intact Temple of Augustus and Livia.  Art History students would recognize the conventions of a Roman temple.  It sits on a podium,  is pseudotypteral,  and has a pro style Corinthian colonnade.  It's rather like the Maison Caree in Nimes just not as in good condition, and one cannot enter.
Among other sights was a Roman theatre that rivaled Lyons.  These spaces are not wasted.  Performances are regularly held in the this theatre and also in the Garden of Cybele, which also boasts some impressive ruins.  I even got to walk on a stretch of a Roman road!
All of this did not take as long as I anticipated because the center of Vienne is compact and easy to get around although some of it is steep, so I decided to get an earlier train back even though it meant a different station of arrival.  Well the train turned out to be a bus, but we arrived just fine, and I got the tram home and then visited Les Halles de Paul Bocuse to obtain croissant and butter.  Pascal Bellevaire seems to hire only cute cheese mongers.  This is nice.  I also wanted to look over the offerings so I could contemplate what special thing to have tomorrow.
I have sipped my aperitif as I wrote the post, and I am cooking some ravioli that I will douse with the lush but piquant olive oil.  And I discovered that that cheap wine I pulled off the bottom shelf in Monoprix was a lot fancier than I realized.  It's not just AOC.  It's AOP--in other words not just recognized in France as the genuine product but throughout the European Union.
A demain.

The Silk Weavers of Lyon

Bon Jour Mes Amies!
Oof I got a work out today going up and down a trillion stairs--and I may be underestimating the number. The weather is still uncertain, so I decided to stay in town and investigate some Lyonnaise History.  The sky is darkening, but I am glad the rain held off until I got home because those stairs were way steep and narrow, and I fear slipping.  A sip of Kir Royale  will recruit my forces.
Lyon was once the center of France's silk industry.  The workers were called Canuts, and while their work could often be skilled, they were poorly paid and labored in appalling conditions.  They revolted frequently and futilely.  The Canuts worked on the looms with the pattern cards invented by the Jacquard Brothers.  A lot of the heartiness of Lyonnaise cuisine is attributed to the appetites of the Canuts.  There's even a cheese--cervelle de Canut, which translates to "silk weavers brains."  I've been looking for it in markets and grocery stores as it sounds good. It's soft and has herbs mixed in.  Maybe it's seasonal or people just make it at home because I can't find it.
The traditional restaurants called Bouchon were originally silk weavers' canteens.  I am under the impression that most of them are now gentrified and touristy.
I began the day with a trip to the big grocery store in the basement of the Monoprix in the Giant Shopping Center.  I needed more bread, wine, and water for one thing, but I like looking around grocery stores as much as I like looking around museums.
Then it was off across the Rhone to the Croix Rousses district of Lyon.  I wanted to wander a picturesque part of town and visit the silk weavers museum.  My side of the Rhone is flat.  This part of the Presqu'ile is not.  It's an older part of the city and was once the district of the Canuts.  Getting there was easy enough.  Finding my way around once there--not so much.  There's a steep hill and a lot of winding roads and stairs. Lots of stairs.  None of the streets I encountered seemed to have anything to do with my map or the google directions.  I had no idea where I was, and the sky turned dark and threatening.  I almost gave up.
Then I saw a sign: "Maison des Canuts."  Somehow I'd found what I was looking for.  The museum is small and not set up for tourists, but there are cards in English to explain the exhibits.  I liked seeing the looms and the Jacquard Cards, and many exquisite examples of the product were displayed.  Wow!  Of course then the Industrial Revolution came along and spinning and weaving were mechanized.
I looked for more stairs that would take me down to the riverside from whence I could make my way home.  A young man asked me for directions.  I explained I was a tourist, but since he was cute, I asked if I could help.  He wanted a grocery store--so no.  And there were a lot of stairs down.  A lot.  So by the time I got home I was weary and footsore, but it had been a good day.
I am having some very nice red wine with my cheese this evening.  I pulled something cheap off the shelves which is my practice, but it's surprisingly smooth and divine with the goat cheese.  They enrich each other.  It's equally divine with the cheddar I'd brought from London.  A sigh of satisfaction.
A demain.

Rained Out

Bon Jour Mes Amies!
Ok.  Why is my skin so dry all of a sudden?  It's not a low fat diet--that's for sure.
I walked out of the door this morning to find hard rain that was not forecast.  I had plans for a day trip to the town of Vienne famed for Roman ruins. I'd written down train times and the direction to the Tourist Information Office and packed a snack for the train coming back.  I bring a bag of nuts with me on my trip, and I have a little plastic container that holds a single serving that I can put in my purse.  But if the day was rainy then my plans would not work well.  I instantly scraped and changed them.  I don't need to be in a hurry so this is not a big deal.  I'll go to Vienne later.
A gigantic and maze-like shopping mall is within about ten minutes walk and is across the street from the train station. I just enjoy poking around stores in foreign countries, so I first I took myself off to the train station hoping that the sky would clear. I hoped in vain, but I got to check out future destinations for day trips when the weather is suitable.  Then I crossed the street to the shopping center.
I needed to get some hours of walking in, and this was a good place to do it.  I had a lot of windows to lick. I squirted myself with some fancy perfume in Galeries  Lafayette.  Gucci, I thought, can't possibly be bad.  I was mistaken.  Gurgh!  The name of the stuff was "Guilty." Duh. Should have clued me in.
Someone I know has a birthday coming up very shortly.  Pre blogging I was in Sarlat one year buying something, and Madame asked me if  my purchase was a gift.  "Oui!" I replied, "por moi meme."  In other words a present for myself. and Madame said those were the best kind. So I figured today would be a good opportunity to shop, but although I saw many things I liked, I did not see anything I liked and could carry home.
If you have a yen for a burger in Lyon there's a Burger King in the basement next to the metro station.  You can also find a McDonalds in the mall.  The French apparently love fast food, but since actual French fast food is widely available, why would a tourist try anything else?
On my way home I found a post office for a wonder open, but French post offices double as banks, and a lot of other stuff goes on there so I was confused.  Fortunately a very kind woman offered me assistance, and I was able to buy my stamps for the post cards.  I spoke French--just not very well.
I ended up at Les Halles de Paul Bocuse.  I have the suspicion that the spectacle of me--an obvious American trying to shop en francais--is highly entertaining to the French I interact with, but they are always so gracious and patient that it remains only a suspicion.
Ok, Pil.  So you bought something to eat.  Spill.
Part of the rationale of this blog is to entertain the readers, and I happen to know that a lot of said readers are entertained by food.  I sacrifice myself for my public.  Or at least I sacrifice my arteries. My taste buds do just fine.
First of all I want to warn those who are offended by foie gras.  I understand the offense.  I just don't share it.  Skip the next paragraph.
I prefer foie gras de canard--in other words duck liver.  It's considered less delicate and prestigious than goose liver, but when have I ever cared for that?  We have it served on pain Polaine de Siegle (rye bread.)  I did not get pate.  I sprang for the "entire," and I did not get much of it. Mine appears to have bits of truffle in it.  OOH. Yep.  The taste is impossible to describe.  It's not liverish or strong.  It's just very rich and satisfying.
Next up is some Rocamador, a delicate goat cheese that melts at room temperature.  It comes in small discs and I have one of them spread on pain Polaine.  It's divine!  Very tasty and fresh tasting, but not goaty at all--just very cheesy.
I got another goat cheese, too.  This one is a little more mature, and I had a nice conversation with the charming and attractive cheesemonger about what was and was not available in the United States.  He's visited and claims that lait cru Camenbert is available in big cities--probably only in my dreams.
Do we need to pronounce the world Cougar, Pil?
Not at all.  Just a couple of cheese lovers having a conversation.  Sheesh. Poor chap was probably bored out of his mind with no one to sell cheese to until I came along.  Anyway back to the goat cheese.  It's creamy and mild and not too different from the Rocamador although this one had a more pronounced rind I had to trim off.
Now I'm going to wash my hair.
A demain and let's hope for some sun.

Confluence!

Bonjour Mes Amies!

If you are used to a lot of freely flowing water, my fascination with rivers may appear senseless, but I live in a semi desert where the "river" flows underground or dries up.  Today I visited the confluence where Rhone and Saone meet, and I gather the interpretation is that the Saone flows into the Rhone which continues to be the Rhone.  There's an intriguing museum there, too.
It's warm but overcast and a bit humid.  It's not uncomfortable.  I decided to walk down the the Confluence even though it was a long way.  I figured I could pick a route through Presqu-ile that would allow the licking of windows.  I have been licking windows all along in the land of lecher le vitrine, (It means window shopping, so don't be grossed out.) and I must say that Lyon provides many opportunities to slurp at some mighty fine goods.  I dropped into a perfume store for a squirt--not bad.  Well, I walked and walked and walked some more.  I mistook a train station for a shopping mall and almost got turned around.  After even more walking I came upon an actual shopping center, which was fairly upscale and which had a nice and free toilet.  I availed myself of these facilities.
Then I walked some more.  The museum didn't open today until 11:00 so I had time to stroll to the very end of the peninsula for a look at the meeting of these two rivers.
The Museum of the Confluence is fairly new and is housed in one of those flamboyant modern buildings all over shiny surfaces, jutting roofs, and angles.  The building is large, but because it's so open it seems airy and light.  The contents are part natural history and part anthropology.  I had a good time.
I saw a lot of fossils and stuffed animals.  One cool thing is that a few of the exhibits are touchable.  I petted a dinosaur skull complete with teeth and a skull with horns of a woolly rhinoceros.  But the coolest of all was getting to fondle a chunk of our moon, and run my fingers over a sliver of Mars and some "star dust."
I also saw a lot of nice artifacts and a handsome collection of Non Western Art.
I finished up with a trip through a temporary exhibits on poisons complete with glass containers with snakes, and venomous insects.
But after that and a lot of stairs up and down I was not in the mood for that long walk back home.  A tram stop stood just by the museum, and it was a line that would get me home.  I got a ticket from the machine and hopped aboard.  Now it turned out that I miscalculated my stop but not badly.  I just had to walk back down the street for a bit, and the walking did me good.  So now I will sip my highly refreshing Kir Royale.
What's for dinner, Pil?  On account of it's Birthday Week!
Well, I can't have saturated fat All the Time, so pasta is on the menu, but since I'm going to douse it with fancy olive oil, it's still pretty indulgent, and I'll wash it down with some AOC Rose I pulled off the shelf.  One can get some pretty fancy wines even in corner grocery stores--only I don't, and I have never had anything skunky since I stick to AOC.
My pasta is buckwheat pasta, which I have never had, filled with mushroom. Shall we have a bite?
Mmmm.  That is lush.  I'm not missing the saturated fat.
A demain!