|More cathedral than train station?|
It was my first trip to Lyon. A 90 minute EasyJet flight from Stansted arrived at Terminal 3 in Lyon Saint-Exupéry airport, which is a sort of temporary high tech cowshed with metal walls and a plastic roof.
|amoeba basin …|
|I never actually|
tried sitting on this
|looks like steel;|
feels like lino
This being France, the food was, of course, excellent. Even a mere sandwich from an airport cafe on the return trip was delicious. On the Monday we sat outside to eat lunch in glorious sunshine. It was blustery (probably the edge of St Jude’s storm), but very warm: I was actually rather concerned about the possibility of sunburn!
Another short hop, back to Stansted. The flight arrived 10 minutes ahead of schedule, due to a strong tail wind (yet more remnants of the storm). By happy chance I ended up first in the queue at passport control, and was thinking about where I had to go to get the bus to the airport carpark. I realised the guy looking at my passport had asked me a question. Uhh. Rewind. Oh, he’d said: “where was your flight from today?” I looked at him blankly. I’m in Stansted. That means I’ve just flown in from somewhere. Where? Taormina? No. Where then? Uhh... Oh. “Lyon”, I said, after a long, suspicious pause. He looked more closely at my passport, but then let me through. Whew.
So, safely back home. Now to get down to the research…