Day 57: Macon to Tournon sur Rhone

October 5, 2024

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Tricia and Ken had had good luck cycling to and through Lyon in the Spring, but we decided to bypass the city by hopping the train in Macon and riding to Tournon sur Rhone. That would be a 175 km jump!

Our train would only leave around noon, so we had half a day to further explore Macon. We did have the tourism office pamphlet, but the things they mentioned did not seem so earth shattering. We went back to that main pedestrian street, Carnot Street, and spec'd out any cafés, that could be good for keeping warm and killing some time. Failing to find or choose one, we landed back at the "wood house", which remained one of the most interesting things the tourism office suggests.

The tourism description of the wood house stresses the saucy nature of the carvings. Having failed to really see that yesterday, we took out the camera for another look. "Saucy" of course depends on the era, so maybe the shots below qualify. You think?

Having used up all the fun at the Wood House, we headed for another big thing, the Saint-Laurent bridge. This is pretty historic, since there was a river crossing here as early as when the Romans built one of wood while conquering Gaul. The first stone bridge came in 1221, and it seemed to be tinkered with until 1550. During the Wars of Religion (1562-98), there was action here when the governor of Macon used the bridge to throw Huguenots prisoners in the river.

The St Laurent bridge - has 16 arches in total.

The bridge is adjacent to the waterfront area called the Esplanade Lamartine, which really is the most attractive part of town. Somebody at the tourism department recognized this, because that's where they put their big "Macon" sign, a statue of the poet Lamartine, and a copy of one of his poems in five languages. Somebody slipped, because none of this made it into the town brochure. But, we found it!

This panel presents the Lamartine poem "Le Lac". Not really worth zooming in on, unfortunately.

Alphonse de Lamartine was born in Macon, 1790. He is a very famous French writer, but I rather like his full name: Alphonse Marie Louis de Prat de Lamartine.

This street at right angles to the Quai is also picturesque.

Credit for our biggest discovery of the morning was that Macon had a Saturday market, adjacent to the quai. At first it looked like one of those clothing sales:

But in truth it was a flat out real market:

Of course a real market has the rotisserie, and this one in fact had three. It also had paella, tagine/cous cous, more than one Lebanese stall, and a Chinese one with great spring rolls.

I was specially interested in these food items, since many had a Mediterranean origin. Macon is not on the Med, but it is sort of getting there. More to the point, a noticeable proportion of the market clientele seemed to have Mediterranean roots.

One really iconic Med food item to me is kibbe. I don't know much about it, but it made an impression on me in a cooking show I once watched. So here it is below. I still don't know much about it. It's made with bulgur, whatever that is, and may contain meat, even raw meat.

Of course there was also a selection of small bakers. Their stuff always looks so great!

There were lots of fruits today as well. I noticed especially nectarines (my favourite) including white ones, and many apple varieties.

We landed back near St Pierre square, and found some other entertaining stuff. Like this place claiming to make Montreal bagels. It was closed - maybe for the Sabbath?

We travelled 8000 km to find a bagel shop?

In the square some jugglers/acrobats had set up shop. They were not very good. I got the idea that part of their thing was to not be good, so they were getting the public to pick up their lost props.

Another fun thing in the square was a wedding that maybe just took place in the church, and the happy couple had to cross the square to reach city hall, presumably for the legal part. Their crossing was an occasion for much photo taking, so I naturally joined in.

And got these wedding photos!

Before the couple could head on in to city hall.

Just down the street we passed a fairly unremarkable building, but here is its story:

The thing about it is that still in its exterior wall is a rotating barrel. abandoned new borns could be placed inside, and a bell rung, so then the sisters would rotate the barrel and collect the child. Observant Dodie noted that it seemed to have capacity for twins!

We formed the opinion that one of the reasons I flew off my bike the other day was that my pedals were small, rickety, and worn. We located this bike shop, and bingo, I now have new, larger, grippier pedals!

We now had nothing more to do but to nip on up to the train station. There was still some excitement to this, as we spotted a Chiff Chaff (we think) , which Dodie ably photo'd with my camera.

When we bought our train tickets yesterday the agent absolutely assured Dodie that the station was all on one level and that no stairs would be involved. When we arrived today, we just took seats in the waiting room, with the bikes, and waited for the track number to come up on the screen. But just when our train would be next to have its track announced, I casually wandered over to see exactly where these tracks were. What I found was a shocker. To reach any track one had to descend a set of stairs, pass through a tunnel, and ascend a second set. I hurried to Information to find out where the elevator or ramp was. Hah. Since this is France, the answer was that they were working on that. The stairs were the only way! I pointed out to the man that with heavy bikes and many packs, stairs were not practical. Desolée, eh.

A further infuriating thing was that the stairs had been outfitted with a track for bike wheels. But this was hard against the wall. Where were your handlebars, not to mention pedals supposed to go? Meanwhile, of course, our train was announced. Time to go!

Broken shoulder or not, I tried to get the first bike onto the track, but it really was not working, and of course I was risking a further fall or shoulder wrench.

This is where, out of "nowhere" at least three young men (strangers to each other) materialized. They grabbed our bikes and packs and after verifying the track, whisked the whole darn show away - down, then up. The photo shows one of the young men, who actually had the bike over his head on the stairs. You also see another one, working with the packs.

I am so used to relying on my own strength that asking for help seldom occurs to me. In this case, even injured, I was still trying it. But practically I had no hope. It was good that the fellows did not need to be asked, and they really saved the day for us.

Properly ensconced in the train, Dodie eyes the unusable bike hooks.

At the station in Tain l'Hermitage it was stairs again, and this time, no one around. But, they did have an elevator. It was sized, of course, to not really fit a bike. Dodie tried it a couple of ways, and finally hit on an orientation that gave 1 mm of clearance, allowing the door to close. We were out!

The magic of the train had jumped us to an entirely different region and ecosystem. There were hills and vines around - the famous Cotes du Rhone. And it felt warmer!

One of our ulterior motives in getting off the train at Tain l'Hermitage was the presence in the town of the Valrhona chocolate factory, including their boutique and museum, not to mention restaurant with all chocolate dishes.

They had dozens of varieties, all named, with the characteristics listed.

Dodie tried a questionnaire that mentioned a raft of chocolate characteristics, asking her to indicate her preferences. In the end it was supposed to recommend the perfect chocolate for her.

After trying and buying some really excellent chocolate, we pushed our bikes toward the bridge, for our gite was on the other side of the river.

This is breast cancer month. The "pink" theme is here, of course, carried by flamingoes.

We also found this passerelle, which would have been better than the big bridge. This is actually the oldest suspension bridge in France.

Tournon has a medieval centre. We were just getting into it, when Sandra, owner of our "Gite au Pied du Geant", scooped us off the street. We had arrived - the gite is right on the pedestrian way.

The gite is really good, with a nice home for the bikes and a fully equipped kitchen and common area. One strange bonus - our room had a kettle - the exact kind we had been looking for when we bought the too big 1.7 l one. Sandra easily agreed to a trade.

Size matters when fitting kettles into packs.

Many rooms in chambres d'hotes or gites are named. Today, in French, our room is essentially named the Grampies!

Today's ride: 7 km (4 miles)
Total: 2,864 km (1,779 miles)

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Kathleen ClassenGreat news about the help in the train station. People can be so kind.
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1 month ago

Steve Miller/GrampiesTo Kathleen ClassenIt was so kind, and they just appeared, grabbed our stuff, asked what track we were going to and headed off. I must admit to a fleeting thought that we might never see our bikes or gear again but it was only a brief thought. Honestly, we would never gave have been able to do it on our own.
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1 month ago

Karen PoretWhat a game changer this story is! Help, Sunshine, Trains be damned ( but necessary) and chocolate ! :)
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1 month ago