Bonjour France! Arrival in Lyon

Monday, May 18, 2009
London-Lyon

My travels in France this year were a long time happening. As soon as I heard that I would be spending a year in London, I had made up my mind that I would not leave Europe without attempting to see Genevieve Tougne and her family. Genevieve and I have been pen-friends since the age of 13 (exactly the present age of her older son, Louis). It was she who had delighted me by writing me a letter from the beautiful region of the Haute Savoie (once a part of Italy) requesting me to be her pen-pal. For a 13 year old in Bombay, such as myself, this was a rare privilege and I responded warmly and immediately. Thus, our correspondence began.

We met for the first time in 1985 when she arrived in India as a tourist together with her sister Chantal. As a professor at that time, at the University of Bombay, I had organized a tour of Northern India for my undergraduate students which the Tougne sisters joined. We spent the next two weeks in Rajasthan during International Youth Year and returned to Bombay with a huge fund of happy memories and hilarious stories (including meeting Mick Jagger in Jaisalmer).

Two years later, in 1987, we met again, this time in Europe where I traveled extensively with Genevieve and Chantal and spent wonderful weeks in Rumilly, a little village tucked in the folds of French Alps with her mother Lisette and her father Raymond. My French improved rapidly in the company of this hospitable family whose extended members I also grew to know and love (siblings Brigette and Henri and sister-in-law Carole), all of whom played their roles as tour guides leaving me more wonderful memories of Europe.

Genevieve and I met for the last time in 1989 in Paris, exactly 20 years ago, when I was en route to the United States as an immigrant. She had made a journey to the capital with her friend Milene just to spend a few days with me and we’d had a great time together. Neither one of us had realized then that it would be exactly twenty years before we would meet again. During that time, Genevieve had met and married antiques dealer Frederic Ducote, had two sons, Louis (13) and Amaury (11) and had moved from the Haute Savoie where she had spent her childhood and teenage years to Lyon where Frederic had been raised. She continued to work as a civil engineer and in the Lyon to which she introduced me, during the next few days, she pointed out several important buildings for whose construction she was responsible (as Directrice), including a grand terminal building at Lyon’s international airport that resembles a huge and very exotic bird about to rise up and fly. So you can imagine how thrilled I was to meet Genevieve after such a long time and with what a sense of exhilaration and excitement I set out on my visit to France.

Arrival in Lyon:
My Easyjet flight was at a decent hour for once. I awoke at 6 am, took a shower and left my Holborn flat at 7 am, hopped into the Tube to Victoria, jumped into the National Express coach to Stanstead at 8 am, was at the airport at 9. 20, checked in and was on aboard at 11. 20. The flight across the Channel was lovely indeed—no matter how many times I see the receding white cliffs of Dover from the air, I never tire of the sight. A little later, the captain was kind enough to point out that we were flying right over Paris, and through a few scattered clouds, I could clearly see the Seine flowing placidly along and then the very distinct star formed by the confluence of so many of the principal streets around the Place de L’Etoile with the Arc de Triomphe in the center of it. Indeed, I have to say that I felt a pull on my heartstrings and I thought to myself that it has been too long since I have visited Paris—time to return and renew my acquaintance with their unique city.

Then, we were landing in Lyon airport at 2.00 pm (local time) where Frederic (whom I had never met) was awaiting my arrival with a huge card that announced my name. Later, we realized that both of us had been in a state of panic wondering how we would communicate—my French was very rusty indeed and Frederic, it turns out, knows barely any English at all. I need not have worried. He did most of the talking in the car en route to their home and my attentive ears picked up the phrases and hung on to them for dear life. By the end of the day, indeed, by the time Genevieve returned home at 6. 30 that evening, not only had my French come rushing back to me, but I was speaking very easily. Indeed, I was astonished how quickly the language came back (it helped that I had spent the previous few days boning up on my French vocabulary by reading an illustrated Beginner's French Dictionary) and by the end of the five days I spent with the Tougnes and the Ducotes, I was actually thinking in French (which was heaps of fun).

Making Acquaintance with the Home and Family:
As we drove through the city, Frederic caught me up on the family news as well as gave me a little tour of Lyon. He spoke slowly and clearly for my benefit and I understood almost everything. He also explained the geography of the city (which sits astride two rivers—the Rhone and the Saone) which made it very easy for me to find my way around during the next two days.

When we arrived at St. Didier sur Monte d’Or (a real mouthful for the name of a town), I discovered that it is a really privileged neighborhood in which to live (sort of the Hollywood Hills of Los Angeles, if you like). Indeed, the Ducotes live in what we, in the States, call a ‘gated community’. There are 8 sprawling houses and gardens in the property called Les Saisons where the Ducotes live in one of the oldest houses—it dates from the early 1900s and is built in the style of a French chateau complete with wide balustraded terraces, a sloping slate roof and a load of interesting architectural plaster details on the façade which include a skein of flowers above each window. As an antiques dealer, this was Frederic’s dream home, and he spent the first few years in it embellishing it with the touches of which only a rare visionary and a true aesthete is capable—such as ornate wrought iron grilles at each window in the style of Renaissance Italy and landscaping the garden to include several gorgeous rose bushes (just beginning to bloom during my visit) around the inviting swimming pool and building a grotto or rock folly at the back for the children. Indeed, it is such a delightful property that I fell in love with it right away and was very pleased indeed to be able to spend a few days in such a beautiful place. What’s more, since St. Didier is perched on a mountain, the terraces look out over the city of Lyon in the distance and at night, the twinkling lights make one feel as if one is on a ship slowly approaching an exciting new port.

I spent most of the afternoon relaxing (and falling asleep!) in a chaise-longue by the pool and making friends with the Ducote boys (Louis and Amaury) as they each returned from school. Though they learn English as part of their school curriculum, it is almost non-existent, and it was in their company that my confidence in speaking French grew. They are beautifully behaved (and very handsome) boys and but for the occasions on which they sit together in the back of the car (which for some odd reason brings out the beast in them!), they were totally a pleasure to be with and I loved every second of their charming company. In fact, we bonded so well that on the eve of my departure, Amaury was crying all over his hamburger dinner because he could not bear the thought that I would be leaving the next morning! It was heartbreaking!

When Genevieve returned from work that evening, we had a very affectionate reunion. We were so pleased to see each other again and noted that neither of us had changed very much since we had last met in Paris. As usual, Genevieve wanted to know what I intended to do during the next few days and her mind began to work at once to think of all the places to which she could accompany me. Over a spaghetti dinner that evening (cooked by her housekeeper Virginie), we discussed our plans for the next few days. It turned out that, by coincidence, Thursday and Friday were days off in France (the feast of the Ascension) and the Ducotes had a long weekend which they were very pleased to be able to spend with me. As we sat and ate around their old-fashioned kitchen with its dining peninsula, we spoke companionably and decided that I would spend the next two days on my own exploring the city of Lyon. Genevieve was thoughtful enough to purchase and present me with a booklet of ten tickets that I could use on the metro for the next two days. Then, the Ducotes would take over and escort me around the region by car.

That evening, I made my way up to the bedroom on the third floor of the house (which was exclusively mine with a spacious old bathroom, also exclusively mine) and fell asleep rather quickly that night—something that would not happen for the next few nights. I also decided that I would explore the house more fully the next day for indeed the Ducote residence is like a museum, so full of antiques that it would take an entire morning just to appreciate them all.