It stirred me up a bit, our return visit to Lyon today. And I become quite sombre on the drive back to our accommodation in Meximieux as I tried to process it all. How much to blab on about it here, I’m not sure. It was to do with the contrasts in life – the joy (and importance) of celebrating beauty, creativity, the senses. But also the enormous amount of pain and loss that is brought about when people become greedy for power, domination and fortune. The images of France impressed on my mind so far include breathtakingly beautiful cathedrals and palaces, amazing architecture and glorious works of art – pieces of history which tell of incredible talent, effort and reverence, but which also hold the stories of struggles for power, of wars and incredible suffering.

Bear with me, it won’t be all doom and gloom I promise!

Our plan today was basically just to take our time and wander the streets of Lyon, but we also decided to take our dear friend Durelle’s advice (she is remarkedly expert in all things French-touristy; thank you D xx) and check out the Halles de Lyon – Paul Bocuse. I shall quote from their website “Mecca for the taste buds, mythical institution of good foods, essential crossroads of tastes and flavours…..one of Lyon’s historic gastronomic hotspots, where Paul Bocuse got his supplies for his restaurants.” And as one would expect after that build up, it was a wee bit fancy. Sorta like the market we went to in Auxerre, but next level – actually probably more like quite a few next levels. Good golly Miss Molly is all I can say.

I know right, pretty exquisite stuff. Not what you normally get in your lunch box. Well not every day anyways.

Stop it! TOO cute! And yours for only NZ$19.99 a piece. Or we could be more adult and check out the Cheese Louise ….

Cheesey, but still a bit too cute? Take a look at these bad boys…

Something on the side, maybe?

Or something to take home for tomorrow’s sandwich?…

Sorry, couldn’t help myself.

There was so much more, but alas things to do, places to go, coffee to be had – but not there. It was off around the corner and up the road, a forty-five minute walk in fact. Why? Oh just cause I’d blinkin’-well seen this place on a You Tube thing and, you know…

And then we wandered slowly back to the car through the “old town”, having a peek in at the beautiful clothes in the boutique shops – dresses around 300 euros, that’s NZ$600 – a weeny bit pricey for a girl whose top spend is normally NZ$20 per item and that’s at an op-shop!). Hey, I get wardrobe-bored easily. I can’t be doing with this “a few classic pieces” thing! Maybe when I grow up. But it’s fun to look anyhow. And the streets are all so interesting. That’s Rue Victor-Hugo on the right, Dad.

And then just as I was all full up with the glory of it all, we came across the Verdun Remembrance Garden, on Place Garnot, next to the Gare de Lyon (train station). It wasn’t the garden that caught my eye, but the date on the tourist information sign, next to an old photograph of some happy looking children. It was April 6, 1944. And my Mum’s birthday is April 4, 1944. That’s why I stopped – because of the date.

And then I read – or Clive Google-translated it for us – about what had happened on that date, to those children, and their carers.

These were Jewish children, orphaned during World War Two, who were cared for at a children’s home called Maison D’Izieu. In the morning, on 6 April 1944, two days after my mother was born, the Gestapo arrived, arrested the forty-four children at the home, and the six adults who cared for them, put them on railways carts and sent them to Auschwitz, to the gas chambers. Only two of this group survived Auschwitz, both adults. The man who ordered this atrocity, Klaus Barbie, escaped to South Amercia after the war, but was eventually tracked down in 1983 and tried for his crimes. He died in prison in 1991, aged 77.

We had watched a documentary last night on the history of France. We were reminded again of the horror and futility of war. And how terribly sad it is that greed can lead to such unfathomable heartache and loss.

And that’s all I’ve got to say about that.