Un week-end (décevant) à Lyon
I hate to admit it, but Lyon was a bit of a bust. My fault: I was so caught up planning the rest of my stay in France that I failed to fully research this specific city, and research you must. Did you know that, despite having more restaurants per capita than just about anywhere else in the world, the majority of Lyonnaise restaurants don’t take walk ins? And at least half are closed on weekends? I could even easily find coffee before noon, which I never could have predicted. My first real culture shock of the trip!
I felt off about the weekend as soon as I arrived in Lyon. It’s a pretty big city, and the train station is not in the most charming part of town; neither was my hotel, though it wasn’t unsafe (just devoid of nice restaurants within walking distance). I spent my first day walking around the stretch of land between the Rhône and the Saône and then over to Vieux Lyon (old town), which is cool but dense with tourists. It was in Vieux Lyon that I stumbled upon the best meal I’ve had in ages, some sort of ravioli gratin and a delectable salad at a random cafe that caught my eye. I cleaned both plates and strongly considered ordering seconds.
Ravioles de Romans at Cafe 203, the best meal I’ve had thus far.
Despite making an extensive list of well-reviewed restaurants I wanted to try, not a single one was available to me without advanced reservations. I came close! One of them strongly considered letting me sit outside, but they were overruled by a manager at the last second. I walked for an hour before giving up and returning to my hotel, where at least the vending machine waffle was tasty.
Sunday, I walked along the river to a coffee cart that was actually open at 8am and had a damn near perfect latte—thanks Vagabond Coffee! I then took the funicular up to La Baslique Notre Dame de Fourvière, a stunning 19th century church high up on a hill that was calling my name from the moment I saw it. The building alone was worth the trip, but the views were just spectacular. I took the opportunity to have another coffee on a charming terrace overlooking the city, and it was easily the highlight of my weekend.
Lunch was an overpriced Lyonnaise salad beside another cathedral (Cathédrale Saint-Jean-Baptiste), where a very chatty old French woman tried very hard to carry on a conversation with me despite my only understanding about 25% of what she said. It was also funny to find myself inspiring others to check out a restaurant—when I sat down, it was just me and another couple, but by the time I left every table was full. I stopped at a patisserie on my way back to my hotel for a chocolate brioche the size of my head and a pistachio meringue so light that I ate it in two bites.
For dinner, I tried to make a reservation at another bouchon but was rejected (!!!) so I walked a mildly terrifying subterranean tunnel to Brasserie Georges, a restaurant from 1836 with a cavernous art deco dining room. It was my first meal inside a restaurant since before Covid, and I was too nervous to fully enjoy it despite the care they took to seat me away from others (and the plexiglass between tables). I had a delicious pistachio sausage with mashed potatoes but filled up quickly and took the leftovers back to my room to eat while watching French TV.
I came back to Dijon on Monday, exhausted and grateful to be back in a city that’s much more my speed. I’m a bit disappointed that I didn’t see the trompe l’œil frescos, and that I didn’t eat at a Michelin-starred restaurant, but that’s okay. Maybe one day I’ll go back to check those things off of my list, but if I do it will be with a friend. Preferably someone who thinks to make reservations in advance.
