A HISTORY LESSON

James Joyce has a short story in The Dubliners called, if I remember correctly, “Araby,” in which a young man wants to go to a fair based on the theme of A Thousand and One Nights. (I may have details wrong; I read it a long time ago.) He saves his pennies and dreams of the exotic wonders he'll witnesss, but when the night arrives, he can't leave on time because he has to wait for his parents to get home, or something. Anyway, evening comes and it's almost too late, but finally he catches the last tram out. By the time he arrives, though, the various stalls are closing, lights are being turned off, and his dream crumbles.

Why did this story come to mind? Because today was our “Araby.” We'd had a fantasy of strolling through a luxurious garden overlooking the Dordodogne, or experiencing our distant past by visiting The National Museum of Prehistory followed by a trip to Grotte de Rouffignac, a cave with prehistoric drawings. The weather prediction was for rain, so we chose the latter option. When we finally set off, the sun was shining, and thanks to Suzanne, our GPS system, we found the museum in record time. Bob turned up the street, which was about wide enough for a bicycle, and guess what? No place to park. Or directions to any such place. We had no choice but to continue on . . . and on . . . and on, hoping no car would come at us. Bob was growing more and more anxious as we drove for what seemed like forever. 

“Why not ask Suzanne to help us find a way back to the museum?” I asked.

Finally, we came to a real road and Suzanne said, “At the stop sign, turn right.”

Bob said, “I think I'm falling in love.”

Turns out, there was a parking lot, half a mile or so before entering the town where the museum was, and there was a tiny sign saying people visiting the museum could use it. So, we parked and hiked.

The museum is modern and nicely laid out, but it's small and everything is in French. No English translations or audio guides. The first thing you see is a glass case of a skeleton of Turkana Boy, and beside it, a

fleshed-out rendition of what he may have looked like. He was discovered by Leakey, not in the Dordodogne, but in Africa a mere 1.5 million years ago. Most everything else in the museum—bits of bone, arrow heads and “jewelry” made of animal teeth—date back a mere ten or twenty thousand years BCE. I think our favorite exhibit was a fleshed-out moose-like animal, now extinct. No transaction needed.

Okay, so why wouldn't an extinct animal and a 1.5 million-year-old ancestor satisfy our Araby fantasy? Well it would, but that's where things got dicey. We left the museum about noon, and the Grotte we wanted to visit closed for a couple of hours for lunch. There we were with two hours to kill and the hope that maybe we could get tickets to the Grotte if we hung around. The weather was still warm and sunny, so we decided to “do” the caves—the Grotte and Lascaux—tomorrow (May Day)--and instead, visit the gardens on our way back. Around 12:30, we stopped at a street market to pick up something for dinner, but it was just closing up: boxes piled up to put on vans, tarps being rolled up. We moved on, and by now, storm clouds were gathering. So, midway, we agreed to instruct Suzanne to skip the garden and head home. 

When we arrived, about 1:00 pm, the sun was still shining, but we agreed to roll up our tent anyway. We have four more days to find our Araby.

 

A MARKET, A TOUR & A HAPPY HOUR

Today was picture perfect, so Bob took a few of them. But it is hard to be the photographer, driver, map reader, etc. Warm, sunny, springlike. Could not be better. But according to predictions, we'll pay the piper for most, if not all of the rest of our stay in Sarlat. But first, just a word about dinner last evening at Le Regent, recommended by our host “Pippa,” Rick Steves, and now us. 

Le Regent

It was reasonably priced, the food delicious, the wine (Chateaux Theulet, Cote de Bergerac 2010) delightful, and a waiter with no trace of condescention. Karin and I were good to our tummies and ordered omlets, but Bob plowed ahead, ordering a fillet with truffles. He expected a juicy red steak, but what arrived was a lovely fillet of white fish. He shrugged, tried it, and raved about what a good choice he'd made. For dessert, Karin and I had one of the region's specialties, walnut cake served with crème Anglaise. Splendid. Forget what Bob had. (Some sort of walnut liquor soaked walnut ice cream.--Ed)

Our haul!

Today, being Saturday, was Market Day in Sarlat. Virtually the whole town gives over its roads and squares to street vendors, some of whom, according to Rick, keep their same location for generations. Not surprisingly, Karin came home with a sign for her store and a tiny dog that looked something like a Westie on a keyring. Bob and I, with advice from Karin, bought three kinds of cheese (including the famed Roquefort), snap peas, cherry tomatos, spring potatoes, tiny strawberries, and the usual baguettes and fabulous desserts. Dinner tonight will be in, preceded by Prosecco that has been chilling for a couple of days. (Now I really want to hurry to finish this blog entry.)

Sarlat in bloom

The shopping and a photo or two of some of the amazing buildings in Sarlat finished a picture perfect morning.

In the afternoon, we set out on one of my two planned sight-seeing trips, a lazy boat ride down the Dordodogne River snapping photos and marveling at the Medieval castles hovering over it. However, one of our members had an issue with the small boats we'd have had to rent (kayak!), and a major traffic jam where traffic was at a complete stand still made us miss the

Beynac Castle...in the traffic jam!

parking lot where we might have caught a larger boat, so it was on to Plan B, a meandering tour of the French countryside. But who cares? We all had a good time, and arrived home feeling well pleased with ourselves and ready for some down time to prepare us for Happy Hour. We even found a grocery store on the way home to pick up a few items including tea lights to set the ambiance for our dinner Chez Nous!

OLD FOLKS IN AN OLD TOWN

First, a brief introduction to Sarlat:

SARLAT-LA-CANEDA

This small village lies in the center of the Dordogne region of France (formerly called Perigord), just one province north of the Spanish border. During the hundred years war, which ended in 1453, the scenic Dordogne River separated the French and English forces, which accounts for all the scenic castles that dot its high cliffs. Now the area is famous for all its numerous prehistoric caves with paintings that date back around 18,000 to 10,000 years BCE. It's also justifiably famous for its food, especially truffles, duck, and walnuts.

Today's itinerary, except for a mandatory trip to the Le Clerc supermarket for toilet paper, cereal, bread, and roses (yellow), was open, so Bob tackled the mystery of the French washing machine. The house came with detailed instructions for using it, but even so, such machines require the patience of a saint (Sebastion?), the attitude of an engineer, and most desirably, the experience of a Margaret. Bob had the first two, but lacked the third. He did successfully complete one load, which is still drying, and has started another.

After a light lunch at home, we wandered into Sarlat, and

Typical square in old town Sarlat

did our tourist-neck-craning tour of this beautifully preserved old village. Bob took some photos, and we stopped for awhile at cafe, sitting in the sun, watching other tourists stroll by. By late afternoon, we were back for down time, but stopped for a few minutes to watch some locals across our street play Pentanque. Some of the balls used in the game apparently come with the house, so tomorrow, maybe Bob and Karin can issue a challenge.

Beautiful old town of Sarlat

Neighbors playing Pentanque.

QUE SARLAT, SARLAT

Thursday (but written Friday morning). 

Today was a travel day, driving from Lyon to Sarlat. But first, a word about dinner last night. We walked ten or fifteen minutes through the wind and the rain to arrive at the restaurant on time, but the door was locked! Fortunately, we found a place out of the rain to huddle until, in all good French time, they deigned to open the door. We were first in line (like the Brucatos), but soon the place filled up. Our waiter was young and handsome, sporting a set of perfect teeth, but also dripping with attitude toward his bourgeoise American customers. In the end, he managed to get most of our order filled, but forgot the coffees for Bob and Karin, both of whom tipped him anyway. (Bourgeoise Americans!)

We began with a pot (pronounded poh) of red house wine. You know how most wine bottles in the States have a hollowed out area at the bottom of the bottle, as if someone had poked his finger up the middle of it, thereby making it look as if it held more liquid that it does. Well, a pot does the opposite, but for the same reason. The bottom inch or two is clear, solid glass, making the bottle look like it's a full-sized, but it holds at least a tenth less wine than a normal bottle would, even one with a hollowed-out bottom. So, we easily finished off that one and had another. And then, with more than just a little help from Karin, a third one. As for what we had to eat . . . I'm trying to remember. Oh yes, a couple of us had “free range pork chops. (Let your imagination play with that one.) And Bob finished off with some kind of red sorbet so suffused with liquer that he had to show his ID to prove he was over 21. (Blackcurrant sorbet with blackcurrent liqueur and vodka!) And so, we merrily bade farewell to Lyon.

On the dreaded day of travel (Thursday), Bob and I went to Europcar to pick up our little Citron and find our way out of the spagetti complex of streets back to the flat to pick up Karin and our baggage. What would have been a nightmare a few years ago, with my fumbling for the right road on a paper map while Bob demanded I just choose one—any one, NOW--we were guided by the GPS that Bob brought with him. We've re-named her Suzanne, partly in honor of an old Vermont friend, and partly to differentiate her from all the Susans we know in Tucson and through Karin in Colorado. And she did beautifully, even instructing Bob which lane to be in before an up-coming turn. In no time, we arrived at the flat, packed the car, and headed out.

Except that road signs were in meters instead of miles, I could have easily mistaken the landscape for Vermont in springtime. There were still lingering signs of snow in the high elevations, but most of the way, the trees were my favorite pastel shades of pale green, bronze, red, and yellow. The hills and valleys, some of them extremely deep, were green and lush, and both cattle and sheep lounged around on their soft meadows. The architecture of the houses was distinctly French, not Vermont, but there were few of them visible from the road. It was even numbered 89, the same as the one that runs all the way through Vermont from New Hampshire to Canada.

Around noon we stopped for lunch at a roadside complex unlike any I've seen in the States. It had rest rooms, of course, a store filled with snack food, and several different sections selling everything from salads to soups, “Italian-style burgers,” baguette sandwiches, French pastries, French fries, and lots of French pastries. I promised not to reveal what any of us ordered OR took away for snacks, so don't pry, Chris.

The house we rented in Sarlat was not officially ours until 4 pm, and Karin somehow had discovered that there was a discount shop for Limoge China in, of all places, Limoge. Since we would have arrived at Sarlat at least a couple of hours early, we took a couple of hours' detour and let her satisfy her shopping urge. We too found a plate to add to our travel collection. Then it was back on the road, guided by our faithful Suzanne, stopping only to fill the car with gas and spending about as much as we did to rent the thing for a week and a day. Around 5, we arrived in Sarlat.

The House

Our house—for that's what it is—has three floors and as many bedrooms. Unlike the flat in Lyon with its single toilet, we now have three of them, one per floor. The place is made of stone and is obviously quite old, but nicely restored. I'm particularly taken with the curved banisters, which are obviously hand carved and joined—impressive work. It also has something extremely valuable in this tourist-popular town, a reserved parking space. 

However, the

The Entry from the Street

owners, rightly, had the heat turned down to somewhere around 60 degrees, and for people used to Arizona heat, this was far from acceptable. We turned the thermostat way up, opened the bottle of wine our hosts had graciously left for us, and slowly began the thawing process.

Later, since we could walk to town in ten minutes or so, we ventured out into the chilly night for dinner

Looking from the porch to the entry.

at Le Bistro. The town was ghost-like empty, but the restaurant was nearly filled, and, most important, warm. We had several of the area's specialties: duck breast, potatoes cooked in duck fat, a local wine, and walnut cake. The quality left something to be desired, but at this point in our long day, it didn't matter much, especially for Bob, who had driven over six hours to get here. Then we hurried home to our slowly warming, stone house to snuggle

Front Porch

under down-filled comforters. The prediction for the temperature this night was one degree below freezing. (I think it did drop to 39.)

FINAL DAY IN LYON

Les Halles de Lyon Paul Bocuse

Success. We made it to Les Halles, the Mecca of Munchies. It's a large, modern building with six or eight long isles of shoppes, all of them displaying their goods as if their proud owners were awaiting a photo shoot for Gourmet Magazine.

 

Fish laid out in a semi-circle on crushed ice, lobsters including—I kid you not—a blue one swimming about in a tank, boxes of assorted chocolates, pastries that defy description, steaks competing for pride of place over perfectly carved chops of lamb, bottles of wines with discrete price tags, tiny restaurants with fashionably slim ladies and gentlemen delicately cutting tiny portions of smoked salmon on a leaf of lettuce, and, of course, displays of dozens of dozens of kinds of cheeses. 

All had prices befitting their pride of place. Karin (maybe we shouldn't reveal this) bought a half dozen macarons carefully arranged in a dainty box, but Bob and Stew bravely resisted temptation

 And here's the kickers. We made our way there by public transportation even though the street out front was completely torn up and traffic was diverted enough that regular bus stops were ignored and temporary ones were placed on opposing streets! You were right, Margaret. The system is excellent. We used the trolly, buses, and underground Metro. The one thing we were missing was a map showing the bus routes. With that, I'm sure we would have had to walk much less, but thanks to Bob's navigational skills (that included a temper tantrum), we managed remarkably well, ending up, as planned, on the other side of the Saône River, having already passed over the Rhône. We thought we might have an ice cream cone for lunch at the Nardone Rene Glacier that according to Rick Steves has the best in town. However, the weather was raw, cold, and windy—so much so that my five layers of clothing felt as effective as holey tee shirt, and somehow the thought of a cone on a “pleasant outdoor seating on the river” did not appeal. We did succeed, however, in making a reservation at the Daniel & Denise - St Jean restaurant for

Daniel & Denise - St Jean, Vieux Lyon

this evening at seven—our splurge for our farewell dinner in Lyon.

INTO EVERY LIFE A LITTLE LYON MUST FALL

Our first dog, Alex, loved the water. He'd even dive to the bottom of the lake to retrieve a stone we'd toss for him. Our other dog, Fred, was just the opposite. He'd daintily tug at the leash in order to avoid getting his paws wet in a puddle

The wet view from our apartment window.

For us, today was a Fred day. Wind. Cold, steady rain. All day. We had planned to use our Metro tickets to go to Les Halles, as the Brucatos strongly suggested, but since it involved who knew how much walking, we opted instead to walk to the street market along the river instead. It was a shadow of the one on Sunday, but there were enough poor vendors for us to buy wine (of course), asparagus (in season), cherry tomatos, nuts, and tiny spring potatoes. We had planned on buying lamb chops, but had to wait until we returned to our shopping street for those, plus the mandatory stop for a baguette and pastries.

The Loot

At home, we munched on some of our loot, read a little, looked out the window at people hurrying by with umbrellas, and at cars with wipers flapping, before succumbing to long naps and more reading before the anxiously awaited Happy Hour.

Now dinner is cooking and we are awaiting the feast!

A MONDAY IN LYON IS STILL A MONDAY

Today was a series of small disasters, but with temperatures climbing into the 70s and sunny, who cared? The first disaster was trying to buy a packet of ten tickets for the Metro. After several tries at our local station, Bob noticed that the machine (no people around to help, of course) would not accept a credit card. Finally, a man showed up and tried a credit card purchase and gave up. He spoke English and said we had a choice of going to one or the other station next on the line. Since Bob had wanted to clarify our car rental at the train station (potential disaster #2), we walked to that station. 

Small part of Perrache Train Station

However, WHERE was it in what Karin described as a pot of spagetti walks, roads, and tunnels? After much searching and guesswork (no helpful signs, of course), we finally found it. 

The disaster Bob wanted to avert was having to cancel our 11:30 am pick-up time in order to re-book it for 9:00 am, a transaction that would have cost us a penalty if we did it online. When we finally found the rental desk, the problem was solved in no time. No penalty. So far, so good. Then it was back into the maze to find the underground station, and there—praise the lord—the credit card worked, and we boarded the Metro for a quick trip to Lyon's Museum of Fine Arts. (Okay, Margaret, are you happy now?)

Rick Steves said the museum was “impressive,” but we

didn't think it was. Bob tends to rate museums by how many awful paintings it has of St. Sebastian, the one pin-cushioned with arrows. How this tradition of his began, I don't remember, but Lyon's museum had only ONE St. Sebastian, and he didn't even have a single arrow sticking out of him. Either the artist thought his executioners were poor shots, or the museum curators mislabled the painting. But for us, it was symbolic of the visit. Not much there to see—not even one star—er, Sebastian.

Armed with seven good Metro tickets, we could easily have ridden back to the flat, but since it was such a beautiful day, we walked. On the way, Bob and Karin educated me on recent changes in men's styles. The current “in look” is men's jackets that look as if they'd shrunk, so that the arm lengths are well above the wrist and the length of the coat is half way up the rump. It's not a pretty look, but having had it pointed out to me, I began to notice it on the street. Let's hope it doesn't skip over to the US.

We stopped for wine at Nicolas, a popular wine store in the Place des Jacobins area. We picked up two bottles of local wines suggested by the helpful man behind the counter.

Next, after a quick stop at the store for milk, water avec gaz, eggs, and bananas, we returned to the flat for down-time (otherwise known as nap-time). Bob took no pictures at all today. Why photograph a disaster, a near-disaster, or worse still: an arrow-free saint?

(Pictures you do see here are 'imported.'--B)

POINT OF REFERENCE

We talk of our island (really a peninsula), the Saône River and the Rhône River. Here is a quick reference map that also shows where we live:  4 Rue Guynermer.

AN OLDIE BUT GOODIE

Last night, we dined on four or five kinds of cheese so good you can't buy them in the US, a pear, a couple of apples, strawberries, crackers, a fresh baguette, and some wine that a thoughtful previous tenant had left. I forget the name of it, but he (presumably) had bought a whole case of it and had finished all but three bottles, which we simply can't let go to waste. Bob checked on line, and they cost about $30/bottle, which, believe me, is much better than what we buy at Sprouts in Tucson. Finished off with a small pastry of some sort. Then Stew (this no longer spring chicken—maybe a winter chicken is more like it) went down for his ten hours of sleep, having had an hour and a half nap in the afternoon. Bob and Karin stayed up till midnight!

Approaching the market along the river

Anyway, today's activity was light, it being a Sunday and

sunny but still quite cool. Headed out first to the street market thinking that if we saw something we liked, we'd bring it back to the flat before heading out for the day's

planned adventure. Problem was, we liked everything we saw, and returned with bouquets of lilacs and tulips (Thanks, Karin), a roast chicken, some herricot vert to go with it, a baguette (of course), several more kinds of cheese (Who can resist, especially at those prices?),

Who could resist the presentation?

a bag of mixed nuts, delicious (small) strawberries, and I don't remember what-all else. My only regret is that I didn't buy asparagus, which is in season now. Bob thought the stems were too thick; Karin thought the white asparagus was tasteless; and faced with such opposition, I couldn't decide what to buy. So, clearly, it's dinner in tonight.

(I have no idea why the previous paragraph is centered. And it won't allow me to correct it! --B)

 Then, having put away all these goodies, we headed out for our day's adventure. Our flat is just a block from the Saône River, which we crossed on our very own foot bridge into Vieux Lyon. This old part of town was at its height in the Renaissance, when the city was rich with silk trade and banking. The .001%-ers liked to live on that side of the river in mansions modeled after those found in Italy. There is one of them restored to its former glory, but most are now disguised by bland, gray stucco (Why?). The streets are narrow and mostly reserved for pedestrians, not cars. Rue

Amorino (aka, home!)

St. Jean is the main drag and filled with small eateries and milling tourists. There, Bob found two of his favorite things: fresh-made crepes with jambon et fromage (okay...ham & cheese crepes!) and, later, an Amorino gelato shop that

Lemon gelato wrapped in raspberry with a macaroon

advertised frutti di bosco gelato, although the latter turned out not to be fruit of the woods, but rather raspberry. Even Karin, surrounded as she was with her two tempters, sampled both crepes and gelato. After all, one's not in Vieux Lyon every day. Our first Amorino Gelato Shop we discovered during one of our early trips to Italy. Now, it is home.

One side trip we took, thanks to Rick Steves'

recommendation, was to wander into a 'traboule.' What, you might ask, is that? It's a dark ally connecting two narrow streets and entered by buzzing open a door at either end. Inside are winding staircases going up five or six stories. They reminded Karin of one designed by Leonardo da Vinci for a castle in the Loire Valley. (Bob and Stew remembered climbing it.) These traboules, according to Rick,

helped save many a resistance fighters hiding from the Nazis in WW II.

Although we hated coming in-doors later in the afternoon, because it was so lovely out, none of us could resist the call of the nap. Then, in the apartment, there was the aroma of a roast chicken... So, we crossed our 'passerelle' and headed home.

THE SILK AND THE ROAD

Happy Diners

Our dinner last night was at Cafe Comptoir Abel which is barely a block down our street. It is considered the oldest and most authentic bouchon (local restaurant) in Lyon. Naturally we had to go. We had a great time and the food was good. Small, dark and cramped. Karin, who is being super-good about her diet, had only a pâtes au foie gras appetizer while Bob and Stew went in for full dinners: chicken for him with morel mushrooms and some kind of fish for me (Quenelle de brochet en gratin maison). And a couple of “pot” (carafes) of table wine. Everything was good, but not outstanding. The place was packed with lots of locals, it being a Friday night.

Our travel philosophy for this trip is to pick out one or maybe two destinations each day and then just wander around the areas they're in to get a feel for the city.

Maison des Canuts

Today, we had an early-for-us appointment high up on a hill where, at 11::00 am, we were part of a 5-person “tour” of Lyon's silk industry. In the 19^th century, it employed 50,000 or so people and 30,000 or so had looms. We were told about the evolution of the silk industry from its origins two or three thousand years or so BC in China, which kept the process a highly guarded secret. Eventually, though, some missionaries managed to

break the code, and the industry shifted to France, Lyon being the center of it. As part of the tour, the leader gave us a demonstration of how a hand loom worked, and she showed us three one-meter samples of what it could produce after a long, laborious process. She said the cost of the samples ranged from $2,000 - $9,000 per meter! Needless to say, they were spectacular, and we had all we could do to stop Karin from picking up a few meters. 

"Our" patisserie

Then we wandered down the hill back to the flat. It was a long walk, and only Bob's amazing map-reading kept us on course. But the trip was all down hill, so it wasn't too bad. We stopped by the store to pick up a few items to have for a dinner in, having a need to eat some of the pounds of cheese I bought yesterday. And, yes, we had to stop at our local patisserie, Eric Tixier. 

Again, nap time, but hey! It's a vacation, and none of us are exactly spring chickens.

At some point—now being as good a time as ever—we should add a word or two about our flat. It has three bedrooms, two bathrooms (but only one toilet—the most popular room in the place). The kitchen is all ultra-modern (IKEA!) with cabinets you have to push on to have them pop open. The livingroom has two couches and a chair, all quite comfortable, grouped around a coffee table, and all in the same open area with the kitchen island and dining area. Two large windows keep this area bright and cheerful, while the two bedrooms we use are at the back, facing a quiet courtyard. If you would like to see pictures, here is the web site:  https://www.airbnb.com/rooms/8606478

One item of particular interest is the trash bin. In keeping with the modern design, it senses when you approach it, and the lid pops open, whether you want to use the bin or not. Then, a moment later, it closes itself. This is all well and good except when your mind is on some other matter, such as what we're going to do tomorrow, and all of a sudden, up pops the lid, startling us back to the present moment.

OKAY WORLD, WE'RE AWAKE NOW

Today is the first day that we feel as if we are actually awake. From here on out, it should just get better.

Dinner!

First, dinner last night. We stayed in as predicted. With a spread like this, why not? We all planned on going to bed early, but in reality it was near eleven when the lights went out.

Opted not to go to the textile museum. Instead, we explored the southern area of Presqu'ile, which is the island in the center of Lyon where we live.

First job was to find the car rental place we'll need when we leave Wednesday. It is the Euorpcar office inside the La Perrache train station. Mission accomplished and then we headed further south to find the large shopping area with the full-sized Monoprix store. Our little stop yesterday was at a Monop' store. It is part of the same company, but doesn't carry much. 

Eglise Sainte Blandine

On the way we passed a beautiful church called Eglise Sainte Blandine on Cours Charlemagne. Just something that caught our eye.

Then it was onward to the shopping center and the full-sized Mono Prix store. None of us were expecting a large shopping center, but there it was. Now where is the Mono Prix?

 

Found it! Bought some socks for Bob and eye brow pencils for Margaret 

 

Headed home and stopped for coffee and water in Place Ampere. That is also where we buy groceries at the Carrefour. Picked up some more supplies such as water “avec gas,” milk, fruit, and

dish-washer soap. We were going to lay in a new supply of cheese, but the store was closed for its owners' lunch-and-siesta time. Naps.

Now heading out to our local fromagerie for that cheese!