Written in October 2018

The botanic garden lies in the Parc de la Tête d’Or in the center of Lyon. The park covers 117 hectares, and the botanic garden only makes up a small portion of that – but the variety of trees, shrubs and water bodies in the rest of the park makes it feel like an extension of the garden. More a display of the richness of plant life on Earth than an ordinary city park.

The main greenhouse very much reminds me of the one in Paris – a gorgeously antique steel structure from the outside, but not systematic enough on the inside for my botany-buff-taste.

The smaller ones, spread out across the garden, were nice, though. I was particularly impressed by the generous collection of carnivorous plants. I always think they look alien, as if from a different planet – or at least from a distant and more violent time.

I buy a cup of coffee at the café by the lake. High-rises can be glimpsed behind the tree-crowns. It’s like the knowledge of the bustle that is most likely going on beyond those high, yellow-edged trees across the lake only makes the stillness in here more relaxing. A moment out of time.

But what really took my breath away: The most impressive display of dahlias that I have ever seen. The color of those flowers! I have had a thing for dahlias this summer, they had beds of these voluptuous flowers of Mexican origin in both the Bergius garden in Stockholm and in Visby – but nothing beats this extravagance.

My grandmother loved her dahlias. Her garden was gorgeous, both for the vegetables, berries and flowers, tended to with so much skill, joy and love up until her last summer in life. And I think the dahlias were her favorites in the flower beds – digging up the roots every autumn, keeping them snug and above freezing in pots filling the entire glass verandah over winter and then planting them again in spring. Whenever mom and I were headed to visit grandpa’s grave, she would give us a generous bouquet of white and deep purple dahlias to decorate it with. In her last ten years, she had trouble walking long distances and couldn’t get to the grave very often, but I think she felt like she was there, at the grave, in spirit through the dahlias that she had so lovingly tended to. To make a long story short, I have recently felt a new fascination of dahlias, and I think there might be a very sentimental reason for it.

The only unpleasant part of the park was the zoo. It has been ages since I have been to one, but now, seeing the giraffes walk in circles out of boredom made me feel nauseous. And the capuchin and spider monkeys in their cages just sitting there, staring. I am sure they are as well cared for as animals in captivity can be. I just do not think that wild animals should be kept in tight spaces like this.

But if I forget about the zoo, and only focus on the park and the garden, it is a marvelous place. Lyon really has a botanical garden to be proud of.

Written in October 2018

Situated on the same street as the Michelin head office in an otherwise sleepy residential area of brutalist apartment complexes in suburban Clermont-Ferrand, the tiny Jardin botanique de la Charme is easy to miss. It is small, and at a first glance it looks neglected and forgotten, full of empty flowerbeds and big trees hanging low over them, making everything a bit gloomy.

But once you get a little bit further in, the garden lightens up. The flowerbeds host an assortment of colorful autumn blossoms, from nasturtiums to dahlias. In the furthest corner, there is a beautiful selection of tomatoes, from tiny berry-like things to one big and dark maroon, almost black.

We sat down on a bench under the platanus trees, David, Kriszti and I, and ate our harvest from the bakery up the street: a local potato quiche (they seem to have a thing for potatoes here in Auberge) and imaginative pastries. And I realise: Even though it looks neglected at first, there is a tranquility here, and an order in the few flowerbeds that actually do have plants in them. It is really nice for a stroll, or for a little impromptu picnic.

Later, David looks up the garden online. He tells us that in the closed-off part of the garden is the nursery for all the plants that are planted in the flowerbeds in the parks of Clermont-Ferrand. So this botanic garden is not neglected, it just actually has a purpose, more than just being a nice public park. And maybe we just happened upon it at an unfortunate time: Right before the start of winter hibernation.

The botanical garden in Clermont-Ferrand does not brag. But I liked the visit, in all its modesty.