Carnet de Voyage: Getting Lost in Lille

Travel notes from the real France. Carnet de Voyage is a weekly personal travel story in France sent in by readers. If you’d like to write a story for Carnet de Voyage, head here for details on how to submit. 

A first-time Eurostar passenger, I was relieved to be above ground, sun shining, whizzing backwards past unfamiliar churches, farms and villages. Having often visited France in my former life, I was excited to be reintroduced by my lovely new partner, a Francophile and a foodie. Within minutes of us rumbling wheelie bags from the Gare Lille Europe towards our hotel, an older couple passed us, smiled, bienvenued us to Lille and wished us bonnes vacances. It felt like a blessing.   

Despite the proximity to home, everything feels different. En route, the grand cemetery celebrated its lost souls with aplomb – proud slabs of granite adorned with stained glass stood amongst aged mausoleums and competed for splendour with the overarching plane trees.  

Another cheery “Bonjour” came from resting workers smoking proper cigarettes on a shop front step.

Our hotel (Art Deco Euralille) was friendly and clean and is solely responsible for the latest addition to my lifelong affair with French bread. Is there a better breakfast than fruit bread with hot black coffee and a blob of confiture de mûres?  

Our area was quiet (occasional trams aside) with pretty streets, painted tile signs and generous fragrant planting between tower blocks. The local Jardin des Géants (named for the 2 rather violent mythical founders of Lille?) impressed us with geometric walkways, vertical steel sections for climbers and good planting for pollinators: hellebores and creeping comfrey, full of bees. It offered shady spaces for wandering, hiding and adventure, (shallow) water features, characterful animal sculpture fountains, giant topiary heads and a tempting cafe/bar.  

The 20-minute walk into Vieux Lille through normal life – past lycée–emptying time on a Friday, roadside car servicing in action – deposited us in the slightly Wonka wonderland of the cobbled Grand Place walled by Flemish facades. La Vieille Bourse dominates with wild symmetry, sand and ochre, ribboned with decorative baroque flourishes, simpler classical facades neighbour pretty art nouveau and give glimpses of intriguing towers beyond. Stunning. 

Our first hour was spent drifting, noses to glass, eyeing glossy Easter chocolates, past a tempting array of quiches (later sought for lunch but never found), to pastries topped with crumble or custard-filled and huge cloud-shaped puffs of local sugar loaf, thereafter named ‘hat–bread’ (you know how holiday conversations are).  

That first wander ended at a boulangerie (La Bastardarie) which became magnetic north on our disorientating walks as well as producing great bread. We managed to remain slightly lost throughout – “it was near the queue for the ice cream hatch (delicious glaces noisette) or “by Les Vins Gourmands” (impressive range). Escaping the sun for a drink in a shady courtyard with chic rehomed furniture, we found Solange Marguerite et Les Autres – ‘un concept store unique’ with elegant, perfumed staff, clientele and toilets. Cold, local craft beer and a masterly use of herbs lifted roasted sweet potatoes sprinkled with thyme flower salt to honestly one of the best things I have ever tasted. Lunch included a burrata swooshed with fines herbes, velvety hummus with dark rye bread, crackers and a salad of young leaves peppered with seeds, utterly fresh, tasty and served with kind smiles. That gem too was lost to the maze-like, mad-angled cobbled streets which defy map-reading and our own (usually pretty robust) senses of direction.  

Abundant retail including the superb Furet du Nord bookshop and elegant boutiques occupy ground level, but our eyes were lifted to scrolled oval windows, layers of red and cream stone dressed with elegant mouldings and curvaceous twists of iron wrought in naturalistic swirls. We visited palais, églises and statues in our 30 miles on foot. Meandering the cobbles, marvelling at the lack of traffic, bemoaning the odd powerful drain whiff and soaking up the bonhomie, we ‘let go’ of our attempts to re-find anything and allowed the geographical mysteries of Old Lille to remain so. It was a shame about those lost quiches though.  

Highlights were climbing 104 metres for the panoramic views from the belfry of the Art Deco Hôtel de Ville, resting on the tree-shaded grass by the Musée de l’Hospice Comtesse amongst local life, people-watching, and (possibly just me) enjoying the sight of cars popping up comically from the (genius) hidden underground car park. The Marché de Wazemmes was a hectic spectacle; we’d shop there for veg and herbs if local.  

Our promenade around the Citadel’s immaculate park was full of birdsong and life. Wide paths and water sensibly divide areas, some for nature, some for people/dogs. Information boards introduce old trees and explain management such as dead wood being left to encourage species of fungi and beetle to maintain the area’s biodiversity.  

People and nature-friendly, Merci Lille, you were a joy. 

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