Gym Hamster

Firstly I would like to thank Catherine for the term gym hamster, it was too good not use!

I joined a gym the other day and again have begun to experience a lot of differences and similarities from my days as a gym bunny in the UK.
For a start I didn’t really get much of a hard sell from Grégory, who seemed more interested in showing off his English and conducted a tour of the gym in Franglais. As we strolled around the gym and a wave of the left hand showed me the cardio area and a wave of the right hand showed me where the weight machines could be found and a pointed finger showed me where the changing rooms were. We wondered upstairs to the free weight area and he decided that it was the men’s area, so we wondered back down again. In my previous incarnation I would have got angry with this, but as I probably won’t frequent the free weight area, I couldn’t be bothered to get uptight.
When I joined a gym in the UK I was shown every area in detail, the state of artness of the machines was explained in great detail, the qualifications of the gym personnel was highlighted, the cleanliness of the changing areas emphasised in an amazing sales pitch.

So anyway, I signed up, paid by writing a series of cheques (no direct debits here, thank you!) and started to turn up for some classes.
I was intrigued to see how these would compare and again similarities and differences. Les Mills has taken over the world so the ‘Body’ classes are here too. I went to body pump, curious to know what the French called a dead row and was disappointed to find out that I couldn’t hear. The male instructors have the music turned up high and microphone turned low, so I was watching to follow along. Eventually (after a class with a female instructor) I find out it just ‘Tirez’ – pull. So disappointed.
In one class I had zoned out and was mortified to realise that the instructor had been trying to talk to me and was eventually saying ‘You do speak English, don’t you?’ Apparently my knees were too far apart.
The one big difference with these classes is that in the UK the instructors tend to mix and match the music from older routines, here they stick strictly to the entire latest release. Possibly the French obeying the instructions to the letter, whereas the UK instructors think to themselves that Les himself is unlikely to walk in and they have a bit of freedom.

I also seem to be the only person who goes into the steam room, but that suits me fine and the only major criticism is that the sauna seems a bit on the warm side rather than hot side. It is a small gym and the staff are friendly and do seem to know all the members and hopefully, over the next few weeks I’ll eventually be able to call myself a gym bunny again!

Living in an aviary

For a few weeks each spring the swallows come to town. In vast numbers. Then one of the advantages of living in a tall building, with large windows and on a steep hill comes to the fore. Every evening the swallows fly around looking for insects and because we are so high up they come swooping past the windows. They look so beautiful as they fly through the sky, reeling and changing direction as if in some kind of dance. The sky provides a magnificent backdrop as it slowly changes from blue to a pinky-orange in yet another glorious sunset. With the windows open and the rush hour over, you can hear them calling and singing to each other. It really is like living in an aviary, nature at its best. I do miss them when they go and look forward to them coming back each year.

Tis the season to eat cherries, fa la la la la la la la la!

The market is inundated with summer fruits. There are piles of strawberries and now the cherries have arrived! A few early peaches and nectarines are appearing as well a couple of cantaloupe melons…yum.

It has been over a week since I was last able to go to the market in Croix Rousse and a rare weekday off work and I was able to wander through the Tuesday market today and the changes in the produce on sale seem very dramatic.
It is lovely shopping in a seasonal market and you can get very smug and all eco friendly about it. There are some market stalls run by local producers – these are easily identifiable as the produce tends to be unwashed, limited and displayed in old wooden crates. By buying from these farmers you know that what you are getting has been locally produced and has low food miles and therefore low carbon footprints. However you do get to a point in mid February when you have been looking at the same fruit and veg for several months (potatoes, pumpkin, leeks, apples, pears and quinces) and being eco friendly isn’t so attractive.
Then suddenly there is a splash of red amongst the browns and oranges of winter and the first strawberries have arrived. OK, so they come from Spain, but that is only over the Pyrenees, what the heck and you just have to buy them.

Now the soft fruit season is really getting started. There will be cherries galore for the next few weeks, which you can even buy in various states of ripeness, as well as French kiwis (which seems an odd thing to write), strawberries and raspberries. Then as the cherry season wanes the peaches, nectarines and finally the apricots will arrive. The French still make a lot of jams and preserves and will buy kilos of fruit and the supermarkets will sell preserving kits and kilner jars. One enterprising stallholder has a clafoutis recipe written on a tatty piece of cardboard box proudly displayed next to her cherries.

Then seemingly, within a blink of an eye, it will all be over and as the weather turns cooler, pumpkins and other autumn foods will start making a reappearance and apples will seem a novelty and worth buying again.

Anyway, today I brought some cherries and I may make a clafoutis, provided I don’t eat them all first.

Village Life

Though it may seem a strange thing to say, although I live in a city, at times it feels as if I live in a village. Croix Rousse is an area of Lyon and is perched onto of a hill. This is quite a steep hill and has a psychological effect on most people, who end up thinking that to get here is really difficult (despite good metro connection and several buses.) This effect means that Croix Rousse has kept its identity and is quite a distinct area of Lyon.


It started as a village outside of the old city walls and has gradually been incorporated into the city itself. It was the first area of Lyon I discovered as I stayed with a friend here on my first trip to the city. It has a daily street market, little street cafes, small boutique type shops, as well as artisan bakers, butchers etc. There is a maze of narrow one way streets (why didn’t those 18th Century builders put in garages and wide streets?) designed to confuse the newly arrived. The majority of buildings are tall Canut workshops – built to house the silk workers and their looms, so ceilings are nearly 4 metres high. These have been converted into some amazing loft style apartments.
As it feels like quite an isolated area, you get to know and recognise everyone quite quickly. When I see my neighbours in the street or the market we always say ‘bonjour’. I have my favourite stalls in the market and my regular shops I go to. It is strange to out in the area and not bump into someone you know and have a little chat. My sister used to live in a small village in the UK and told me that you know you have been accepted into a village, when it takes you half an hour to do a 10 minute task eg. Popping out to the shop. I now know what she means. It does however make the area friendly and welcoming. The story in Lyon is that some people stay on the hill for months at a time, everything you need is here, and I do know some who only leave it for work.


I also live in another village, though this one is spread out over the city. It is the expat community village. Although Lyon has a large expat community, it does feel quite small at times. I was chatting to a Spanish guy once night, and the next day was asked how my Spanish was by a friend who hadn’t been there!
I also work in a bilingual crèche and often find that some of the families are friends of my friends. You have to get used to being talked about a lot, fortunately most of this seems to be in a good way! You also get used to hearing about people that you haven’t meet (yet) and get to feel that they are friends of yours already. Then you go to a party, start talking to someone and realise that you know all about them, and they know all about you….

Royal Wedding Blues

I'm not a particularly ardent royalist, I don't bother them and they don't bother me. I could have quite happily let the whole wedding thing pass me by, unfortunately the French (after having beheaded their own monarchy) press decided to take an interest in the whole thing. I also regularly log onto the BBC website and was also surprised to find that wedding fever seemed to have taken over the whole of that site too. It really did feel as if all the media was jumping on the bandwagon, 'If such and such a channel are covering it, then we must too!' Not exactly a mark of good quality news reporting.

A lot of the bars in Lyon also suddenly put up posters saying that they would be showing the wedding (some even opening early to do so).
Then on the day, loads of Facebook comments from friends both in the UK and here in France about it. There seemed to be two distinct camps, a whole sort of Marmite thing - you either loved it or hated it. One Facebook friend was going around condemning anyone who made the slightest bit of a mockery out of it to the tower, while another was writing pointed comments about the snooker. (Both were male.)
I started off by not being fussed about it but began to grow to resent it. In fact it all got annoying and I'm glad it is all over.

Hopefully the last word was had at the gym this morning, when I collected my new card, the receptionist asked if I had 'watched the wedding', I really didn't understand what he was talking about (being more concerned about what my photo just taken on the webcam would look like) and my look of puzzlement must have showed, so he said the royal wedding. My 'pfft' and dismissive wave of my hand instantly helped make me new friends.