THE TRABOULES OF LYON

Traboules of Lyon - red tower with windows in hidden alley
 

These hidden spaces of Lyon fascinate me. Originally created in order to get from 'here' to 'there,' they are in-betweens. 


HISTORY OF THE TRABOULES:

LATIN -
transambular | trabular
'to cross'

Dating back to 4th century Lugdunum and the capital of Roman Gaul, traboules were used by the canuts - the silk weavers - to get between their workshops and the textile merchants at the foot of the hill by the Saône river.

They used the traboules to carry their bolts of silk down to the markets in the new city center on the Presqu’île, the narrow peninsula between the Rhône and Saône rivers. The covered traboules were the quick way, and had the advantage of protecting their precious goods from the elements.
— Andrea Bolitho

Yet, the traboules of Lyon have also served other purposes: as revolutionary hideouts during both the Canuts Revolts in the 1830's, and the German occupation during WWII.

SECRETS WORTH FINDING:

Now only forty of the remaining traboules are open to the public, the rest are on private property, as entrances to the apartments above. But, if you happen to spy an open door, do not hesitate to peek your head in. 

Behind one of the heavy wooden doors opening onto the street, and down the dark passage ways, you may find...

-  A world of mullioned windows and connecting courtyards, gothic galleries, and fountains.


- A concrete stairwell, the oldest in Lyon.


- A Renaissance façade and matching balconies, looking as if Juliet might pop out at any moment.


- A house once belonging to the medieval financier of the bishopric and town.


- A spiral stone staircase, with windows looking out along the rooftops: La Tour Rose.


- An old well, with a bucket still attached.
 

Traboules window onto Lyon, with a view of a chimney
A courtyard in the Traboules of Lyon, with small potted plants and ivy
The Maison du Chamarier hidden in the Traboules of Lyon
The streets of Vieux Lyon, with narrow lanes and colourful houses
A door and a dark passage to the hidden Traboules of Lyon

* If you wish to visit the traboules yourself, then you may find below a link to maps and self-guided tours (information given in French):

www.lyontraboules.net

 

PARC DE LA TÊTE D'OR

Pink carrousel outside Parc de la Tête d'Or, Lyon, France
 

FLAMINGOS & CARROUSELS

January 19th 2014

On this day in particular, I made a trip to Lyon's largest park - Parc de la Tete d'Or. If I tried to translate the park's name with my utterly terrible French, I would say it means "Park of the golden head." An odd thing to name a park, one might say, but this park was built on the site of a legend...


THE LEGEND:

Before the park was ever built it is said that a treasure, taken by Crusaders, was buried here in the swampy land. Among this treasure was a golden head in the Christ's likeness. In 1855, a clairvoyant was hired to try and find this golden head, but all her efforts failed. Two years later, in 1857, the park was opened, in order to 'give nature to those who don't have it.' As yet, the mystery remains unsolved. 


NOWADAYS:

The park that now sits on the site of buried treasure could be said to be a gem in itself. Centred around a boating lake, and filled to the brim with beauty in every corner, there is always something to discover here.

In one section is a zoo, dating back to the park's original creation, and home to all manner of animals, such as: flamingos, lions, baby giraffes, turtles, monkeys, and bat-eared-foxes. In another section: a rose garden, lush and blooming with wooden seats for those who feel contemplative. In fact, the park acts as the headquarters of the French Society of Roses. Then there is the area created for children, (and children at heart), where puppet shows are held, and carrousels tune merrily, while the smell of crepes and nutella wafts through the wintery air. 


But my favourite section of all has to be that one area, furnished with old trees which touch the sky, and a little bridge, and in the middle: a pagoda. There you may sometimes find a grand piano, put there for the enjoyment of all the passers by. And on a summer's day, you may hear some unseen person playing from across the lake.

 
Flamingos in zoo of Parc de la Tête d'Or
Grasses and paths at Parc de la Tête d'Or
Old French couple walking hand in hand, Parc de la Tête d'Or
Carrousel and children's park at the Parc de la Tête d'Or

MY MEMORIES OF PARC DE LA TÊTE D'OR:

Making a picnic out of pastries from the nearby Bernachon, while being watched by curious monkeys and grazing deer. 
The delight of watching a baby giraffe, gangly and awkward. 
Swinging my legs in the river, from my seat on an overhanging tree.
Tentatively sounding out one of Elton John's melodies on the piano under the pagoda.
Pastries and photoshoots with Penny and Nicole on the grass by the English greenhouse.
Wandering through the rose gardens, smelling roses to my heart's content. 
Midnight shenanigans with Maria and Nicole, and a bunch of Frenchies, before making a bonfire by the waterside. 
Watching all kinds of people at play - rollerskaters, skateboarders, bikers, joggers, old couples walking hand-in-hand, and a few on horseback.
Bittersweet goodbyes said to Lyon from my favourite place by the water. An ache in my heart, knowing I will leave.

Fourvière seen from Parc de la Tête d'Or

DISCOVERING LYON

Lyon houses by the river, France

A WHOLE NEW WORLD

13 Jan 2014

Remember how I was telling you in my last post about my bout of travel-agoraphobia? While that lasted for about a millisecond after I walked out of the metro and into Vieux Lyon - Lyon's medieval precinct.

As soon as I stepped out of those gates, it was like I had walked onto another planet. Oullins has character, but it could still be a small suburb anywhere. On the other hand, when you step into Vieux Lyon, you know you are in France! For me, that moment felt oddly like coming home.

And this is what I saw:

Buildings, rows and rows of them in all different pastel colours. Like dutch cookie tins, they looked perfect.
A glimpse of a church spire in the distance, and I was off - a moth to a flame, I headed in that direction.
Wonky cobbled street stones.
Two large rivers.
An odd collection of clanky red bicycles, that turned out to be one of the best city-based-transport-systems I have ever seen: the Velo'v.
 The West Portal of a church, a stoneworked figure of St Micheal, and inside, a little old lady blessing a picture at the main altar.
A puppet show performed by a busker, a bed sheet as a backdrop, and an accordion accompaniment. 
A man spreading nutella onto thin crepes for passers-by, his breath icing up in the cold winter air.
A ferris wheel, lit up against the night.
One of Lyon's rivers at sunset
Lyon church and colourful houses
Lyon church stonework
Vieux Lyon rooftops
Vieux Lyon narrow streets

I am curiously watching myself for signs of culture shock, and I would say I am in the "critic" stage: where I end up being very critical of the place and the people. But culture shock really is an ongoing process, and when one moment you are over the moon, the next you find yourself very frustrated. Actually I haven't gotten too frustrated with the French bureaucratic system yet, despite having had many opportunities to be so. I knew what to expect and I have learnt over the process of visa applications that excess worrying about paperwork is literally just excess - you can live without it. I find myself more constantly exhausted by the effort of just even being in a country where the language is not your own.