Lyon to Marseille: Part 1 Great Continental Railway Journeys

I'm embarking on a new railway adventure that will take me

across the heart of Europe.

I'll be using this,

my Bradshaw's Continental Railway Guide,

dated 1913, which opened up an exotic world of foreign

travel for the British tourist.

It told travellers where to go, what to see, and how to navigate

the thousands of miles of tracks crisscrossing the continent.

Now, a century later,

I'm using my copy to reveal an era of great optimism and energy

where technology, industry, science and the arts were flourishing.

I want to rediscover that lost Europe that, in 1913, couldn't know

that its way of life would shortly be swept aside by the advent of war.

This time I'm retracing a route outlined in my 1913 guide

from the heart of France to the Mediterranean coast.

A century ago, the British in France were tourists

in the territory of the traditional enemy

lured, despite prejudices, by sun, food and natural wonders.

In 1913, rather to their surprise, the British found themselves

allied to their traditional enemy, the French.

Suspicion might still attach to a country which, as Bradshaw's

tells me, had in 1870 declared a republic for the third time

in a Europe composed largely of monarchies.

But then again, Queen Victoria

and King Edward VII had both extolled the virtues

of holidaying in the South of France,

and by now, Germany, ruled

by their unruly relative the Kaiser, was looking much more dangerous.

Following one of the key arteries

of the early 20th century railway network,

I'll rediscover a country at the height of its technical prowess...

Wow, off we go.

..where railway explorers could sample the finest French cuisine.

It's rolling itself!

My journey will take me from Lyon, following the mistral wind,

down the Rhone Valley into Provence,

via historic Avignon

and Arles, a magnet for fin-de-siecle painters.

I'll then head for the coast,

finishing up at the gateway to the former French Empire.

My first stop will be Lyon.

Bradshaw's tells me that it is,

"After Paris, the first city of France for size

"and commercial importance."

The Birmingham of France,

industrial boom-town Lyon was served by the first-ever French

railway, built for coal, which reached the city in 1832.

According to Bradshaw's, "It is the centre of the French silk,

"velvet, and ribbon trades"

and, "Its commercial prominence is largely due to its favoured

"situation on two navigable rivers - the Rhone and the Saone."

The peninsula that lies between Lyon's two rivers is

known as the Presque-ile, and I'm following my guidebook to its heart.

I've come to the Place Bellecourt because Bradshaw's tells me,

"It's the centre of activity in Lyon. Here are the principal cafes."

True enough, but some would go further and say that whilst Paris

is the great metropolis of France, Lyon is the capital of cuisine.

For the Edwardian traveller,

the chance to sample Lyonnaise cuisine was not to be missed.

Back in Britain, French cooking was all the rage.

And Lyon in particular was making a name for culinary excellence.

Home to no fewer than 15 Michelin-starred restaurants,

Lyon still draws in gastronomes from across the globe.

According to American-born cookery teacher Lucy Vanel

it's all down to the abundance of first-class local ingredients.

To the east of Lyon, we have the Alps, and you've got the foraged

mushrooms and the beautiful mountain cheeses. And then we have...

to the south, we have Provence, with all of its colourful vegetables

and the beautiful oils and spices and things coming up from there.

Charolais beef is just outside of Lyon to the west,

and then Burgundy to the north.

Until the late 19th century, Lyon was known for rustic dishes,

based on cheap cuts of meat such as tripe - the traditional

fare of the silk workers who toiled in the city's mills.

But then, a new force occupied the city's kitchens,

the so-called meres lyonnaises.

These were the Lyonnais mothers,

women who came from domestic staff backgrounds.

They knew how to cook "la cuisine bourgeoise",

which was a very elaborate type of cuisine with truffles and foie gras

and all of this. So these women created restaurants where they

would take the food that was known for Lyon

and make it a little bit better.

For example, take a roast chicken

and tuck truffles all around under the skin

and then cook that and then serve it with morels in cream sauce.

To begin with, these former domestic servants set up humble

establishments, but their reputation soon grew.

And who were the key figures amongst these meres lyonnaises?

La Mere Brazier was the most legendary,

and she was the first woman in France to get three Michelin stars

for her restaurant.

This influence of the women in the restaurants, is this quite unusual?

At the time, it was unusual because women were not allowed to be

chefs in restaurants, they could mop the floor,

wait the tables, do things like this,

but they were really not allowed to be the people who were in charge

of the menu and in charge of the whole business. This was not going

on in France. But in Lyon, it was.

-Well, praise to les meres lyonnaises.

-Yes!

Today, La Mere Brazier's restaurant is still going strong,

under the leadership of Mathieu Viannay.

-Eh, Michael, en cuisine.

-Oui, Chef.

I've stopped by for a cookery lesson.

Alors, Chef, je suis a votre disposition,

I am your servant, qu'est-ce qu'on va faire?

-Une omelette.

-An omelette? Sounds easy.

Le plus facile, mais le plus dur.

Oh, my goodness - it is the easiest,

but it is the most difficult thing to do.

First, beat the eggs with salt. It sounds simple enough.

Et la,

on met les oeufs, d'accord.

It's all in the way he moves it,

I've never done that

when I've made an omelette,

never moved it like that.

It's rolling itself!

That is amazing.

-D'accord?

-Parfait!

Je dois faire la meme chose - I now have to do the same thing.

Et tout, tout, tout.

Bien remuez comme ca, stop. Comme ca.

-Ah, comme ca.

-D'accord.

-Round motion.

Et maintenant, je commence...

Stop, stop, stop, stop.

Regard. Apres tu enleves, est c'est la...

-Now I have to start turning it.

-D'accord.

Il faut taper, il faut taper la!

Non, comme ca! Non.

Ah, oui, oui...

C'est pas bien, c'est pas bien, stop!

It's not good, not good.

Poubelle!

Vas-y donne moi la poubelle!

Donne-moi la poubelle!

Allez, tiens.

C'est pas bien, d'accord?

Je suis desole, Chef, je suis desole.

'I fear that la Mere Brazier must be turning in her grave!'

For British visitors to Lyon in 1913, the city's hedonistic

pleasures must have been tinged with a sense of lingering danger.

The declaration of the Third Republic 43 years earlier

had been the latest of a series of revolutions

and counter-revolutions.

Political tensions had continued to smoulder.

And according to my guidebook, in 1894, they erupted here,

at Lyon's Bourse, or stock exchange, when President Carnot

was assassinated.

I'm hearing the story from historian Cecile Brun.

So, here we are outside the Bourse, who was President Carnot?

He was born in the centre of France in a rather high family,

rather wealthy, and so he was an engineer at first,

and then he becomes Minister of Public Works and Finance.

And in 1887, he became the fifth President of the French Republic.

Ever since the first French Revolution of 1789,

monarchists and republicans had battled for control of the country.

Since 1870, there had been a republic,

but it was challenged by monarchists on one side

and radical socialists and anarchists on the other.

President Carnot set out to try to unify the splintered nation.

He made a lot of travels in France. He visited, I think, 73 towns.

And so, it was the occasion for him

to show to the people the Republic. And the people, they don't know him,

so it was a way to make him a more familiar figure for them.

On the 24th of June, 1894, Carnot's travels brought him to Lyon,

to attend a glittering world fair,

designed to show off the vitality of France's second city.

Having explored the exhibition,

he attended a lavish banquet at the Palais de la Bourse.

But as he left in his carriage, an assassin leapt from the crowd,

stabbing the president fatally.

So, who was it who killed Carnot and why?

He was killed by an anarchist - Sante Geronimo Caserio, who was an Italian.

It was, for him, a way to attack the...what represents for him

the bourgeoisie, at the time, so these were his motivations.

Caserio showed no remorse,

even as he later faced the guillotine.

But rather than bolstering support for anarchism,

the murder shocked the French nation,

which rallied against this attack on its symbolic figurehead.

Paradoxically, it reinforced the Third Republic.

It was quite fragile at the beginning,

from a political point of view,

and then it becomes more and more stronger, from the point of view

of the institutions,

and people were more united around the Third Republic.

The nation became more firmly committed to the republican idea

than before and some of the pillars of modern French national identity

were put in place.

And so, the Third Republic was a moment that was really important

for all the symbols that are today ours,

for instance, symbols that became official at that time -

for instance, La Marseillaise, that became our...

our own national hymn

and, for instance, also the 14th of July,

which is our day still now.

By making the anniversary of the storming

of the Bastille France's national day,

the Third Republic anchored itself in the country's

revolutionary past and closed the door on restoring the monarchy.

And by the early 20th century, the efficient French railway network

was also helping to bind the nation together.

Thanks to lines radiating out from Paris,

a Bradshaw traveller could get to Lyon from London in just 15 hours.

But the tracks couldn't reach into every corner of this vast

country, so it fell to another mode of transport to plug the gaps.

British expat David Wilson has researched France's love affair

with life on two wheels.

-Hello, David.

-Hello, Michael.

-Nice to meet you.

-Great to see you.

Surrounded by bicycles!

David, I think, you know, part of the British stereotype

of the Frenchman,

apart from, you know, the beret and the onions, involves a bicycle.

I mean, a bicycle is a big part of French life, isn't it?

It has been for a long time.

Yes, it certainly has been. Over 100 years ago, the French were very keen

on cycling. And bicycles had been invented in 1818

by the Baron von Drais, a German,

but in fact, it was the French, apparently, who invented the pedal.

By the eve of the First World War,

there were an estimated four million bicycles on French roads.

France was a major manufacturer,

with many bikes produced here, in Lyon.

But the city had another claim to cycling fame -

as the end-point of the first-ever stage

of the first-ever Tour de France.

Henri Desgrange, the founder of the Tour de France,

wanted the Tour de France to go in a clockwise direction,

so quite naturally, Lyon was the first stopping point.

It had very important train links to Paris

and it allowed the young Lefevre, who was the hack who originally

thought of the idea of the Tour de France

to get back to Paris, to file his report

and get back down again, two days later,

to see the cyclists depart on the second stage.

Geo Lefevre and Henri Desgrange had dreamed up the Tour de France

as a way of promoting their new sports newspaper.

And their thirst for publicity was also behind one of the race's

most iconic emblems.

The yellow jersey was first introduced to the Tour de France

in 1919 as a response to the general public who wanted to have

some means of identifying the overall leader.

Desgrange's magazine was actually printed on yellow pages,

so quite naturally, Desgrange thought that the best way of promoting

his newspaper was also that the overall leader wore a yellow jersey.

Of the 60 riders who set out to cover the 2,400 kilometres

of the first Tour de France, only 21 made it back to Paris.

Since then, the race has evolved, and so have the bicycles used in it.

So, Michael, here we are, we have a modern bike.

The maximum weight authorised by the cycling authority is 6.8 kilos.

-That's very light.

-A carbon bike.

-May I just test that?

-Yes, by all means.

Oh, that's beautifully light, isn't it? So that's all carbon.

And this, I take it, is not the newest model.

No, this was the original.

This would have been used in the first Tour de France in 1903.

-Really?!

-And if you can imagine at that time,

on roads that weren't tarmacked,

these guys were pushing this thing, weighing 20 kilos,

up these mountains and other hills

without any kind of means of changing gear.

My goodness!

That is heavy, isn't it? That is amazing.

So...these guys must have been pretty tough, I think.

Oh, they were referred to as the demigods, so, yes.

Some people even referred to them as half bull.

And to be quite honest, personally I see that today's racers

are lightweight compared to these boys.

In 2012, a British rider won the Tour de France for the very

first time in its history.

I'm no Bradley Wiggins, but I can't leave Lyon without taking to

two wheels for myself.

Vive la bicyclette!

Vive la France!

Well, with a little assistance from David.

Well, they say the engine's behind, Michael, so I think

you're doing a great job.

I think my legs are just going round.

With an extensive network of cycle paths,

Lyon is a perfect city to explore by bike.

Whoa! Through the chicane.

And my tour is following in the slipstream of cyclists

who've made sporting history.

Well, Michael, here we are at the finish line of the first stage

of the first Tour de France won by Maurice Garin

on the 2nd of July, 1903.

Well, I think if the yellow jersey marks the leader,

it must be the blue jacket that marks the tail-end Charlie.

At the time of my guide,

Lyon was a stop on France's most important railway line,

which linked the city with the capital

and the nation's premier port at Marseille.

70 years later,

this route was the first to run France's pioneering

Train a Grande Vitesse -

Europe's first experiment with high-speed rail.

This country has long been an enthusiastic pioneer

in transport technology.

And at the time of my guidebook,

the passion for speed and adventure made its mark on literature.

The author Antoine de Saint-Exupery was born in this very square.

His book, Le Petit Prince - The Little Prince -

disguised adult philosophy within a childlike tale.

The popularity of his book took off

and has continued to soar ever since.

But I have a feeling that in the country where he spent

part of his childhood, I'll find the very source of his inspiration.

The whimsical story of The Little Prince

is a celebration of childhood innocence.

Its narrator - a pilot who has crashed in the desert -

meets a boy from another planet,

who's come to Earth to learn about life and love.

Some of the happiest hours of its author's boyhood

were spent at his family's country retreat,

50km outside Lyon.

I'm taking a tour with Jean-Christophe Piffaut

to learn how Saint-Exupery's lifelong love of flight

helped to shape his writing.

Saint-Exupery, as an adult, shows a childlike imagination.

When he was a little boy in this delightful country house,

was he very imaginative then?

Yes, definitely.

His mother called him Pique La Lune. I don't know if you know

what it means. He was always looking at the moon,

and he always wanted to play and to...

to fly, in fact.

And he was eight years old,

he tried to transform his bicycle into an aeroplane.

His imagination was so strong

that he thought that he could fly.

And he tried and, of course, he failed.

That is extraordinary.

Why would a French boy be so fascinated by aviation?

You know, in France, aviation was very important.

It was, in fact, the image of France, of modernity.

The first guy who crossed the Channel was French,

he was Bleriot.

The first to cross the Mediterranean Sea

was Roland Garros, a French pilot.

So France was at the top at this time, in terms of aviation.

The young Antoine was determined to join this pantheon of heroes,

and let nothing stand in his way.

Michael, it was his bedroom.

-A little run down today.

-Yes.

Tell me, when did he achieve his dream of flying?

Oh, very early. He was 12 years old.

And at 4km from here,

he did his first fly with a Wroblewski.

Wroblewski was a constructor of aeroplanes.

And he said, "Please, please, I would like to fly with you."

Wroblewski said, "You have the authorisation of your mother?"

"Of course I have."

Of course he didn't.

And he did his first flight.

And he came just over here.

-Over his own house?

-Yes.

-Fantastic.

Aged 21, Saint-Exupery joined the French air force -

the start of a long

and distinguished career as a military and commercial pilot.

But flight in the early 20th century was fraught with danger.

The most important crash he had, for his writing career after,

was in the desert.

He spent five days in the desert.

He thought he would die because they had no water, no food.

Inspired by that incident,

and published in 1943,

The Little Prince has since charmed readers across the globe,

becoming probably the most translated work

of 20th-century French literature.

But Saint-Exupery himself didn't live to see this success.

And how did Saint-Exupery die?

During the Second World War, he was a pilot, reconnaissance pilot,

and he did a mission in France.

And he came back, the 31st of July,

in 1944. He crossed a Messerschmitt Bf 109

and he fall down in the Mediterranean Sea.

In today's jet age, it's hard to imagine the thrills

and terrors of flying a century ago.

To recapture some of the excitement, I'm going up in a light aircraft

for a flying lesson with instructor Francois Pelletier.

OK, you push maximum power.

All in one go?

-Yes.

-Push the throttle.

-Yes.

-Here we go!

OK.

It's OK.

One more. You take the stick.

Do I pull it yet?

The power is OK, all is OK.

-Yes.

-Speed is OK.

-Yes, pull the stick?

-OK.

-Wow, off we go!

-Oh, that's wonderful, Francois.

-It's OK, Michael.

OK, you turn left.

-Turning left.

-OK.

Banking left.

Turn into the stick, is that all right?

Even in a modern plane with dual controls,

taking off is a hairy business.

Back in 1913, most pilots had to learn solo,

flying aircraft often made from wood and fabric.

OK.

-Stick forward.

-Stick forward.

-Very soft. Yeah, good.

-Thank you.

-Good.

-Michael, you are a good pilot.

-You're too kind.

I'm very glad you're there. Oh, I meant to ask you...

Ou est le parachute?

No parachute.

Now for the real test - it's time to land.

-OK, the glide is OK.

-Yes.

Wow. Just clipping the top of the trees.

-Adjusting our way onto the runway.

-100 feet.

-And what do we do now?

-OK.

Stick up.

-Up.

-Yes.

-Stick up as we land.

-Stick up, stick up.

-OK.

-Oh, we're down.

-Oh, very nice!

That was very, very nice. Thank you, Francois,

that was a beautiful landing.

Having safely returned to solid ground,

I'm now waving goodbye to Lyon,

and speeding south into Provence along the route of the famous

Paris to Marseille railway.

My next stop will be Avignon, which Bradshaw's tells me

is on the River Rhone,

and a very important place in the history of the Catholic Church.

It was the residence, from 1305 to 1377,

of popes in antagonism to the popes of Rome.

That was at a time of schism in the Church,

and I'm sure that for those who couldn't occupy St Peter's throne,

Avignon, with all its beauties, must have offered some consolation.

-TANNOY:

-Please make sure that you haven't left anything on the train.

I'm struck straightaway by the fierceness of the light.

We really are now in deep Southern France.

100 years ago, visitors to Avignon

toured the 14th-century Palais des Papes or Papal Palace.

It's described in my guidebook as "a gloomy, fortress-like, Gothic

"range of buildings, with endless corridors and staircases

"and chambers of grim traditions."

Still, railway tourists could follow the advice of their Bradshaw's

and head to the river bank

for a picturesque perspective on Avignon's medieval past.

-Bonjour, Cedric.

-Bonjour, Michael. Hello.

-Ca va?

-Bien, bien, merci.

Je monte au milieu...

Cedric Castel is paddling me towards an Avignon landmark even more

celebrated than the Papal Palace.

La nous allons nous rapprocher un petit peu du Pont d'Avignon, voila.

The famous Pont d'Avignon.

Exactement.

Cedric, I don't want to be rude,

but there's only half a bridge.

Was it a big bridge before?

C'etait grand avant?

La, actuellement, nous n'avons plus que quatre arches encore sur pieds,

mais avant notre pont faisait vingt-deux.

It is now only four arches, but once upon a time, there were 22 arches,

imagine that, stretching in that direction.

Built in 1185, over the centuries, the bridge was repeatedly

damaged by flooding, until in the 17th century,

it was abandoned, slowly to crumble into the Rhone.

Edwardian tourists would have known it from the famous song,

popularised by an 1870s operetta.

# Sur le Pont d'Avignon

# L'on y danse, l'on y danse

# Sur le Pont d'Avignon

# L'on y danse tous en rond. #

On the second part of my French journey,

I'll find out what inspired artists in Arles...

The answer is always the light.

And the reason that the light here is so special is

because of the wind, which is called the mistral.

..I'll reach France's former imperial hub...

The Port of Marseille is as big like Paris.

-Big as Paris?!

-Yes.

That is extraordinary.

..and feel the fervour of France's stirring national anthem.

# Marchons

# Qu'un sang

# Abreuve nos sillons. #

Bravo, monsieur.