I did mention that the days had started to roll one into another when I was at Flaneur hostel and it would be terribly easy to spend quite a few months of your life there (and not overly expensive) in what is undoubtedly one of the best hostels I have ever stayed at.
I first hostelled in 1970 as a member of the Cub Scouts at the now closed and apparently now semi-derelict Learmont Castle hostel in the Sperrin mountains in Northern Ireland and over the years I have stayed in many of them. Approaching my bus pass in London (yes, I am that old) I still use them and thoroughly enjoy the experience. The hyperlink I have attached is from a chap who styles himself “Lord Belmont” and writes the most brilliantly researched, not to mention hugely witty, blogs about Northern Ireland and beyond. I really do recommend you have a look at some of his stuff, it really is worth a read and I do wish I could produce posts half as good.
I am struggling to remember what happened on any particular day and relying on my admittedly limited images to assist. On this day, the images seem to indicate that I was up with the lark as I was having breakfast at about 0930 and feasting on some excellent French cheese, a French baguette and, naturally, a bottle of red wine. OK, I know, I know, but I like to do things like that so please don’t preach at me about my health.
It would also appear to have been the day of the regular farmers / produce market which was yet another indication of the very community spirit of the place which I did rather like.
It seems almost superfluous to tell you that the weather was still absolutely abysmal.
Not much else to relate really so I urge the reader to pass on to the next entry having browsed the images. What they do suggest to me is that I ended up in some random bar watching Ajax (Holland) hammering Lyon (the local side) in the football (soccer for my North American brethren (and sistren obviously)) and then eating a gorgeous meal which my images tell me was about 2100 at night, a much earlier hour than I normally eat if I do.
It is bizarre that I can virtually taste that lamb shank and remember how good it was to this day, months later, but if you put a gun to my head I could not tell you where I had it which is an indication of how crazy this trip was getting and how appallingly disorganised I am about blogging it. Shame I’ll not be able to write a tip on the restaurant though.
I really should try harder to keep up.
Still plenty to see in lovely Lyon so stay tuned and spread the word.