It's that time of year when the seed pods on the numerous Platane (Plane) trees in Lyon are in the midst of shedding their irritating load. On a day like yesterday (very warm and sunny, but also windy), the fluffy stuff blows everywhere and gets into eyes and up noses. In the evening we were at a Fado concert where the singer Christina Branco was suffering like the rest of Lyon from platane afflicted eyes and throat. It had no noticeable effect her terrific voice though, and she managed ninety minutes of a very enjoyable concert.
From 28 degree sunshine yesterday to 18 degrees, cloud and rain showers today, and the forecast for the next couple of days is even worse. Sod's law for our visitors this weekend…
30 avril 2010
29 avril 2010
Dark football nights
And so OL's day of history foundered on the rugged rock of a German team that was just too strong, too well organised and too good. When we arrived at Gerland on Tuesday 20 minutes before kickoff the mood was optimistic, the crowd in good voice. After surviving an early scare in the first two minutes, OL came on strong, ten men running, chasing, harrying. It lasted 15 minutes. The Bavarians were already back in control when they scored the goal the whole of Lyon dreaded. If it wasn't all over then, it was soon after half time, when Lyon's Brazilian captain was booked for what looked like a perfectly good tackle. Unwisely he offered some sarcastic applause to the ref, who pondered a moment and then produced a second yellow card swiftly followed by a red. No sense of humour, these arbitres.
So we woke yesterday to a sunny day but gloomy city. La bienheureuse had taken time off from a big meeting at work to go to the match and returned to the fray yesterday, while I finally won a battle with a recalcitrant online banking system despite the racket from the renovation work in the building next door. Sounds more like a complete demolition that at times threatens to take down our building as well.
In the evening, I wandered into town to watch the second semi-final at our favourite watering hole in the company of a colleague of la bienheureuse, while the lady herself was indulging in a post-work gourmet trail through Vieux Lyon, sampling food and wine before finishing the evening with more food and wine in a restaurant. Meanwhile, in the pub, we supped Irish beer and watched a demonstration of attack and defence on TV. An Italian team coached by a Portuguese master of the dark arts of defending against the Catalan kings of attacking - 75% possession, 550 odd passes against 67, 15 shots against 1, eleven men against ten: no contest. Another triumph for anti-football.
And on another anti-football theme, seven 'fans' groups in France have just been disbanded in an attempt to resolve the hooliganism issue. Five are from Paris, one from Nice, and the last is Lyonnais. Any bets on how long it takes for them to reform under another name…?
So we woke yesterday to a sunny day but gloomy city. La bienheureuse had taken time off from a big meeting at work to go to the match and returned to the fray yesterday, while I finally won a battle with a recalcitrant online banking system despite the racket from the renovation work in the building next door. Sounds more like a complete demolition that at times threatens to take down our building as well.
In the evening, I wandered into town to watch the second semi-final at our favourite watering hole in the company of a colleague of la bienheureuse, while the lady herself was indulging in a post-work gourmet trail through Vieux Lyon, sampling food and wine before finishing the evening with more food and wine in a restaurant. Meanwhile, in the pub, we supped Irish beer and watched a demonstration of attack and defence on TV. An Italian team coached by a Portuguese master of the dark arts of defending against the Catalan kings of attacking - 75% possession, 550 odd passes against 67, 15 shots against 1, eleven men against ten: no contest. Another triumph for anti-football.
And on another anti-football theme, seven 'fans' groups in France have just been disbanded in an attempt to resolve the hooliganism issue. Five are from Paris, one from Nice, and the last is Lyonnais. Any bets on how long it takes for them to reform under another name…?
26 avril 2010
Training weekend
In the end the ash blew away, the rail strike petered out, and whatever mode of transport chosen for the trans-Manche sortie at the weekend would have sufficed. So the TGV and Eurostar it was, and a very smooth trip it was too. The late afternoon kick-off allowed me to rise at my leisure on Saturday morning, leave home at ten for a TGV leaving Lyon half an hour later, and be in London in little more than five hours. My virgin Eurostar experience was thus pleasantly painless, and I arrived to find the Big Smoke bathing in pleasant spring sunshine. Via an interminable supermarket checkout queue in pursuit of vital supplies unobtainable in France (golden syrup), I reached the Marquess only twenty minutes late for the ritual pre-match rendezvous and pint with le grand chef JW.
Thence to the holy ground for a match which had all the air of a training game, apart from a storm of booing which greeted the appearance as substitute of a money-grubbing former player, and even that soon petered out as people gradually dozed off again in the evening sunshine. Bizarrely, for a team allegedly in pursuit of a Champions League place, the Sky Blues made virtually no attempt to win the game. As for the much blighted and maligned Gunners, well a draw was an improvement on the previous three games, and a clean sheet was a welcome bonus.
Afterwards I eventually dodged the crowds and queues and caught the tube to Turnpike Lane, where I was meeting the McBhoy and the Peace Bird for a curry at the Jashan. Very pleasant and tasty it was too, in the company of another friend of theirs. Thence back to chez-eux for my overnight billet of a futon mattress before I was up at 7.30 to make my way back to St Pancras, sharing the underground with apprehensive-looking marathon runners and reclaiming my Eurostar seat from a pair of batty old dears who were in the wrong carriage. "It's our first time, you know."
By 3pm I was being welcomed to a sunny Lyon warm enough for a summer's day by la bienheureuse, whose weekend sans mari was filled by wardrobe and window box purchases. Our brief joint weekend was completed by a stroll through the crowds along the rive gauche du Rhône, and a three course meal - reblochon soufflé, tuna and tomato main course and strawberry patisserie. Delicious fare, prepared as usual by my favourite chef.
Thence to the holy ground for a match which had all the air of a training game, apart from a storm of booing which greeted the appearance as substitute of a money-grubbing former player, and even that soon petered out as people gradually dozed off again in the evening sunshine. Bizarrely, for a team allegedly in pursuit of a Champions League place, the Sky Blues made virtually no attempt to win the game. As for the much blighted and maligned Gunners, well a draw was an improvement on the previous three games, and a clean sheet was a welcome bonus.
Afterwards I eventually dodged the crowds and queues and caught the tube to Turnpike Lane, where I was meeting the McBhoy and the Peace Bird for a curry at the Jashan. Very pleasant and tasty it was too, in the company of another friend of theirs. Thence back to chez-eux for my overnight billet of a futon mattress before I was up at 7.30 to make my way back to St Pancras, sharing the underground with apprehensive-looking marathon runners and reclaiming my Eurostar seat from a pair of batty old dears who were in the wrong carriage. "It's our first time, you know."
By 3pm I was being welcomed to a sunny Lyon warm enough for a summer's day by la bienheureuse, whose weekend sans mari was filled by wardrobe and window box purchases. Our brief joint weekend was completed by a stroll through the crowds along the rive gauche du Rhône, and a three course meal - reblochon soufflé, tuna and tomato main course and strawberry patisserie. Delicious fare, prepared as usual by my favourite chef.
23 avril 2010
Too much, too young
A couple of examples of precociousness in the news recently. On Wednesday, police in Lyon stopped a driver who turned out to be an 11 year old boy, who'd decided he didn't like it at home so would go and visit his older brother in the middle of Lyon. He thus embarked on a 50km trip which included a stretch along the Paris-Lyon autoroute! Apparently he told police he'd learned to drive using video games, and as mitigation offered the information that he'd used his indicators to overtake a lorry and at no point had he passed 100km/h…
Another story dominating the headlines has been the affair of the footballers and the prostitute. Following a police raid on a bar/café in Paris suspected of running an underage prostitution ring, one of the young ladies in question (now 18 and thus legally allowed to charge for sex) implicated some well known French international footballers, at least two of whom she alleged to have paid her for sex when she was underage. Though she apparently also admitted she'd lied to them about her age, which means they are only being questioned as witnesses in the affair. The story is being painted as somewhat symptomatic of the life of a well-known young footballer in France today, surrounded by hangers-on only too keen to offer favours of any sort in the hope of receiving more in return...
Another story dominating the headlines has been the affair of the footballers and the prostitute. Following a police raid on a bar/café in Paris suspected of running an underage prostitution ring, one of the young ladies in question (now 18 and thus legally allowed to charge for sex) implicated some well known French international footballers, at least two of whom she alleged to have paid her for sex when she was underage. Though she apparently also admitted she'd lied to them about her age, which means they are only being questioned as witnesses in the affair. The story is being painted as somewhat symptomatic of the life of a well-known young footballer in France today, surrounded by hangers-on only too keen to offer favours of any sort in the hope of receiving more in return...
20 avril 2010
Ash blue
Blue skies, lovely weekend, weather wise. A Saturday saunter out for lunch at a riverside café and a walk through the park to purchase floral decoration for the windows. Geraniums duly potted and installed outside the front windows. Lovely.
Sunday, skies still blue, saunter out to the pub, stomp home in a blue funk. Never in the history of personal Goonerdom have I been so p*ssed off by an Arsenal performance. Attempted to walk off the anger by climbing the steps from Passage Gonin and taking a meandering route home through the Croix Rousse. Only really successful following lovely meal cooked by la bienheureuse, a stiff gin-tonique and a couple of glasses of wine.
Meanwhile, the infamous ash cloud and train strikes have thrown la bienheureuse's business travel plans this week into disarray. A flight to Allemagne on Monday morning was predictably canceled, but a train ticket to Bruxelles from Lyon for the second leg of the trip was successfully booked yesterday to replace the original one from Köln. However, this morning she learned that the train this evening has been canceled due to a rail strike in France that is now almost into its third week. Most of the regional union committees have voted to resume work, but not the one in the south east, which includes Lyon. Ho hum, there was me feeling smug because for once I decided to go by train to London for Saturday's late afternoon game. Ever the sucker for punishment. Still, at least it means ma bien-aimée spends the whole week in Lyon.
Sunday, skies still blue, saunter out to the pub, stomp home in a blue funk. Never in the history of personal Goonerdom have I been so p*ssed off by an Arsenal performance. Attempted to walk off the anger by climbing the steps from Passage Gonin and taking a meandering route home through the Croix Rousse. Only really successful following lovely meal cooked by la bienheureuse, a stiff gin-tonique and a couple of glasses of wine.
Meanwhile, the infamous ash cloud and train strikes have thrown la bienheureuse's business travel plans this week into disarray. A flight to Allemagne on Monday morning was predictably canceled, but a train ticket to Bruxelles from Lyon for the second leg of the trip was successfully booked yesterday to replace the original one from Köln. However, this morning she learned that the train this evening has been canceled due to a rail strike in France that is now almost into its third week. Most of the regional union committees have voted to resume work, but not the one in the south east, which includes Lyon. Ho hum, there was me feeling smug because for once I decided to go by train to London for Saturday's late afternoon game. Ever the sucker for punishment. Still, at least it means ma bien-aimée spends the whole week in Lyon.
16 avril 2010
Ash Thursday
Busy, stressful week for la bienheureuse, less busy, distressing week for me. La salariée was organising a meeting in Lyon Tuesday and Wednesday, flew off to Germany Wednesday evening for another meeting, then spent yesterday evening fleeing the ash. Her original flight direct from Düsseldorf to Lyon was canceled, probably because Air France decided not sending the outbound plane was a better option than risking it being stuck in Germany. Options for la bienheureuse and colleagues then were getting a train (risky because of an ongoing rail strike in France), driving (an 8 hour trip), or waiting to see whether the on/off flights to Paris would eventually go. Luck was on their side, because two Paris flights eventually went shortly before German airspace closed, and they got on the last flight from Paris to Lyon before CDG airport closed. In the end, she was home only 3 hours late.
As for me, I spent a dispiriting Wednesday evening in the pub, watching the red and white heros' luck and remaining season burn to ash. Roll on August...
As for me, I spent a dispiriting Wednesday evening in the pub, watching the red and white heros' luck and remaining season burn to ash. Roll on August...
12 avril 2010
The path of water
The sun shone over the weekend and enticed us into springlike activity. Saturday started slowly, with a stroll down the river for lunch in one of the quayside cafés. After some separate shopping activity, we moved indoors for some gender typical work. La bienheureuse into the kitchen, where she produced a lamb and roast vegetable dinner, followed by a divinely delicious Tatin de poires with chocolate pastry. Taste bud heaven. Meanwhile I knocked up an extra shelf for the drinks cupboard. To hold glassware rather than more wine, I hasten to add.
Sunday we resolved to get up early to take advantage of the weather by heading out into the country. Resolution successfully kept, so much so that we managed to get to the déchetterie well before it closed at noon, and had to queue to get in. It seemed the whole of Lyon was dumping rubbish, mostly of the vegetation variety, because we were told by the man at the gate, once he'd deciphered my stuttering French, that there was no room for our Christmas tree. However, once in, all it took was a smile from la bienheureuse and her jolie accent anglais for one of the chaps to crack and take care of our tree.
From there we headed up into the hills, the Monts Lyonnais, to Collonges au Mont d'Or. The starting point took a little finding but thereafter we enjoyed a very pleasant walk along the sentier de l'eau. The route meandered through the village then up the hill and through the woods above, talking in several water features en route, which gave the theme to the walk - old village wash room, cisterns, water sources and the vestiges of the Roman viaduct that once brought water to Lugdunum.
Back at home we had time for more pear Tatin, then it was off to Stade Gerland once more. The early kick off induced us to cycle. It was a pleasant ride down the river on the way there, but rather harder work on the way home, into a very stiff northerly wind. In between, the match was a reasonably entertaining 1-1 draw, with a red card apiece for OL and Lille, which did little for either team's ambitions of the title, with Marseille confirming their position at the top with a win later in the evening.
In the wider world, the infamous floods following la tempête Xynthia are back in the news, with the local government drawing up zones noirs in the affected areas, within which all houses (some 1400 or so) will be torn down and further building banned. The list includes some houses which were unaffected by the recent flood and doesn't include some which were. Understandably a good proportion of the proprietors are up in arms, despite the average quarter of million Euros compensation being promised…
Sunday we resolved to get up early to take advantage of the weather by heading out into the country. Resolution successfully kept, so much so that we managed to get to the déchetterie well before it closed at noon, and had to queue to get in. It seemed the whole of Lyon was dumping rubbish, mostly of the vegetation variety, because we were told by the man at the gate, once he'd deciphered my stuttering French, that there was no room for our Christmas tree. However, once in, all it took was a smile from la bienheureuse and her jolie accent anglais for one of the chaps to crack and take care of our tree.
Back at home we had time for more pear Tatin, then it was off to Stade Gerland once more. The early kick off induced us to cycle. It was a pleasant ride down the river on the way there, but rather harder work on the way home, into a very stiff northerly wind. In between, the match was a reasonably entertaining 1-1 draw, with a red card apiece for OL and Lille, which did little for either team's ambitions of the title, with Marseille confirming their position at the top with a win later in the evening.
In the wider world, the infamous floods following la tempête Xynthia are back in the news, with the local government drawing up zones noirs in the affected areas, within which all houses (some 1400 or so) will be torn down and further building banned. The list includes some houses which were unaffected by the recent flood and doesn't include some which were. Understandably a good proportion of the proprietors are up in arms, despite the average quarter of million Euros compensation being promised…
08 avril 2010
Broken hearts and broken records
A tale of two football matches - one a Messi tale of broken Gooner dreams, the other a dogged defensive story of a European first for Olympique Lyonnais.
The first chapter came on Tuesday evening. I made my way to the Wallace with a little hope but few expectations of a team missing five key players, arguably its five most important players. They were playing the best team in the world after all, who on the night had the best player in the world at the top of his form. It all started so well, perhaps the plucky underdogs scored too early. The little left-footer took over from thereon in, and the rest is history. Ah well, there's always next year.
Part two yesterday was somewhat less stressful, though tense till the end. OL went, took the game to Bordeaux for fifteen minutes, and then defended. And defended, and defended. A goal just before half time put everything on a knife edge but les gones held on for a heroic defeat and a historic victory. First time OL have reached the semi-final of Europe's premier club competition. Even better, they're facing Bayern Munich instead of the evil red empire. The queue for tickets starts tomorrow.
On the political field, the rumours of the alleged affairs of the presidential couple have finally made the headlines in France. Not because of the rumours themselves, which are widely regarded to be false, having stemmed from an unsubstantiated online newspaper blog, but because of the political row that has blown up in their wake. Sarko's praetorian guard, five close chums, have allegedly let it be known that an intelligence service investigation has pointed the finger at former justice minister Rachida Dati as the source of the rumours, in a plot to alienate her from the President's inner circle. Some of the perks she received as a former minister have supposedly been removed as punishment - posh car, bodyguards, etc. Yesterday Carla gave an interview denying any plot,any affair, anything, and today Sarko himself has reportedly ordered his advisors to keep their mouths shut on the subject forthwith…
The first chapter came on Tuesday evening. I made my way to the Wallace with a little hope but few expectations of a team missing five key players, arguably its five most important players. They were playing the best team in the world after all, who on the night had the best player in the world at the top of his form. It all started so well, perhaps the plucky underdogs scored too early. The little left-footer took over from thereon in, and the rest is history. Ah well, there's always next year.
Part two yesterday was somewhat less stressful, though tense till the end. OL went, took the game to Bordeaux for fifteen minutes, and then defended. And defended, and defended. A goal just before half time put everything on a knife edge but les gones held on for a heroic defeat and a historic victory. First time OL have reached the semi-final of Europe's premier club competition. Even better, they're facing Bayern Munich instead of the evil red empire. The queue for tickets starts tomorrow.
On the political field, the rumours of the alleged affairs of the presidential couple have finally made the headlines in France. Not because of the rumours themselves, which are widely regarded to be false, having stemmed from an unsubstantiated online newspaper blog, but because of the political row that has blown up in their wake. Sarko's praetorian guard, five close chums, have allegedly let it be known that an intelligence service investigation has pointed the finger at former justice minister Rachida Dati as the source of the rumours, in a plot to alienate her from the President's inner circle. Some of the perks she received as a former minister have supposedly been removed as punishment - posh car, bodyguards, etc. Yesterday Carla gave an interview denying any plot,any affair, anything, and today Sarko himself has reportedly ordered his advisors to keep their mouths shut on the subject forthwith…
06 avril 2010
Scaling the heights
Seven days that passed in a flurry of football, chocolate eggs, food and wine, the weekend de Pâques and coming back from the dead.
It all started at Gerland last Tuesday. The all French Champions League quarter-final lived up to the hype. After a first 30 minutes in which Bordeaux went behind early, equalised quickly and then played most of the football, Lyon got a second goal on the break and went in 2-1 up at half time. Les girondins were more exposed in the second half, les lyonnais duly scored a third, and the stadium bounced.
The following morning I caught a plane to Gatwick for the most hyped quarter final of all. After a pleasant day wandering round London buying cheese and apple software, some excellent beer and food in the Marquess with le grand chef, the match lived up to expectations. At least one of the teams did. Never before have I seen Arsenal so completely outplayed, and possession so completely dominated by the visiting team. Barcelona truly were the best team in the world. For the first 60 minutes anyway. Somehow it was still 0-0 at half time, so after all their great passing moves in the first half, it was even more galling to see them score twice in the first 15 of the second with simple balls over the top.
Then came the fight back, much to the relief of the sixty thousand. Pace and a goal got Arsenal back in it, and a penalty from our own Catalan king did the rest. Scored with a broken leg, which puts him out of the second leg today, along with Arsenal's four other best players. Objectively we have no chance. But then we had no chance 2-0 down with 20 minutes left of a first leg, which the opposition was totally dominating...
And so to the Easter weekend. I returned to Lyon on Thursday and was back at the airport 24 hours later to pick up the Caipirinha Kid and Crystal Tipps. A couple of glasses of Gewurztraminer and cheese provided sufficient fuel for a wander round Lyon viewing painted walls, crossing footbridges and drinking coffee in the old town. Then it was back home to prepare for dinner with a G&T. Les Oliviers was the excellent choice of venue, and tasty fare, particularly the duckling, was enjoyed by all. Back at home whisky digestifs ensured a mild hangover the following morning.
Thick heads and grey skies weren't going to stop a ritual visit to the mecca of fresh food markets though. Les Halles supplied fish, vegetables and cheese for dinner, and sundry photo opportunities for the new DSLR. Then it was off out into town again, this time the heights of Fourvière the objective, reached via the 798 steps of the Montées de Carmes Déchaussés et Nicolas de Lange. First time I've climbed the hill that way, so I accompanied the others to the top then turned round, leaving them to take an appropriately themed route down via the basilica, Roman amphitheatre, église de St George and cathedral while I took the direct descent into a hell of football watching in the pub lasting 94 minutes, until the great Dane's head relieved the angst.
It was thus safe for the two Js and la bienheureuse to accompany me home, where dinner was cooked, champagne and canapés, cod and olives wrapped in jambon, and two bottles of excellent Gigondas were consumed, and beds were finally fallen into. Strangely, it was with a clear head that we went for a quick stroll round the park the following morning, with frequent pauses for animal photo opportunities. And then it was time to take les invitées back to the airport. We waved goodbye at the end of a spiffing weekend.
Easter Monday passed in a quiet hive of inactivity, apart from a stroll along the river in the afternoon. Today the pub and football on TV awaits again. I maintain an air of realistic fatalism...
It all started at Gerland last Tuesday. The all French Champions League quarter-final lived up to the hype. After a first 30 minutes in which Bordeaux went behind early, equalised quickly and then played most of the football, Lyon got a second goal on the break and went in 2-1 up at half time. Les girondins were more exposed in the second half, les lyonnais duly scored a third, and the stadium bounced.
The following morning I caught a plane to Gatwick for the most hyped quarter final of all. After a pleasant day wandering round London buying cheese and apple software, some excellent beer and food in the Marquess with le grand chef, the match lived up to expectations. At least one of the teams did. Never before have I seen Arsenal so completely outplayed, and possession so completely dominated by the visiting team. Barcelona truly were the best team in the world. For the first 60 minutes anyway. Somehow it was still 0-0 at half time, so after all their great passing moves in the first half, it was even more galling to see them score twice in the first 15 of the second with simple balls over the top.
And so to the Easter weekend. I returned to Lyon on Thursday and was back at the airport 24 hours later to pick up the Caipirinha Kid and Crystal Tipps. A couple of glasses of Gewurztraminer and cheese provided sufficient fuel for a wander round Lyon viewing painted walls, crossing footbridges and drinking coffee in the old town. Then it was back home to prepare for dinner with a G&T. Les Oliviers was the excellent choice of venue, and tasty fare, particularly the duckling, was enjoyed by all. Back at home whisky digestifs ensured a mild hangover the following morning.
Thick heads and grey skies weren't going to stop a ritual visit to the mecca of fresh food markets though. Les Halles supplied fish, vegetables and cheese for dinner, and sundry photo opportunities for the new DSLR. Then it was off out into town again, this time the heights of Fourvière the objective, reached via the 798 steps of the Montées de Carmes Déchaussés et Nicolas de Lange. First time I've climbed the hill that way, so I accompanied the others to the top then turned round, leaving them to take an appropriately themed route down via the basilica, Roman amphitheatre, église de St George and cathedral while I took the direct descent into a hell of football watching in the pub lasting 94 minutes, until the great Dane's head relieved the angst. It was thus safe for the two Js and la bienheureuse to accompany me home, where dinner was cooked, champagne and canapés, cod and olives wrapped in jambon, and two bottles of excellent Gigondas were consumed, and beds were finally fallen into. Strangely, it was with a clear head that we went for a quick stroll round the park the following morning, with frequent pauses for animal photo opportunities. And then it was time to take les invitées back to the airport. We waved goodbye at the end of a spiffing weekend.Easter Monday passed in a quiet hive of inactivity, apart from a stroll along the river in the afternoon. Today the pub and football on TV awaits again. I maintain an air of realistic fatalism...
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