Lyon Unveiled: Part Two – Glimpses Beyond the Ordinary

As dawn broke on my second day in Lyon, my expectations clashed with reality over a trivial matter – coffee. The brew provided by Sofitel, though adequate for many, fell short of satiating my refined palate. Fortunately, my ‘coffee archives’ – a collection of carefully chosen sachets for emergencies – came to my rescue, transforming an ordinary morning into one of aromatic satisfaction.

The rhythm of the day established its tempo with a visit to the hotel gym. In this sanctuary, the rigor of physical exertion danced with the serenity of mental clarity. It was a harmonious prelude to what I anticipated would be a similarly invigorating experience in the steam room.

For me, the gym has always been an arena of mixed emotions rather than a consistent ally. My relationship, you know it quite well now, with physical fitness has been a journey of peaks and valleys. There have been times when I’ve shied away, preferring the shadows to the unforgiving glare of gym lights that illuminate the sculpted physiques I sometimes yearn for yet accept I may never achieve.

Today, as I ran on the treadmill, each step was a negotiation between aspiration and acceptance. After a determined thirty-minute sprint, my body signaled it was time to step down, marking the end of one challenge and the threshold of another.

My curiosity about Sofitel’s steam room had been simmering for quite some time, fueled by whispers of its luxurious ambiance and the promises of a rejuvenating experience. The prospect of finally stepping into this famed retreat infused me with a sense of eager anticipation. It was not just a room I was about to enter, but a dream I was ready to live. The steam room, renowned for its restorative powers, beckoned me, promising a sanctuary where the physical exertions of the gym could be soothed away, and where the mind could wander freely in the comforting embrace of warm, healing vapors.

Photo courtesy: https://www.bullukian.com/

The steam room, a vast yet intimate heaven designed to detoxify and rejuvenate, was spacious enough to accommodate a small crowd, yet on this day, it was my solitary retreat. Informed of its mixed-gender use – a nod to the Scandinavian saunas I fondly remembered as bastions of openness and self-challenge – I entered with a tinge of curiosity. France, with its facade of liberal attitudes, often harbours a deeply ingrained conservatism, and this extends to the sanctums of luxury hotels as well. Such spaces, though ostensibly liberal, are coloured by a certain puritanical ethos.

Alone, I embraced the liberating solitude of the steam room, allowing the heat to envelope me, coaxing the toxins from my skin, and indulging in a moment of unbridled freedom. But this idyll was not to last. As I prepared to rinse away the vestiges of the steam, I was met with the startling reality that the showers were out of order. Suddenly, the tranquility of my solitude was replaced by a pressing urgency.

Image obtained from an illustrator

Imagine the scene: there I was, a figure drenched in sweat, hastily redressing in my dampened clothes, my exit from the steam room a far cry from the leisurely retreat I had envisioned. The journey back to my room was a blend of discomfort and haste, a stark contrast to the earlier serenity. The disruption, even though minor, served as a reminder of the unpredictable nature of life, even within the meticulously planned environment of a luxury hotel. This unexpected detour in my otherwise seamless routine was a vivid episode in the mosaic of my Lyon adventure, a momentary lapse in the orchestrated elegance that only served to heighten the overall experience. As I returned to my room, the memory of this incident stayed on, a testament to the day’s unpredictable nature and the small surprises that await us in our most private moments.

Refreshed from my shower, I spritzed myself with Gentleman de Givenchy, a fragrance that has become a part of my very essence, enveloping me in a cloud of refined elegance. This olfactory ritual served as the perfect prelude to my meeting with Georgio at Place Bellecour. He, a man juggling the multifaceted roles of fatherhood, husband, son, and a cyber security expert. His presence, is always a delightful surprise and his responses are as eagerly awaited as a message in a bottle cast into the sea, adds a unique charm to every encounter.

We met, greeted eachother and realised that our appetites were keenly awakened. Our culinary rendezvous was at L’Espace, a brasserie that echoed the sophisticated ambience of our previous meeting at Sir Winston, a high-end Indo-British brasserie near the Arc de Triomphe in Paris. Here, in the heart of Lyon, our Parisian memories were rekindled over a meal that celebrated simplicity and luxury in equal measure. The burger, our mutual choice, served as a bridge between our shared past and present.

With Georgio at L’Espace Brasserie: https://www.maison-borgeot.fr/lespace-brasserie/

As the wine added a touch of class to our meal, we eschewed dessert for a more rustic yet equally indulgent option – demi Saint Marcellin cheese platters. True to my culinary philosophy, I indulged in the delightful ritual of ‘buttering my bread for cheese’ – a personal idiosyncrasy that elevates the experience to an art form.

Now, I’m well aware that in the hallowed halls of Lyonnaise gastronomy, slathering butter under a slab of cheese might be considered nothing short of heresy. It’s like wearing sneakers to a black-tie event – unorthodox, mildly scandalous, yet undeniably me. This quirk in my palate has its roots in my very first full meal with my friend Tété in September 2006. He, with his mixed heritage and a dash of Swedish lineage, encouraged me to layer butter under the cheese, insisting it would elevate the taste. To my initial horror, I discovered that this combination, though delicious, was met with looks of sheer astonishment from the purists around us. In France, where cheese often represents God on earth, pairing it with butter is akin to rewriting the Book!

So, as I spread a generous layer of butter under my cheese, Georgio’s reaction was priceless. His eyes widened, mirroring the shock that once played across my face. In that moment, I realized how much I relished these little acts of culinary rebellion. Tété’s Swedish influence, which embraced cheese with biscuits – a big no-no in traditional French circles – had clearly rubbed off on me. It was a delightful mash-up of cultures, a testament to how food can transcend boundaries, much to the amazement (or dismay as you can say) of culinary traditionalists like Georgio.

To those who find my Kardashianesque attention to detail wearisome, I forewarn – the remaining part of my Lyon saga may well surpass your wildest imaginations. Lyon, with its blend of the ancient and the contemporary, has a way of transforming even the mundane into the extraordinary. As I continue to document this journey, each moment becomes a thread in the intricate fabric of my story, a story that is as much about discovering Lyon as it is about rediscovering myself.

Somewhere in Croix Rousse, at the 4th arrondissement of Lyon

STAY TUNED!!! Because day two hasn’t finished yet. After our lavish lunch, Georgio and I took our leave from one another with a pledge to reunite soon over more stories and burgers. He headed back to his abode, and I ventured up to Croix Rousse, the 4th arrondissement of Lyon. This uphill neighbourhood is a microcosm of the Rhône Alpes high-flyers, a community living within its own bubble, where descending to Saxe Gambetta or Bellecour feels like an odyssey.

In the heart of Croix Rousse, I stumbled upon a sanctuary of well-being, a serene oasis amidst the urban hustle. Here, a Delhi-born entrepreneur, with her roots deeply entrenched in the vibrant culture of India, had woven her magic into the very fabric of Lyon. Her boutique, reminiscent of a tranquil ashram, stood as a vivid embodiment of her dedication to nurturing wellness and self-care.

In our conversation, I found myself passionately expressing the necessity of nurturing the soul, especially in these times when the media landscape seems to be an ever-churning sea of information and misinformation. The relentless tide of news, often tinted with bias or sensationalism, has a way of wearing down even the most resilient spirits. « We need to offer a haven for people to feel good about themselves, » I shared with her, my voice echoing in the calm of her well-curated space.

I spoke fervently about the need for a retreat from the world where the lines between reality and fabrication have become alarmingly blurred. In a society where public discourse is often dominated by a cacophony of voices, each clamoring to be heard, the importance of personal wellness has never been more paramount. « There’s no crisis in wellness, » I declared. This was more than just a statement; it was a belief, a conviction that in the midst of societal tumult, the pursuit of personal peace and well-being remains an unshakable pillar. As I articulated these thoughts, the entrepreneur listened, her space providing a backdrop that seemed to absorb and understand the depth of my words. It was a moment of connection, a shared understanding that amidst the noise and chaos of the external world, these indulging escapes are essential sanctuaries, offering respite and rejuvenation for the weary. An aura, straight from the abyss of Ayurvéda!

Our deep conversation over life, perception, and our chosen paths as expats turned immigrants in France left a lasting impression. She walked me down to the metro and as we went our seperate ways, the day’s experiences lasted in my thoughts. Back in my room, I surrendered to the quiet flow of the Rhône. In the serenity of the night, I embraced again the world of dreams – my world of boundless possibilities, where burgers, bondings, and new beginnings awaited.

To be continued…