Just a little tour of the scrapyard. I'm fascinated by the subdued colors, and especially by the repeated forms - the mountain of bolts, the mountain of springs, the field of wheels... If only the midday light weren't so harsh. I'll have to come back at different times of the day.
I've got one more post on the subject - the fabulous graffiti. But that's for tomorrow!
I have a certain fascination with trains. Love riding them to new places, love watching them trundle or streak by, love the sound in the distance. Every station has its side track with an unused passenger car or two, maybe some empty freights that have been waiting for years. But in Culoz I hit the jackpot. "Nothing there" indeed! Not just a stockpile of disused rail cars; Culoz has a wrecking yard, a photographer's paradise of colors, forms, repeating designs, and poignant decay.
Next time: the scrapyard.
Culoz is a largish village, spread out along two main streets and without a good iconic picture. Exiting the train station I thought it was lucky I had decided to stay the night in Lyon, because there seemed to be noplace at all to stay. There are; you just can't see the real village from the station. And there are places for lunch.
On the edge of town, some of the old irrigation systems are still functional. Though I think this one is kept up just for show.
Looking through my pictures, I realize I didn't take one of the massive mountainside I decided to climb. I always figured I'd get a better angle on it, and ended up without one!
Not far above Culoz, some earthworks made of old tires. I imagine the level area thus protected will be for some kind of crop, though there's just bare dirt for the moment. Perhaps grapes. Or fruit trees.
About halfway up, or less, a view south, with the Rhone emptying into a lake.
A guy running up the hill. No thanks. I'll take it slower but steady.
In one of the high meadows, a sudden cabin and signs of very recent mowing. You're never in the wilderness in France.
In the village of Beon, a welcome stop for fresh water. These places exist in many old villages; people used to bring their clothes to wash here, and their horses to drink.
The local castle, with three horses in the lower field and a vineyard out back. It's a private residence - no visits. 
Next was a hike along the Rhone river.
The strip I walked along was part of a 'Grande Randonnée' trail that goes for many, many miles, and for this stretch coincided with the St Jacques de Compostelle trail (I had no idea it came over this way - gotta get a complete map of it some day), and we all hiked literally through people's yards.
Two of a large group of riders who stopped to admire the river. I went about 4 km upstream before deciding my feet were done. Or would be done soon, and I still had to get back to the station. All told, I figure I covered 22-24 km. I had an excellent day in Culoz; it's just what I wanted.
People waiting for the train to Chambery, in the Alps just an hour to the east.
Most stations have electronic signs telling what train is next on what quay. I've never seen a station where a guy goes out and hangs a sign. I've seen some with signs, in even smaller stations than this, but they're permanent signs that say 'This way to Townville' because any train bothering to stop there is going to stop in Townville, where you can catch a real train to a real destination.
Back in Lyon, I had a wash, and dinner, and spent Saturday morning wandering around town. There was a used book section of the open-air market along the Saone river, and I picked up 5 paperbacks. I should really read more French literature.
The Rhone in Lyon. Wide and calm, but really moving pretty fast.
There was something going on along the bank of the Rhone. The police had three divers out, but I didn't stay to find out what they were looking for. Time rather for some lunch before catching a train back to Clermont and my hungry kitties (no matter how much food I put out, Bandersnatch will just hoover it all up).
Collecting pictures of Outdoor Food this week, I didn't get many of Outdoor Eating. So here's a group of friends having a coffee pause at one of the many many many outdoor cafés of France. In fact, most cafés and restaurants have some kind of outdoor seating. It takes up most of the sidewalk in a lot of places. You can hardly walk down a Paris sidewalk without having to weave through café tables at some point.
Not much food is portable in France. You can walk around with ice cream of various sorts, but you rarely see people with paper cups of coffee (coffee must be served in real cups, it's a ritual), or eating their burger & fries on the run.
So on to food that is outdoors. Please ignore the attention-seeking rabbit. This sweet corn is doing pretty well in my garden, and I should be having guests in a week or two to eat it. Outside. I promise pictures.
Other outdoor foods are growing on my trees in great numbers. These are mirabelles. About the size of cherries, but yellow. Rather like plums, only the pits resemble those of apricots, only smaller. I'm pretty sure there's more food outside the house than in it.
These are wild plums. They're good before they get too ripe, when they're just insipid. I've got to get mean with this tree soon - its branches scrape against my bedroom wall and also against the metal car shed whenever there's any wind.
The apricots just two weeks ago. Not a one left now!
Tomatos. I'm putting up a LOT of tomato sauce this year.
And apples. I just love apples fresh off the tree. The first ones should be ready soon.
And once they start getting ready, there will be a deluge. Perhaps I should have thinned them out even more. This year I'll be making crispy apple chips in my nifty food dehydrater, and enjoy apples all year long. Reminds me to go get some containers...
