Lyon Scrum Down with a side trip to Aix-Les-Bains

22nd Sept – 7nd Oct 2023

Before heading to our campsite on the northwest side of Lyon, we stopped at a nearby Decathalon and a supermarket. We did a quick circumnavigation of the Decathlon carpark which revealed itself to be far too teeny tiny to have space for Davide’s stout dimensions so we pulled into the car park of a nearby furniture shop which was massive and virtually empty. Here we met the first weirdo of our travels. Interesting to note that in all our time travelling in the USA, this encounter was weirder than any we had there. We decided to have a bite to eat before shopping and almost straight away a small, classically french, beaten up hatchback pulled right up next to us. Desite there being acres of space in the car park, this chap parked so close that he struggled to open his door wide enough to get out of his car. He was somewhere in his sixties, but a smoker, so who knows. He stood around, studying us, but couldn’t see if we were in or out. Then he used his phone, still standing between his car and us. By now I was sat in the passenger seat, so I opened the door and said ‘Bonjour’ to him (whilst eating a sandwich) just to let him know that we were in there, and not to try any funny business or thievery. He looked suprised. I shut the door. Then about a minute later he came up to my window and asked if he could join us for lunch. I said ‘Non’. He said that if we came to his house that he would give us lunch. I said ‘Nous sommes different, Monsieur’. Then he said something that I didn’t understand, I said ‘Au revoir’ and he walked away. He hung around and we watched, and then we moved to a different carpark. Weirdo. Anyway, we did a bit of shopping, all was intact on our return, and headed to camp.

Lyon has one sole campsite within cooeey of the city centre, and this was it. We were to be here for about 10 days as we had some Rugby World Cup games to attend. The first game in question was Wales vs Australia and the park was so chock-a-block with Welsh flag flying campers that a) it felt like Cardiff Arms Park (old skool) had been transported to France, and b) that there surely could be very few Welsh people left in Wales. We had one night sleeping in camp (only mildly disturbed by the Welsh a-gathering for a late night, beer fuelled sing-song) than we were off to the city for the weekend. We packed our bags, summoned a magic personal relocation machine (a.k.a. an Uber) and soon found ourselves in the Old Town area of Lyon. Here too it was abuzz with a multitude of Welsh fans excitedly awaiting their biggest game of the pool stage of the competion the next evening. Beer was being drunk, songs were being sung, welsh flags were being worn as capes and they were all having a ball. Once in the city we had a bar rendevous with our co-conspirators for the weekend – Jon and Fran, my brother and sister-in-law, and Rick, Nick’s brother. After a couple of hours in the bar, waiting for the clan to gather we joined the scrum of folk in the narrow streets and found a spot for a late lunch. A tradition Lyonnaise restaurant entirely fulfilled the remit and once we had finished it was neatly the time that we could check into our apartment. This, overlooking a small square in the middle of the Old Town, was on the fourth floor of a very old building with a worn stone spiral staircase, ancient heavy doors with peeling paint and an internal open atrium. I was certain that the stairs would claim a victim at some point over the next two days, as they were difficult enough to navigate whilst sober, and this wasn’t to be that kind of weekend.

The view across the square was quintissentially French and the all the noises of wandering tourists, excited fans and restaurants and cafés drifted up to our open windows. It was hot and sunny and was forcast to stay that way for the foreseable future. We had a bit of a recharge of the old batteries and then headed back out to find somewhere to watch the other big game of the weekend a clash between Ireland and South Africa. We started off by (very optimistically and in retrospect, stupidly) seeing if there might be space for the five of us in the nearby Irish bar. Hahahahhahhahahahah. We did try and insert ourselves into the hot, sweaty melée of expectant and well lubricated Irish fans that filled every square inch of the joint but soon realised that the key aspects of the evening, namely being able to see a screen, get a drink, converse, turn around and breathe might not all be possible. We pulled out. It took another half an hour of wandering to find a bar that had just about enough space and we stood in it. It was the same place we had been in earlier that afternoon.The game was breathless, the beers flowed and Ireland won. The crowd was happy. We had made some new friends and then we went home.

The next day started slow. There was the obligatory coffee and baked goods fiesta for breakfast and then we headed out to see some sights. We climbed a hill to see a big church and get a good view of the city. We wandered through a Roman amphitheatre. We strolled along the banks of the river Saône and it’s regular Farmers’ Market. (Mmmmm, cheese…) We sauntered through the temporary ‘rugby village’ and thence ambled to look at Lyon’s better known river, the Rhône. By now we were weary, so traipsed back to the Old Town, had a less authentically Lyonnaise, but highly medicinal mid-afternoon lunch of burger et frites and then all went home for a recuperative nap. Tonight was game night.

Fortified by our repose we were very sensible and headed out to the 9pm game three hours early. It took us an hour of (more) walking, a very hot and crowded metro ride and then an equally busy, but less sweaty, tram ride to get the stadium, which was magnificent. There was much anticipation amongst the Welsh fans, who were still in fine voice. They are a bunch of singers. Fran, a Valleys girl, was also in her red shirt and also very excited. We battled the crowds for beers and soaked up the atmosphere. A big game in a big venue is always a blast, even if your own team is not playing. The game itself was fantastic, especially as Wales beat Australia quite comprehensively. As All Black fans, this is paramount to us. Getting home was a slow but steady process and we were eventually home and drinking red wine and eating left over bread. How French.

On Sunday morning, we managed to find somewhere for brunch (not a particularly French thing) and then bade our farewells to Jon and Fran who were flying home. Rick was staying another week as the three of us had tickets to NZ vs Italy on Friday and he was to be our very first ‘house guest’ in Davide. When I say ‘in’, I really mean ‘near’. Davide can sleep four, but that would have been very cozy. We had brought a small tent and (his own) inflatable mattress and there was space on our site for Rick to camp. We had four nights together in the oasis of Camping Du Lyon which now much quieter as most of the Welsh had left and had been replaced with lots of Germans and Dutch, many of whom seemed to be flying All Black flags. A bit unexpected really.

We filled our few days with a whole heap of not much. We hung out by Davide, we hung out by the pool, we bought food and drink, we ate, we drank, we washed up, we slept, we repeated. In the evenings we introduced Rick to our current binge show, Letterkenny. Our televisual entertainment solution in Davide is streaming via a smart TV and a decent cellular router. We do not have any means of viewing terrestrial or satellite TV. This is quite different from Tin Can, where we only had TV via antenna or cable or DVDs. (FYI, if you think that you may like off-the-wall, often a bit rude satire with a Canadian twist, Letterkenny on ITVx may be the show for you!) We also met a couple of charming and funny German sisters, called Anke and Mika who were also following the rugby, specifically the AB’s. The boys had struck up conversation with them in the washing up area and had coveted their collapsible bowl, something that we hadn’t yet managed to acquire. Later in the evening they turned up at our site, no doubt finding us by following the booming, British, Hampson man voices, with the bowl as a gift. What sweethearts! We chatted for a while and arranged to meet up with them at the next game so that we could buy them a beer as a thank you.

One day we did do something energetic in the form of a bike ride. Rick rented an ebike from the campsite and we embarked on a loop ride of about 35km to a small riverside town as suggested by one of my apps. It was a bit spicy in places as at one point we found ourselves hurtling down a bit of busy dual-carriageway that had no bike lane, and there were also several significant hills to test the qualities of ebikes over their solely leg-powered cousins. Unfortunately this area doesn’t have many dedicated cycle routes, but mostly the traffic was either reasonably light or courteous. Our new bikes performed admirably and Rick survived his first ever battery-assisted bike ride.

Friday soon came around and having deconstructed Rick’s tent nest we packed our bags again and headed back into the city. This time we had an apartment in a much more residential part of town, to the east of the Rhône. When we had booked this place we had hoped that Rick’s wife, Catherine, was going to be able to fly out to join us from the UK, but this didn’t work out. As she is a teacher with a wholly inflexible holiday allowance, she just couldn’t find a flight after school finished that would get her here on time for this Friday evening game, which was a real shame. This is the downside of those longer holidays that teachers get. So it was just the three of us in a cute 2 bedroom place which was one of those properties that filled AirBnB when it first started – somebody’s home that they were renting out now and then. It was full of personal possessions and photos and had their food and wine in the kitchen cupboards and the fridge. There was a piano but no TV and no wifi. So very cool.

Unfortunately as the hour for our planned departure from the apartment to get a pre-match meal approached, Nick’s wellbeing disintergrated. An acute onset digestive affliction -high and low- scuppered plans for the meal we had planned and continued to worsen. We cancelled our reservation and despite a two hour delay and my dosing him with the relevant medication, this particular phoenix did not rise from its ashes. His spirit was willing -this was the All Blacks, after all- but the flesh was so very weak. There was no way he was going to be well enough to come to the game and Rick and I had to go without him. We were all gutted. (Rick and I put on a brave face for the rest of the evening. We had amazing seats in the stadium and the All Blacks completely crushed Italy putting on an fantastic display with plenty of action in our corner., and we even got onto the TV! But we won’t tell Nick that because it makes him sad.).

He was much better by the morning, and we dragged him out on a long walk to Lyon’s biggest park, La Tête D’Or. This is huge and boasts a large lake, botanical gardens, big glass houses, and even a zoo. We were not expecting to see a giraffe today. His recovery was cemented by a meal in another Lyonnaise restaurant, Tête de Lard, that specialised in offal driven meals. Nil-by-mouth to lamb brains and a bottle of red wine within 24 hours is impressive, husband of mine.

Rick was flying home on the next evening but we had some time to kill in the middle of the next day. We left the AirBnB and having stored our bags at a bag-drop place near the station we jumped on a tram and headed down to La Confluence, the place where the Saône joins the Rhône. Here the land comes to an unprepossessing point, I guess the area is very prone to flooding thus left pretty au naturel. There is also a very funky building here that houses a museum of mankind.

Our brains were not up to the task of taking on much new information so we just explored the building itself, which was like a huge sculpture. We grabbed a coffee at the café at the top, admired the views then headed back to the central area of town again. Lunch in was another small traditional Lyonnaise restaurant in the busy area near the Rugby Village and then we slowly walked the 3km back to the station and collected our bags. Here we parted ways and Rick headed to the airport and we went back to the campsite, and Davide, for our last night at this campsite. We had put in many miles on our feet and sampled a variety of fine food and multiple beers and wines. We were tired and Nick was still not 100% so we vowed to have an abstemious evening of healthy food, no booze and an early night. And then we met Dave.

To help celebrate the fine victory of New Zeland over Italy we had re-hung our All Blacks flag from our awning when we got back. This was seen by a passing Kiwi, called Dave, and made him stop to have a chat with us. It transpires that he, and his wife Anita, live in a place called Russell, a village in the same area we used to live. It only took a few minutes of chat to establish the existance of mutal aquaintances and many commonalities of place and experience- an entirely normal occurence in NZ. Ten minutes later we had an invite over to his site for drinks and our ‘quiet night in’ went up in smoke. It was hugely interesting talking to them as their experience travelling in Europe closely mirrors what we want to do. They are coming to the end of an 18 month trip in their RV (an imported American beast that they bought in the UK) and were kind enough to gift us their impressive collection of European Lonely Planet guides that they will not have luggage space to take home. We were very grateful. We exchanged numbers and promised to catch up again on Thursday at the next All Blacks game. We owed them a drink or three. So many debts to pay back in beer!

The next day was Monday and time to leave Camping Du Lyon. We weren’t going very far, only an hour and a half’s drive across to Aix-Les-Bains. From here we could easily get the train back to Lyon later in the week for the ‘high stakes’ NZ vs Uruguay game and we had already booked a cheap hotel room for that night. Aix-Les-Bains had a whole different vibe going on Lyon. Rugby? What rugby?? Rugby fans from other countries? Where??? The thermal springs here attract many older French people for theraputic treatments, the cost of which is often covered by the French health care system. Our campsite in Lyon had been packed full of non-French motorhomes. Here we were the only one that wasn’t French and we were the youngest staying on our small town park by a considerable margin. Many people seemed to have been here for a while and there were obvious friendships that had developed, made obvious by almost constant group chit-chats outside the bathroom/washing up block and the marathon pétanque contests on the camp’s pétanque area.

The campsite was only a few hundred metres from Lac de Bourget, which was surrounded by beautiful mountains and there was a lovely lakeside walking/cycle path. We took the bikes for a spin up to one end of the lake one day and had a couple of trips to the lakeshore and one of its small imported sandy beaches. We marvelled how fantastic it was to be sunbathing and lake swimming in early October and it’s no wonder that places like this are thought to have healing properties. If you live in Northern Europe with its dull days and shitty weather, of course you’re going to feel better under blue skies, in the warmth, looking at impressive hills and immersing yourself in nice warm thermal water or swimming in the clear waters of a glassy lake. I feel better just writing about it.

One day we strolled into the centre of town for the weekly market. There really is nothing comparable to a wonderful French farmers’ market. We deliberately hadn’t done a big supermarket shop for our food this week so that we could buy something interesting and delicious from here. It was truely spectacular, but unfortunately it was my turn to be under the weather. Perhaps I had a version of an odd viral thing that had made Nick ill a few days before, but I just felt full of cold and wiped out. The shopping was curtailed to the purchase of a hot rotisserie chicken (the rotissersie chicken van is a thing of wonder in its own right, especially when all the chicken fat drips down onto the roast potatoes at the bottom) and we headed home. I hunkered down for the rest of the day so that I could be on good form for the game the next day. No way I was going to miss a game too. Not happening.

My strategy musy have worked as I felt much improved in myself the next day for our trip back to Lyon. We packed a small overnight bag each and walked the 1.5km to the station. The ol’ step count from incidental walking had been quite impressive since we arrived in Lyon. It is very helpful to be able to offset the delicious food and wine somehow. The train whisked us back to Lyon in a very efficient manner and we prepared to do it all over again! Our budget hotel room was small but perfectly formed and right in the centre of town. Before the game we met up with Dave and Anita in a nearby hostelry and had a few drinks before heading to the stadium with them.

Anca and Mika had been caught up in human traffic whilst trying to get the tram, but finally found us in time for their ‘thank you’ beers and a some chat, and Dave and Anita bumped into a family that they had met at their current campsite. We were quite a gang for a short while! It was another great game for an All Blacks fan, although all the the Uruguay fans that we met were having a blast too. I’m not saying that my husband is chatty, can talk to anyone about anything and can extract large amounts of information from strangers in a short space of time, but he met a Canadian in the queue for the loo who bought us some beers because we we watch Letterkenny. Oh wait. I am saying that.

After the game we headed back to town and and were overtaken by the need for fast food at 12.30am. Our quest started at Macdonalds where we met two more Canadians chaps and had the second conversation of the evening about Letterkenny. Macdonalds didn’t deliver, but a nearby sandwich kiosk provided us with four burger and chip baguettes with mayonaise. Far Frenchier! The next day we dragged ourselves back to the station via another Lyonnaise back street bistro for an early lunch and finally made it back to Aix-Les-Bains for a well needed rest and an actual early night. This rugby tournament is exhausting, and it’s only just getting going!