Notes from Lyon: Between the Rhône and Saône Rivers, encountering the folds of French life

At seven in the morning, the mist over the Saône River had not yet dissipated. I walked along the stone path by the riverbank toward the Old Town. The riverside open-air cafés were just setting up their umbrellas, and waiters in striped shirts were wiping coffee cups with cloths. The clinking of metal mixed with the sound of flowing water, becoming the opening scene of a day in Lyon.

The streets of the Old Town (Vieux Lyon) carry the typical flavor of Lyon. Colorful old houses are packed together, with orange geraniums on the windowsills. Around the corner, I came across a century-old butcher shop. The Lyon sausages in the glass case glistened with oil. The owner smiled in French, saying, "This is the taste of mom," and casually cut me a small piece to try—salty and fragrant with a hint of garlic, much like the city's character: warm and genuine.

The midday sun was a bit strong, so I ducked into a small tavern (Bouchon Lyonnais) hidden in an alley. This is the "canteen" for Lyon locals, with a menu full of home-style dishes: snails baked in cream wrapped with chopped parsley, bursting with rich butter aroma; Lyon-style chicken stew cooked until tender, with potatoes soaking up the chicken broth. An elderly couple at the next table chatted while drinking, occasionally raising their glasses to me. The kindness between strangers felt warmer than the food.

In the afternoon, I visited the Basilica of Notre-Dame de Fourvière. The white building sits atop a hill, offering a panoramic view of Lyon—the Rhône and Saône Rivers like two ribbons dividing the city into three parts, red-tiled roofs connected in a patchwork, and chimneys in the distance emitting faint smoke. The stained glass in the church let in light that fell on the wall carvings, so quiet you could hear your own breath.

Returning to the riverside at dusk, the market was still bustling. An elderly lady was selling fresh cherries, with a small basket in front of her stall for passersby to taste; a line formed outside the bakery, where freshly baked croissants smelled of butter. I bought a croissant and sat on the stone steps by the river, watching the sunset dye the water golden, while the distant bridge lit up with warm yellow lights.

As I left, the café waiter waved goodbye. Lyon lacks the glamour of Paris and the romance of Nice, but it hides the most down-to-earth French life—it’s the aroma of food in the alleys, the smiles of strangers, and the slowly flowing time between two rivers.

Post by Alexandriassuy | Oct 17, 2025