I bit the bullet and decided to purchase the expensive hotel breakfast since I wasn’t going to have time for lunch today. The pastries were good, all the cheeses were fromages de la region, and the coffee was perfect. All in all no regrets. At the breakfast salon, I met a large American family who was also vacationing in the area. It was an older couple with their grown kids and their wives. They had booked a tour around the Savoie area that would take them to the Chateau de Menthon and some cheese caves. Their trip sounded amazing.
After breakfast I did one last round of the hotels gardens, unfurled on a chaise lounge and tried to take in as much as the beautiful view as possible. The air was cold but carried an alpine freshness that you can only find in the mountains.
The hotel staff ordered me a taxi to transfer me to the bus station where I would take the bus to Lyon. When my taxi driver arrived, I was awe struck. What a beautiful man. He opened the back passenger door of his black Mercedes and invited me inside. I looked at his ring hand and noticed there was no wedding band. I learned that his name was Laurant and that he lived in a house just behind the hotel. He complemented my French and asked where I was from. He said that he had been born in Geneva but then moved to Annecy and started a taxi/ transfer business. We discussed the weather and I learned that the day before had been the first day of clear skies and warm weather. I had been lucky. The last few weeks had brought nothing but rain.
Laurant dropped me off at the bus station just in time for my departure to Lyon. In the bus, I chose a window seat and enjoyed the majesty of the French Alps as we snaked through rolling, green hills. The trip took about two hours.
Two blocks away from the Lyon bus station, I heard the bus drive honk his horn and then I was jerked forward. Had it not been for my seat belt, my face would have smashed against the seat in front of me. I looked around and others were massaging their faces and heads. “What happened?” I asked one of the passengers? “A car cut in front of the bus and the bus crashed into it.”
We were asked to descend the bus and grab our luggage. I followed the rest of the passengers as we walked to the bus station only two blocks away. As I passed the driver, I heard him talk to the driver of the car about his insurance information.
We reached the bus station and from there, I hailed a taxi. It dropped me off in front of Place de Terreaux. It is a large plaza in the center of Lyon infront of the Museum of Beaux Arts and the Hotel de Ville. A beautiful fountain stands at the Northern side, flanked by cafes and bars. The restaurant seating extends well into the plaza which is alive with tourists. Hard to believe this was the site of the guillotine during the French Revolution. In fact, the real Lyonais avoid stepping in certain areas of the plaza because it was once where the blood of those that lost their heads ran on the ground.
I obtained the keys to my AirBnB from a lockbox. The apartment was located inside a building facing the Place de Terreaux. However, when I tried to turn the key to open the apartment, it didn’t work. Having lived in Lyon, I had dealt with various old fashion keys that open ancient looking doors. They can be tricky, but after minutes of trying, I was having no luck.
In a panic I rang the neighbors door and no luck. Then I went to the floor below mine and noticed and atalier to a language school. I rang the office door bell and a girl of about twenty five opened the door. I explained the problem and she helped me open the door and then taught me how to do it.
Once in the apartment, I showered then made my way to the shops. I tried on dresses at Mango, looked at all the latest trends at Naf Naf, then picked up a sandwich at Monoprix. Then I walked back to Place de Terreaux where I met my friend Cyril for a beer. After our beer we walked around the center of Lyon then stopped at restaurant where they served Galettes Bretagne. These are crepes made from buckwheat which are very traditional in the French northeastern region of Bretagne. Most galettes are gluten free since they are made with buckwheat and not regular flour. I ordered a galette of champignons et fromage (mushrooms and cheese) and a glass of cidre (cider) also a traditional beverage of Bretagne.
Having enjoyed an amazing meal with a great friend, I walked back to Place de Terreaux.
