For our earworm today, we should have something Provençal. Like one of Bizet’s “L’Arlesienne” suites.
But before we get there, here’s someone who is not from around
here.
I noticed him at dinner Wednesday night, and was, er, struck by
his fashion sense. He proudly proclaimed himself from California.
Yay.
I’m in Arles, now; until Friday. Here’s the first thing I noticed about it: it isn’t as humid as Lyon. For which I’m very grateful.
Here’s the second thing: Google Maps told me it was only a 14
minute walk from the train station to my hotel, so I decided against a taxi.
Here’s what GM neglected to mention: half the walk was completely uphill.
Yay.
Then it turns out that my hotel doesn’t have an elevator, and my
room is up two flights of sharply curving stairs.
Yay.
But…
The room has an attached terrace, looking out over the hotel’s
courtyard, in the shade of what they say is a 500-year old nettle tree (celtis
australis).
It is huge and fragrant, and I may or may not have spent hours on my terrace with a glass of rosé in its company.
Man—if you can’t breathe
here, just give it up.
One thing for which Lyon is famous is its traboules. A traboule started out as a mid-block passageway between two medieval streets. If you didn’t have a traboule cut between a block of buildings slammed up next to one another, you’d have to schlep down to the end of the street to get to the rue parallel to you.
Traboules in Lyon were evidently covered passageways. During the
height of the silk industry, which was big in Lyon, silk workers used traboules
to carry bolts of cloth between workshops without worrying about being rained
on.
During the German occupation of 1942-45, traboules were also
used by members of the Resistance to do a flit when under pursuit.
Monday I went in search of traboules. Rue Saint Jean in Vieux
Lyon is supposed to be The Place for them. At first I came a cropper, but then I
was on a parallel street and a young couple had tried a door. A woman poked her
head out the window of her flat a couple of floors up, asked them if they were
looking for the traboule, and then gave them directions. I didn’t grasp all the
directions, so I just followed them, et voi!à!
Evidently that covered thing has gone with the centuries,
because all the trabules I visited were open to the sky.
Also, several of them no longer seemed to go from street to
street; or—if they did, they weren’t entirely accessible to tourons.
Moreover—these passageways are actually entrances to people’s
flats. So I was thinking that it must be passing annoying to have tourons
barging into the courtyard, dark and uninviting though it be, when you’re
trying to take out the garbage.
Okay, traboules:
I said yesterday that I wanted to see Roman France this time around. So here are some pix of some of the remains of Lugdunum, which is what the Romans called this town back in the day. This was quite the metropolis for them—confluence of two rivers, ruling the three Gauls on behalf of the empire. Lots of art, commerce—the whole megillah.
So, here’s one of the big theatres carved into the hillside. This
one seated about 10,000 and put on big performances—like dance and spectacles.
There’s a smaller theatre next to it, where plays and lectures were put on.
It was quite the structure, with a permanent backdrop on the
stage (by permanent, I mean apparently stone, or at least wood made to look
like stone), which reflected sound up into the audience. I'm afraid that I didn't go to the
The musée Gallo-Romain is conveniently situated next to the
theatres, and I have to say it’s a fantastic museum. You spiral your way down
the hillside without noticing, going from pre-history to the Romans to
Christianity to the end. I may have taken a few photos.
This one's for the kids, illustrating the extent of the empire, but I quite liked it:
Some gods; these are matres, fertility goddesses. I think they're holding apples in their laps.
Mercury, apparently a favorite of the Romans in Gaul. With his attack goat, of course.
Neptune
