Andrew Kay: Sole food
Great news, the gout is being kept at bay by medication. I know, pill popping is not great, but seriously, the pain had reached a peak.
A few weeks back it was so bad that I could not bear the weight of a single sheet on my foot at night. I was awake and despairing, so much so that I contemplated, for a moment I assure you, digging out the Kitchen Devil bread knife and lopping the offending appendage off. It was that bad.
The next morning I called the doctor and called a cab to take me, barefoot, the 200 metres down the road to the local surgery. There my GP confirmed that the tests had shown that I had excessive purine levels in my blood, the cause of gout, but was mystified that I had not been prescribed any medication. I was in no state for an argument and just begged for some – there and then! I staggered to the pharmacy and then home where I took my first dose.
As if by magic, just three days later, I was up and about and the pains that have blighted my existence for over a year now have all but gone. I will take one of the pills every day now for the foreseeable future, but if I can walk I simply don’t give a damn.
With a two day sojourn in Lyon that week it was with great relief that I could put pied to chaussée, especially as they had planned to route march us through the old part of the city for an afternoon of history and culture.
Lyon had pretty much passed me by as a destination and I feel bad about that. It’s a charming city, full of great architecture and of course a crazy number of restaurants per capita. In Paris there is one restaurant for around 350 Parisienne, in Lyon the tally is one for every 245 Lyonnaise. It’s a gourmet heaven with streets totally given over to dining in its many forms, there are Michelin Stars that light up the night sky and bouchons that fill your bellies with hearty food that has not been poncified in any sense. And the people are charming, no evidence of that French sang-froid when it comes to cross channel relations, in fact we were welcomed with open arms, hearts and bars.
My God, the Lyonnaise can eat and drink. Even a seasoned bon viveur like me felt like I was being left at the starting gate as the locals quaffed away.
“…paths that meandered downward and flights of steps so steep that even M.C. Escher might have baulked at them”
The city itself is bisected twice by the Rhone and the Saône Rivers and each slice seems to have its own history, the old part that we explored rises from the banks of the river to a ridge betopped with an almost insanely ornate church that has to be seen to be believed, mosaic madness inside, all in homage to Mary. It was a relief to find that we could use our city pass to take the funicular railway up there but our charming guide made some of us walk down through the wooded hillside gardens on paths that meandered downward and flights of steps so steep that even M.C. Escher might have baulked at them. It was for sure a test of my gouty feet and knees but I finished the day tired for sure but not crippled.
I liked The Grand Hôtel Des Terreaux too, which had escaped the bland blight of the Euro-minimal-chic that makes it so hard to differentiate between boutique and budget. I propped myself on a mountain of pillows against the ornate Rococo bedhead and sipped mineral water until I was ready to drift into a much needed sleep.
Travelling from Gatwick was pretty simple, although it was an early start, and at just over £70 return on easyJet was something of a bargain when compared to some UK rail fares. I really would like to return, maybe in cooler weather, and explore beyond the city which is at the heart of so many great foodie destinations.
www.en.lyon-france.com
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