The Normandy Beaches

I took a three and a half hour bus ride to the United States of America on Saturday. If that doesn’t interest you enough to read this blog, then don't read it. See if I care.

The same people who took me to that fortified city/giant abbey on that mountain and those castles along that river decided to take me to the beach this past weekend. Wasn’t that swell of them? I thought so anyway.

So for the last time, we loaded the bus at an ungodly hour and drove through the relatively ugly countryside. The Pays de la Loire (the region in which I am staying) has a lot of things, but a pretty landscape is not one of them. It probably didn’t help that we were driving through before the sun rose either. About two and a half hours in, the sun finally came up and the grass turned a vivid green. We made it to Normandy, the agriculturally and bovinely rich region of France known for two things: its cheese (Camembert is really good, go ahead and try some) and its role in World War Two. We went for the latter, but don’t underestimate the importance of that cheese.

First up on this tour of tours was the Mémorial de Caen, musée pour la Paix, a museum dedicated to the Second World War and, more specifically, D-Day (in French: le Jour J) and the role Normandy played in the Allies’ successful push through France. The museum was really well done. It walked through the end of World War One and all the events that lead to D-Day and beyond. Unfortunately, it was not as photographic as some other museums. So that is sad for you.

Quick history overview (terribly brief version): By 1944, Hitler and the Germans occupied most of northern France. The war was, by this time, four (almost 5) years old. Hitler’s push in the east toward Russia a year before had failed. A successful Allied attack in France would likely turn the tide of war in their favor. On June 6, 1944, D-Day, the largest military invasion (by sea) in history, commenced. Somewhere around 175,000 Allied troops crossed the English Channel and invaded Normandy in not so favorable conditions (e.g. a fully armed German army spanning the coast and bad weather). Tens of thousand of soldiers (from both sides) would be killed in the coming days, weeks, and months. However, the mission was successful and the war eventually ended.

Full disclosure: I know embarrassingly little about World War Two. I know even less about World War Two as fought in Europe (Pear Harbor is about the extent of my knowledge if only because the movie). D-Day was something of a mystery to me until this weekend (I haven’t even seen “Saving Private Ryan”). I learned a lot this weekend. Perhaps more than I bargained for.

After about two hours at the museum, a nicely done movie about D-Day and the Battle of Normandy, and a free lunch, we got back on the bus and, thirty minutes later, we were in America.

After the war, the French were so grateful to the Allies, especially America, that they gave us a nice piece of land on which sits the Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial. Technically speaking, the land is American territory. Want proof?

The signs are in English and then French. It is nice to be back.

The grounds are beautiful and kept impeccably well (thanks to your tax dollars) as they should be. The cemetery houses the graves of around 10,000 American soldiers who gave their lives to save France from Nazi Germany and, ultimately, end the war.

The number of tombstones is humbling. All of them lined up in perfect, seemingly endless rows (Arlington National Cemetary style).

Many of them were crosses. Like this one.

Some of them were stars of David.

Some of them looked like this.

"Here rests in honored glory a comrade in arms known but to God"

I did notice all of the crosses or stars face the west, looking towards the U.S. Towards home.

The cemetery sits on a cliff, overlooking Omaha Beach (the codename of this stretch of coast on D-Day).

More than a few of the men buried here died right on that beach. Possibly right where I’m standing. That, friends, is a powerful and moving realization.

The cemetery also has a nice chapel right in the middle and a memorial near the front.

Now, I’m sure some sculptor worked really hard on the sculpture that is, no doubt, symbolic of one thing or another. To me, however, it looks like a statue of a guy in mid-service at a volleyball game. Nevertheless, the memorial is well done, complete with a giant wall on which is inscribed the names of those soldiers whose final resting place “is know only to God.”

I’ve never been prouder to be an American.

After that moving visit, we made our way to Omaha Beach.

Today, it is a peaceful beach. Sandy shores, blue water, the sound of the ocean. It is hard to picture that Tuesday morning when thousands of troops stormed the shore, many of them to their death. It’s hard to picture.

Next, we went to the Point du Hoc. Strategically speaking, this was one of the most important targets on D-Day. Sitting about thirty meters above the shore, it has a pretty perfect view of both Omaha and Utah Beaches (where the American troops were to invade). And hence the problem. A special regiment of Texans was to climb the cliff (with ropes and specially made ladders) and take the point an hour before everything else started. Unfortunately, they landed off course and didn’t make it in time. After traversing the beach and cliff, the other operations had already commenced. Also, it seems the German weapons had previously been moved. No matter, the brave Texans pushed forward, found the weapons they were looking for, and destroyed them. Two days later, when they joined other American forces, only about 90 of the original 225 or so were still fighting.

So, what does it look like now?
It’s a beautiful area. Green grass overlooking the water. And lots of bomb craters. Also, the remnants of the German, concrete-reinforced war structures.
Here’s the view.

War happened here.

And our last stop: the German cemetery.

I was a little confused by this stop at first. Why would we visit the graves of the enemy? It all made sense when I stepped on the grounds.

As black and white as we try and make war seem (especially WW2), the fact is that people die on both sides of the battle line. And it sucks. The German cemetery is roughly the same size as its American counterpart, but it houses the graves of some 21,000 fallen soldiers. What’s more is that like every other soldier (Allied or otherwise), many of them were young (my age and younger). These are the realities of war.

And so, after a physically and emotionally exhausting trip, its time to leave and head back to Angers. I learned a lot of history on this trip. I also learned a lot about war. If you are ever in France, this is a must see. And while you are at it, you can stop and get some of that cheese we were talking about earlier.

Nicolas Le Bec

*This is the final of a four-part series on my trip to Lyon.

I’ve saved the best for last. The piece de resistance. Oddly enough, it was the first thing I did in Lyon. It was the best thing I did in Lyon.

Do you remember I told you that Lyon has a whole host of Michelin stared restaurants? Do you remember I told you that Lyon is considered by many as the gastronomical capital of France? Do you remember I told you that? Well, it does and it is.

So, my experience in Lyon would not be complete without a trip to a fine French restaurant. I looked online for a good one.

Sadly, most of the starred restaurants are outrageously expensive. They are outrageously delicious, too. But outrageously expensive, nonetheless. And let me say right now that having a Michelin star or two or three isn’t the be all, end all of a restaurant. But it doesn’t hurt either.

Wouldn’t you know that I found a two-star restaurant that serves a three-course lunch menu for a not-very-outrageous price? Wouldn’t you know I fanatically researched the restaurant like I was writing a dissertation? Wouldn’t you know that I found a friend who wanted to go with me? Wouldn’t you know that I made a reservation for two for Friday afternoon? Wouldn’t you know that’s all I talked about for a week? Wouldn’t you know that I dreamed of the restaurant the night before?

So I hopped on the train Friday morning, and my dining partner... didn’t. She missed the train. Well, good. Now I’m going to have to explain to this fine dining restaurant what happened in French. And they are probably going to be mad. To make matters worse, I wasn’t as dressed as I probably should have been. I checked before hand with the restaurant, and they said there was no dress code. I wore my nicest jeans, a button down shirt, and a tie. I felt underdressed.

When I got off the train, I was nervous. Really nervous. I walked to the restaurant. Excited. Nervous. My first fine dining restaurant. My first Michelin starred restaurant. My first Michelin TWO starred restaurant. Here we go.

nicolas le bec

I explained my situation to the woman who opened the door for me. She said it was not a problem. Not a problem at all. She took my coat and scarf. Another man showed me to my table.

The restaurant.

It was beautiful. A modern space with a traditional feel. I felt comfortable here. Nervousness gone. My table was the second one in on the right.

My place setting.

That is salt, pepper, and butter on the left. A rose in water on the right.

The sommelier (this restaurant has a sommelier) came around with a cart and asked me if I wanted to start with some wine. He explained two different types of wine and a type of champagne in some beautiful French (that I didn’t understand a word of). I told him I would likely get the lunch menu with the wine pairing and he went on his way.

Then a woman came and presented me with the menu. And now I present it to you.

I chose Le Foie Gras de Canard Rôti, Le Quasi de Veau Fermier Rôti, and Le Biscuit Croustillant Chocolate Noisette. I also got the wine pairing. This was sort of impromptu. I wasn’t planning on it, but I felt bad that my friend wasn’t there, and it just seemed like a good idea at the time. It was only ten euro more, so I figured I would go for it.

Right after they took my menu away, I was presented with this.

Okay. Panic. What do I do? I don’t know what this is? I don’t know how to eat it. There was an older couple sitting at the table on my left, reveling in my confusion. They told me to eat them. But how? Do I use my silverware? The French never eat with their hands. When I worked up the courage, I went for the middle one first. A crouton with an olive tapenade-like spread. As little as it was, it was full of flavor (and I love olives). It had a satisfying crunch from the crouton.

Now for the other two. I picked up the first one and put it on an extra plat I had to my left. I dipped my fork into the white cream. Then the tiny brown dish cracked. Oh. I get it. It is not a dish at all. It is a cracker that looks like a little dish. That is so clever. I like this place.

The white one was a potato puree. The other, well I don’t quite remember the other. All I remember is having trouble eating it because every bite I took was complicated by the greens on top. I can tell you, however, that all three were a delicious way to start my meal.

The sommelier came back with a white wine. He poured me half a glass and then asked me if he should speak English. I said yes. Wine is foreign enough without the language barrier.

The first wine was a Chardonney with ginger undertones and whatnot (serious on the ginger, though). He said it went well with the fattiness of the foie gras. I blindly believed him. In my limited knowledge of Chardonneys, this was a really strong one.

And then it came. Course one, accompanied by a nice little explanation by the server.

Served with a leaf of lettuce, some pumpkin, and a sweet sauce, the foie gras was absolutely to die for. My first experience with foie gras and certainly not my last. It just melted in my mouth. Paired with the softened pumpkin and sweet sauce, the flavor and texture combination was just right. I mopped up the sauce with the piece of bread I was given. I should say that the wine did go really well with the dish. I mean, what do I know about wine pairings? All I know is that it tasted good. Remarkable.

And then they took the cleaned plate away. And I sat contently and waited for my next course. The restaurant was a dream to sit in. Waiters passing by, pouring drinks, serving new dishes, etc. It was just nice to take in the atmosphere and the room. If my water cup got low (throughout the whole course of the meal), someone would come by and fill it up. Between courses, they reset my table. The service was impeccable.

The sommelier came back again. This time with a red wine. I don’t remember the variety, but it had hints of raspberry, so he told me. Another strong wine, I liked this one better than the white.

And here comes course two. The same deal as before.

The veal was perfectly cooked. And the shallots (lined up in the back) were caramelized just so. Soft on the inside and not too potent, they were a dream with the veal. The sauce tasted great to me. And the pepper on the plate added both something to the presentation and the flavor of the dish. I’m probably in heaven at this point.

But there is more. The veal was served with some mashed potatoes on the side.

These were, hands down, the best mashed potatoes of my life. They were smooth and creamy. The word silky comes to mind. You could taste the butter in them. Absolutely delicious.

At this point, everything but my three glasses (two wines and a water), the rose, and my glass Evian bottle was taken. A nice woman came by with her crumber to clean the table. Dessert was not far off.

The break between courses was nice. An opportunity to digest and take in the restaurant. Between courses two and three, the old couple to my left who had been talking about me the entire meal (the tables weren’t that far apart and I do understand French), started asking me questions. They were quite impressed by my quest for a good French meal at such a young age. “You have chosen well,” the woman assured me in French. We talked for a good ten minutes. I think they warmed up to me.

My new geriatric friends left (their six or seven course lunch was over at this point) and dessert came.

This was a work of art. Front: A crunchy little cookie under a scoop of dark chocolate ganache, chocolate/hazelnut moose, and two chocolate covered wafers. Back: a scoop of caramel ice cream topped by some coffee/chocolate sand (for lack of a better word) and a hazelnut covered in caramel colored sugar that pulls into a long needle.

Dessert was so good. It was so good. The chocolate ganache was deep and rich. The moose was light and fluffy. The caramel ice cream was cool and refreshing. And the sugar sculpture was fun and inventive. This is how much I enjoyed it.

So they took the plate away. But there was another surprise on my table. Chocolate and candy!

Just a little something after the meal. The chocolates were so good. They had little layers inside of cookie-like wafers and chocolate. I ate three. The candies were a chewy tropical fruit flavored surprise. A light way to end the meal (I ate one and took the other two with me).

After the meal, I got to talking to the two older ladies sitting at the table to my right. They were equally impressed by my story and excited to meet an American. Thanks to them, I knew to ask someone in the restaurant for the bill. Otherwise, I’d probably still be sitting there.

The sommelier came with the bill. I asked him to tell everyone in the restaurant that they had given me the best meal of my life. And I was honest. He thanked me for coming and assured me that it was their pleasure serving me. This is really a special restaurant.

And so got I up and left. The woman who greeted me at the door two and a half hours earlier had my scarf and coat ready. She opened the door for me and I was back in Lyon. For those two and a half hours, I was in a dream. A dream I won’t soon forget.

Bernachon Chocolate

*This is the third of a four-part series on my trip to Lyon.

I didn’t just eat weird animal parts while in Lyon. I also tried a little bit of element 79. Go ahead and look it up in the Periodic Table of Elements. I’ll wait.

Yes, friends. I ate gold. And no, I am not implying that chocolate is gold (though it probably should be valued as much). There was actually gold on top of my chocolate. It tasted good.

There are some people, some people who know what they are talking about, who say that Bernachon is the best chocolate in France. And Bernachon is in Lyon. And I was in Lyon. So I went.

Bernachon is a chocolate maker. That means that they buy cocoa beans (from all across the world), roast them (in their kitchen), and do whatever else is necessary to make their store smell like a little piece of heaven. And they are really good at it.

They have a ton of different chocolates to try, as any self-respecting chocolate store would. Chocolate with nuts, praline, nougat, orange peels, etc. They have milk chocolate and dark chocolate. White chocolate is not actually chocolate. They have chocolate with a lot of sugar and chocolate with a little sugar. They have bars and they have candies. They also sell cakes.

I was overwhelmed while in the store. You don’t understand. The smell was intoxicating. The options were endless. People coming and going, even on a Sunday. The chocolate looked so good. There was an old lady who cut in front of me (true story). Did I mention the smell? I may have forgotten to take pictures. Forgive me.

Even so, my experience was a great one. The sales lady was the nicest I have encountered in France. I was with a couple friends, and she could tell by our accents we weren’t French. We told her our story, and she was very impressed. She was touched that we came to Bernachon chocolate on our trip to Lyon. I explained that I read about it on the Internet, through blogs and what not. She gave us each a free piece of chocolate. Here she is.

And my loot. I got a hodgepodge. Some truffles. Chocolate with carmel (at the suggestion of a blog I read). Some palet d’or. And a gift for a sister. I can’t talk about that one.

Truffles.

This one was a gift for my Mom. It was only after the fact that I read the truffles shouldn’t be kept past three weeks. I didn't have a choice. I had to eat it. Sorry, Mom. It was dark, chocolaty, smooth, and delicious.

And the gold.

This is the house specialty. Chocolate and gold. Life is fine. I bought six (they came in little boxes of three), and shared three with my host family. I think they like me a little more, so that is good. This was also the variety that the saleslady gave us for free. She was the best.

So what does it taste like? The gold? To be honest, I didn't really taste it. I suppose it is more of a visual, "this must be good because it there is gold on top of it" sort of thing. But the chocolate part was so good. It wasn't a solid piece of chocolate. There was a soft, chocolaty filling inside. It was bliss (NOT a Hershey's Bliss but the state of perfect happiness).

If I go back to Lyon, that is my first (and last) stop.

Dinner in a Bouchon

*This is the second of a four-part series on my trip to Lyon.

So how much did you like Lyon from my last post? Well hold on to your hats, ladies and gentlemen, because I’m about to knock your socks off (it seems these idioms don’t really reconcile, but you get the idea).

Lyonnaise cuisine is some of the best in the world. Hence my motivation for going. You might say I made a pilgrimage to Lyon. You might be right.

Whatever the case, I knew I wanted to go to a bouchon while in Lyon. What is a bouchon? I’m glad you asked.

The origin of the name is still debated, but many believe that it comes from an old French word meaning "a bunch of twisted straw." Apparently, someone though it would be a good idea to put a picture of a bouchon (twisted straw) on restaurant signs to designate them as such. That’s logical, right? By relation, the restaurants were called bouchons.

I’m not so sure I really care about the origin of the word. The fact of the matter is that bouchons are unique to Lyon and they serve delicious lyonnaise food. What’s that? Relative to other French cuisine (and any cuisine for that matter), the dishes at a bouchon are heavily meat oriented and fatty. More specifically, they specialize in offal (animal organs). Duck livers are big, as is anything in a pig that you can chew. Say what you want, but these bouchons create delicious food out of what is normally wasted. I think it’s noble. And delicious.

But a bouchon is not only about the food. Not at all. A bouchon is about the atmosphere. Tiny restaurants with décor that takes you back to the 1950’s and friendly service. That is what it’s all about.

I’m hungry. What are we waiting for?

We chose La Meunière, a cute little bouchon on a quite side street off the main road (i.e. the one with the Starbuck's) of the peninsula. It was listed as good in many a guidebook and website I read. Also, it was open on Saturday. Sounds good to me. We made a reservation for 8PM (that’s when it opens). And it is a good thing we did. A family walked in at 8:15 and was turned away. I suppose a full restaurant is a good restaurant.

And the décor? Not modern, that’s for sure.

The paint on the walls was chipped. There were posters that dated back a few decades. The lighting was pretty rustic. This place had character.

And right in the middle of the restaurant was a table with the desserts du jour, cheese plates, and some sausage. Just right there.

So lets sit down.

WARNING: The squeamish (and vegetarians) may find the next few pictures unsettling. This is the second time I’ve had to put this warning up over the course of this blog. I love France.

Waiting for us at the table was a giant bowl of something. Have a look for yourself.

Before indulging, we waited to ask what it was. Grattons. Literal translation: deep-fried pig fat. Loose translation: delicious. They were a little bit salty and really smooth going down. Not a bad way to start a meal.

Traditionally, bouchons serve “pots” of local wine (I’d say about half a bottle’s worth). I wasn’t in the mood for wine, but my tablemates indulged in a bottle of a local red. It made their cheeks turn a similar color.

So we ordered. I got the menu. Three courses (with a dessert option for 2 extra euro).

Course 1: Cow snout (muzzle) with lintels. This is what I was served.

It took us about five minutes to realize that this bouchon serves its food family style: take as much as you want from a giant bowl and when you are done, we’ll give it to someone else in the restaurant who ordered it. No kidding.

How did it taste? Great! The snout of a cow tastes just like, well, cow. It had a nice vinegary tang to it. And the beans were delicious! In some sort of sauce, they were almost peppery. The combination of the two was superb.

And my neighbor happened to get the “Salad of beef with lintels.” I tried a bit:

This one had what tasted like a mustard sauce on it. Equally delicious.

Now Course 2: Tripe (stomach) à la Lyonnaise.

A mixture of cooked stomach (likely cow’s stomach but I’m not so sure of the animal) and onions with spices and herbs. It was served with a giant bottle of malted vinegar. Know that this dish was a bit of a gamble for me. The verdict: delicious. The first bite, I wasn’t so sure. I though I tasted the smell of a stable with lots of animals (i.e. manure). The more I ate, the less I felt this way. The taste was surprisingly mild. Paired with the vinegar, it tasted pretty darn good. It was also served with some macaroni and cheese.

It was good.

If I went back to this bouchon, I’m not sure I would order the tripe again. I’m really glad I tried it, and I didn’t dislike it at all. But I didn’t LOVE it either.

At this point, I’ve had two courses of all you can eat meat plus an appetizer of fried fat. I’m feeling a little full. But there is a third course, cheese.

Course 3: Cervelle de canut.

Literally translated, this means canut brains. Here is the picture.

In reality, there are no brains involved. It is actually an immensely delicious mixture of fromage blanc, shallots, vinegar, olive oil, and some sort of herb. It was tangy and savory and satisfying.

My friend (the same one with the beef salad above) got the cheese plate. This is what they gave her:

They don’t fool around here.

After that unreasonably large meal, I just didn’t have it in me for dessert. That doesn’t happen very much in France. What a nice change of pace.

And that was my bouchon experience. It was a good one. We got there at eight (not a minute earlier – we actually got there around 7:45, despite my insistence not to, and were turned away) and left at around eleven. There is no turnaround at this restaurant. When you are there, you are there for the evening, and that’s that.

This all happened Saturday night. I haven’t eaten meat since, and I don’t feel I will for another week or so. But I’m not complaining. I’m not complaining at all.

Lyon – A Tour

*This is the first of a four-part series.

Don’t be jealous. I went to Lyon, France, this weekend. I suppose you can be a little jealous. I saw a beautiful city. I walked (about) fifteen miles (up hill both ways). I second-hand smoked like it was my job. I ate some of the best meals of my life. You know, the usual.

Before we start the city tour, let me give you a few background details on this spectacular city. You know, to wet your appetite. Lyon finds itself roughly halfway between Paris and Marseilles (it is about 2 hours from Paris by TGV – Trains that Go Very fast). A mere 160km from Geneva, it is even closer to the French Alps. On a clear day, you can see Mount Blanc (the highest mountain in Western Europe). The city was founded by the Romans back in 43BC and later served as the capital of Gaul because of its location at the nexus of two pretty major rivers: the Saône and the Rhône. It is split up into three parts: Fourvière/Old Lyon – west of the Saône – is a giant hill/mountain with a pretty basilica on top, the peninsula – between the two rivers – is flat towards the south with lots of shops and restaurants and then becomes another giant hill/mountain topped with the area Croix-Rousse, and the rest – east of the Rhône – is pretty flat and normal city-like. To help you keep it all straight, it is divided into nine arrondissements, that is to say nine areas of roughly similar size numbered in an order that defies all logic. The city proper houses just over 470,000 people and the metropolitan area about 1,750,000, so we’re talking a pretty substantial city, here.

Perhaps more importantly, Lyon is often called the culinary/gastronomical capital of France (and therefore the world). It has an entire constellation of Michelin stars among its many fine restaurants. Chef Paul Bocuse (father of modern French cuisine and namesake of the culinary Olympics: Bocuse d’Or) lives and operates his restaurant only kilometers from the city. Lyon is also known for its brasserie/bistro-like restaurants know as bouchons. These bouchons are a meat lover’s paradise. They serve all kinds of sausage and offal dishes at relatively low prices. Alas, my culinary escapades in Lyon will have to wait for their own blogs. Let’s see the city first.

What’s the best way to see a city? How about a tour provided by the tourist office?!

We start at the Place Bellecour, a HUGE town square that dates back to the days of royalty (please know that Lyon has town squares everywhere and most of them have fountains – the people of Lyon must really love fountains). So how big are we talking? The largest in France and one of the largest in Europe. Apparently, the kings lined up their soldiers here and paraded around as only kings can. In any event, this is a typical royal square, with symmetric and mirrored buildings on the north and south sides (destroyed during the Revolution and rebuilt by Napoleon) and a giant statue of Louis XIV on a horse.

Visible from the Place Bellecour is this monument.

A monument to Antoine de Saint-Exupéry and his timeless work, Le Petit Prince. Saint-Exupéry was born in Lyon (though he spent little time there).

Next up, the Cathedral of Saint John (the Baptist, that is).

This one is pretty impressive, but aren’t they all? Two fun facts: 1) if you look closely in the picture above, you will find that the statues of people on the outside of the building are decapitated – separation of Church and State is a theme in France – and 2) the Cathedral houses a pretty sweet clock.

The mechanism was originally constructed in the Middle Ages, but the exterior was restored during the Renaissance. There are three faces of the clock: 1) minutes, 2) hour, day, month, and location of the moon, and 3) Saints day (according to three different persuasions), and the major astronomical constellations as seen from Lyon. On the hour, the top part puts on a little show: a metallic rooster crows and flaps its wings, angel’s and men pop out of nowhere and circle around, bells chime, etc. This is one step above a cuckoo clock, people. And please take the time to appreciate that all this was engineered well before electricity.

Moving on, our tour guide is leading us through an unassuming door:

No, we are not going into someone’s house (that would be creepy and, probably, illegal). We are entering a traboule, or secret passageway. They are all different, but here is a typical one:

The city of Lyon was planned in such a way that the main roads run parallel to the rivers. In order for manufacturers (silk was a big industry in Lyon back in the day) to move their products toward the river, they constructed these passageways that sheltered them from the elements. Nowadays, these passageways serve mainly as entrances to private homes, tourist attractions, and storage areas (or all three!). These are interesting because they are (almost completely) unique to Lyon. Also, during WWII, they allowed Resistance members to hold secret meetings and escape the Gestapo. In the traboule pictured above, the stone floor and columns were cut from local mines, and they have fossils in them.

Why not stop in a museum? Lyon is full of them on pretty much any subject you can think of: regular art, modern art, the Resistance, and marionettes (the puppet kind) to name a few. We ended up at the Museum of Miniatures and Movie Props. There were a lot of props from some pretty cool movies and a ton of miniature displays/scenes. The amount of detail in these tiny rooms was unbelievable. There was also tiny art. Well worth the 5.50 euro.

I’m tired of this museum and history business. Let’s have a picnic atop a hill. Okay. The hill on the peninsula portion of Lyon is topped by an area called Croix-Rousse (originally home to many a silk worker and now just a pretty part of town and a UNESCO World Heritage Site). There is a market on Saturday mornings. What luck! Lets buy some fruit and bread from the market and find a nice place to eat. Picnic view:

And we have to go to Mass at some point. Sunday morning sounds good. Let's go to that Church. It looks pretty.

The only problem is that the Basilica of Notre Dame de Fourvière is actually on a mountain. The only way to get up the mountain is to walk. Thirty minutes later, we walk into Mass during the Psalm with a decent sweat worked up. Afterwards, there were pictures taken.

The interior is the most ornate I’ve seen in France. Mosaic walls, floors, and ceilings. Actual color and paintings involved. It was beautiful. Even the crypt was a huge space and impressive church. And it is all topped with a pretty, golden Lady.

And how about that view?

This makes all that climbing worth it. What else was on the mountain? How about a tower that replicates the last stage of the Eiffel Tower and currently serves as a TV/satellite tower.

Or some ruins left over from Antiquity.

Roman Amphitheater. Dating back to 5BC, this outdoor theater held 11,000 people when its second tier was still standing. It currently holds 4,500, but is no less impressive. The acoustics were terrific (we tried them out). Right next door was a mini-amphitheater. The Romans loved a good amphitheater.

It wasn’t until after Mass that we realized there is a train, a funicular in fact, that takes you up the mountain in roughly a minute and a half. That would have been nice to know before I scaled a mountain and cursed the very God I was going to worship every step of the way. No matter, we took the funicular down the mountain.

And it is here that I leave you, friends. I'd say we got a pretty good "post card" view of Lyon, wouldn't you? Unfortunately, one weekend is not nearly enough to discover a city with such history. I’ll just have to go back one day…