Morning Wandering

I get up earlier than Mary or most people. Several women I know are early risers because we require an hour or two of quiet solitude before the world (children, jobs, whatever) presses in. Nothing beats being outside on a walk as the sun rises in the east with brilliant colors promising a good day. Mornings always hold the promise of a good day, just as a newborn baby promises joy and great achievements. Neither works out all the time for all mornings or all babies, but at least both start with pure joy.

In France where people stay up so late, even 7:00 a.m. is early. So around 7:00 on our last day in Lyon, I left the Grand Hôtel de la Paix (the left hand circle on the map) and wandered over to the Saône river but decided to go north along the quai rather than over the bridge. Only the street sweepers and some few others were about.

Look at those pictures! I didn’t know this marvelous “Mur peint La Bibliothêque de la Cité” (wall painted as the Library of the City) existed! [Did you notice that I’ve finally learned how to put the accents into French words? Yay me! Now they look right.] Yes, it’s on the map just off the Quai de la Pêcherie, but no guide book mentioned it, nor person, so how was I to know?

All the people on the balconies are characters from books! There’s the Little Prince and St. Exupéry. Every person and detail is painted, even the pedestrians and the shop fronts. Marvelous! I was enchanted – and no-one was there to interfere with my long time of gawking. Alone in this intricate, detail-perfect, street gallery full of surprises, I felt I had discovered a secret garden or perhaps my “laughing place.”

In another blogpost, I was confused about whether the river we crossed frequently was the Saône or the Rhone. It’s the Saône, on the right, with the Rhone on the left. You can see our hotel was halfway between both. Our bridge was Pont Alphonse Juin (a Marshall of France and war hero) leading to Vieux Lyon (old Lyon). The circle there is for the restaurant area where we had a couple of lovely late night dinners. To the left of that you see “Fourvière,” and the winding white path going up the hill to the Roman ruins (see earlier blog).

The outdoor Marché Saint Antoine, just south of our street on the Saône quai, is where we bought our fresh, exquisite, dearly missed now, brunch each day.

I believe the rooster is on Pont Bonaparte. We were intrigued by the many statues of roosters we saw, and later discovered that the rooster, or “Chanteclair,” is the national symbol of France. Wikipedia can tell you the whole story of how that came to be. Of less importance is that neither of the two people we asked knew the story. I’m sure it would be the same in the States if one were to ask about some of our taken-for-granted symbols.

Lyon is a city where one could spend many leisurely days wandering around, getting acquainted, settling in. Maybe next time . . .