I returned from Rome on Friday night, and after barely 12 hours of what feels like a transit in Paris, B and I hurried down to the station to catch the two-hour train to Lyon, where we were to spend the weekend with his best friend Loïc and Loïc's girlfriend Caroline.
I was a little nervous initially because I think best friends tend to have the harshest judgements when it comes to partners (I know mine do!), but Loïc and Carol put me at ease immediately with their warmth and hospitality. After a lunch of beef tartare (mine was sautéd, thankfully), potato gratin and Carol's yummy chocolate fondant, we headed out into Lyon's first warm summer day for a gruelling uphill climb for a view of the second-largest city in France, after Paris.
We headed to the city centre after our unintended workout to soothe our parched throats with beer and Perrier, passing by a live art installation on the way. Models were posing, still as mannequins, like the kissing couple pictured below.
We then did an almost equally gruelling trudge back to the flat to wash up for dinner and for apéritifs. It is here in France that I am truly introduced to the concept of apéritifs. An alcoholic drink is served with finger food before a meal as it is believed to whet the appetite. Can't say I feel its effects, but I really enjoy the process of a long drawn-out meal.
Loïc made reservations at a homey restaurant I believe is called Notre Maison (translated as Our House), and the easy banter between the waitresses and patrons and the relaxed atmosphere made for a truly enjoyable dining experience. No tight spaces between tables or snooty wait staff, just a casual air of rowdy fun, and the gathering of people who truly loved their food.
The restaurant specializes in traditional Lyon dishes, and I was really happy to taste something regional. Clockwise from left: Carol's starter of some terrine, my starter of cochon sausage slices (tastes like lap cheong); my stewed pork and potato entrée, my praline tart dessert; Carol's boudin noir (French blood sausage); and B's starter of a mix of sausages, pig/cow's feet and I think the cheeks of a pig; . I tasted and liked everything, except the boudin noir. It's a psychological barrier, perhaps. Haha.
It was the night of the Fête de la Musique all around France, and Lyon was no exception. Buskers and performers lined the cobbled streets, and we stopped at every other performing band to listen, clap and shake a little. Except for this loud rock/metal band who was screaming half the time.
We were up bright and early the next day for the two-hour drive into Geneva, where we strolled around the city centre that breathed "quiet luxury" from its pores. Swans and ducks waded around in the lake, and the tranquility in the air had me briefly wondering if it had anything to do with Switzerland being a neutral country. Nonsense, I know.
We left the city centre, and drove a little further out to be on the banks of the Leman Lake.
We saw a house by the lake that looked like it belonged in a fairytale, with red roses and lush vines creeping up its stone walls. Its private boardwalk however led straight into the lake, which B said could be used for ice-skating in the winter. Magical, though I think I'd be falling over and cleaning the ice with my ass half the time if I were living in the house! Haha.
But it is a gorgeous sight, and a nice dream.
Our next stop was to Megève, a ski resort in the French Alps where B and Loïc often ski in the winter. Like many of the towns and villages I've seen on my trip so far, it was full of quaint low-rise buildings, and I can only imagine how pretty a winter wonderland it would look like in the cold months. Soft white snow, twinkling fairy lights, Christmas carols playing in restaurants and shops... It'd be hard to stop believing in Santa and Christmas miracles, living in a town like that.
We stopped for lunch at one of the outdoor cafes, and despite the summer heat, we ordered dishes usually eaten in cold weather. The boys shared a Fondue Savoyarde (cheese fondue served with bread and an assortment of cured meats), while Carol and I each had the Tartiflette, a baked cheese and potato dish served with cured meats as well. Stuffed is an understatement, especially since we don't have the harsh winter cold to speed up the digestion.
We headed further up into the mountains and for the first time in my life, I saw snow, even if it was covering the faraway Alps. The snow-capped mountains were a sight to behold, as were the expense of land and space, and the picture-perfect contrast of lush greenery against skies the blue of a robin's egg.
Back in Lyon, we stopped at one of the gardens and strolled around wild lavender, cyclists and locals lazing in the sun, before Loïc, B and I embarked on the five-hour sunset drive back to Paris.
And this is my favourite picture of the trip. I'm titling it Catnaps Under Summer Leaves.
No comments:
Post a Comment