After dinner and drinks out on the town, Hotel and I had dreams of a lovely relaxed Lyon morning. A little lie in (nothing too ambitious – say, seven?), coffee, french pastries and cuddles with our sweet girl. The same sweet girl who woke up in the threes and ruined all our plans (to be fair, daylight savings kicked in and so as far as her body was concerned, it was in the fours, but that’s still completely ludicrous). After trying our best to reclaim precious zzzs, we reverted to Plan B (which stands for bloody hell, are you kidding me?) and made our way to catch the sunrise over the Roman amphitheatre. Except when we arrived at some ungodly dark hour of course it was closed, the attendants probably luxuriating in their warm beds with their coffee on standby and pastries at the ready, sniggering at us in their dreams. Plan C (you can use your imagination): we made our way to Saint Jean-Baptiste Cathedral, and typically she fell asleep just as the sun came up.
The church bells tolled and she awoke – you think she’d be used to them after Rotkreuz. You’d also think I might have been able to manage my hair and wear clean jeans. You would be mistaken on all counts.
Not quite ready to give up on the pastry dream, we made our way back into town to find the Sunday markets. They were delicious. There is a law in France that prohibits taking photos of people without their permission, hence Tim’s odd law-skirting camera angle. Rest assured, we’ve not included any dirty jean shots.
We had to head to Geneva as Tim had to get his passport renewed (the Kiwis can apparently submit everything electronically and have the passports delivered within days; not so for us. In person, with an appointment, at the embassy, thankyouverymuch). As Geneva was only a few hours away we decided to detour via Beaujolais.
The only problem with that plan was that it was Sunday, and all the things were shut. We had a lovely drive through the autumnal vines, mentally making ‘what we would do better next time’ lists (call first / have a game plan / pack a picnic / remember things shut on Sunday / have a daughter that sleeps past three am). We grabbed baguettes at the only place we could find that was open, and Adelaide promptly ate her grandfather’s.
We made it to Geneva that afternoon. Tim and I did a brief UN, Botanic Gardens and Lake Geneva circuit before calling it a night (night = wine and whispers in our hotel room, hoping that things would fare better the following morning). (Spoiler: they did not.) However the lake was beautiful and the UN doesn’t support any kind of warfare, let alone that with your child, so we cut our losses and enjoyed the evening.