If there’s something you really start to appreciate when having a steady job, it’s the long weekends that come with occasional holidays. That I’ve learnt. What I’ve also learnt, is to grab the rare chance to change the scene when the going gets tough. This time, the honor went to the southern parts of France, but still not quite to the South.
Still, I’m not sure what to write about Lyon. It’s nice and lovely and it has a charming riverside, oops two – the Rhône and Saône one – and pretty streets, even a few delicious bakeries and lovely coffee shops, two hills with rewarding views, les bouquinistes that can compete with those in Paris. However, the city itself cannot. It left me empty and numb, just as its life seemed to be, although I appreciated the climbs and the relaxing banks.
Or maybe, I’m not being fair and I should say – just as I seemed to be this foggy weekend. It is me, after all, who said that we so often see in the cities the reflection of our own soul… after Orhan Pamuk, of course.
Or maybe, I should just eat more if I’m in the culinary capital of France, the culinary destination. Note for the next time if there ever is one.