Numerous street corner cafés do a roaring trade in coffee and croissants, providing refuge for those who come in to read the free daily newspapers while surreptitiously eating their own food when 'Madame' isn't looking. At every turn, alleyways break into little squares and ageing buildings lean companionably on one another like old friends, which, of course, they are. From a distant corner the sound of an accordion squeezing 'The Girl from Ipanima' from its bellows flows around the buildings, giving voice to the gentle breeze rising from the river. And the sudden smell of waffles interrupts the comforting dreaminess of this place; a place that so emphatically proclaims that
'This is France'.
Zigzagging back to rue St-Jean over the course of an hour, I found the baker's queue still much in evidence. It was very disturbing; not at all French-like. Either the baker was on a go slow and it was the same people still waiting, or there was a rapid turnover in sugary beignet soufflé et sucré de pâte à choux frite (doughnuts), known very colloquially as pet de nonne, or nun's fart...but don't ask for them by that name.
Perhaps it was the aroma drifting from the boulangerie, or the chiming of stomach o'clock, but I was overcome by a sudden longing for lunch. Thankfully, among many well-appointed and pricey looking establishments, I found 'Un, Deux, Trois' on place Neuve Saint-Jean, a 20-cover Bouchon Lyonnais, a delightful little place offering, as the name suggests, three set menus.
There was about it that quintessential atmosphere that brings you to Hidden France, embracing simplicity, authenticity and good food; it doesn't say that
anywhere, but it should, and from the barrage of air kisses that flowed every time the door opened it was clear that this was a popular place with locals. So much so, that – and I don't think I've witnessed this anywhere else – a queue started forming outside the door, as people waited for others to vacate their tables.
Another queue. Amazing.
But, to the 'Un, Deux, Trois' background of 1950s and 1960s music – Chuck Berry, Little Richard, the Everly Brothers and Chubby Checker getting himself in a twist – I had a destiny, with Iles Flottantes, the calorie-free version, of course.
Back at the boulangerie the queue was still there. Order was restored, mercifully, when I reached the funiculaire for Fourvièvre, and the 'queue' for these little trains reverted to type: baguette-wielding Ninja-grannies, arms and elbows akimbo, stern faces and trampled toes...that's more like it!
But that's quite another story...
Tristan Deschamps, Lyon Tourist Office