Hotel Terminus

March 1, 2003

The following is a report to family and friends form a lecture tour to Lyon in southern France.

Maybe I've traveled too much. Jaded's the word that comes to mind. I used to take pride in studying up on my destinations, learning a little about the place, the people, their history. This always enriched the experience. This was a quick trip. Business only, sans Nancy. Just get on the plane and go. I only pulled the Beadeker's off the shelf the morning that I was leaving Bakersfield.

I got the basics: Lyon, second largest city in France, center of textiles, once the silk capital, the Airport's named after the famous French pilot Sainte Exupery . That last bit should have tipped me off, should have triggered a bell somewhere. St. Exupery disappeared off the cost of France in 1944 on a secret wartime flight for the Free French in Britain.

In studying the tourist map for sights to see I'd noted the Museum to the Resistance and Deportees among several other interesting sites. Maybe I'd get to it. Maybe not. More likely not. I've seen a few such museums in various cities. I didn't need to see another one. Been there, done that.

I grabbed my map this morning at 8.00 and picked up the No. 28 bus again and headed into the old city. A simple loop through the narrow streets, the Jewish silversmiths alley for example, back up to the basilica, down the funicular and short stroll to the tourist office for a guided tour.

It didn't work out that way. I am glad it didn't. First off it pays to have a good map. Not just any map, but a good map. The tourist map was not a good map. It showed a nice simple climb to a viewpoint over the Soane then a stroll across the Passarelle des Quatre Vents back to the basilica. Nope, that's not what's "on the ground".

Onward, ever onward. Finally I realized I wasn't going where I thought I was. The basilica was behind me. Then I came across a "monte". A word of advice, be wary of any street with the prefix "monte". You're in for a hell of a climb. As I trudged up them I began looking forward to those cooling four winds that pedestrian bridge promised. I wasn't disappointed. There may not have been four winds, but the one they had was strong and cold and the bridge afforded another panorama of Lyon.

Oh what the heck, while passing the basilica I stopped in to light another candle for meine mutti. This time the wicks were there and her candle is burning away bringing her good health and happiness I am certain. Back at the tourist office I wasn't too thrilled by the tour offered. It covered much the same area I'd already seen twice. So I pondered this situation and listened in while two municipal police argued with an errant driver illegally parked. Lots of Gaullic shrugs on both sides.

Since I was nearer that Resistance museum than before maybe I'd just shoot over there for a quick run through before lunch. I entered the subterranean lair of the Lyon metro and headed for the main train station. At the station I found my way to the tram stop and quickly figured out that Tram 2 would take me the two stops to the Centre Berthelot. The tram was just as spotless and bright on the interior as it was on the outside. Very cheery.

There was a biting wind and an overcast, wintry sky when I stepped off the tram. I walked into the gray courtyard. There was a big French flag noisily flapping overhead. It wasn't until about four somber hours later that I realized I'd arrived at the Hotel Terminus. I am embarrassed to admit it.

The Hotel Terminus became Gestapo headquarters in 1943 when the Germans occupied Vichy France when the allies threatened the southern coast. The Hotel Terminus housed the offices of Klaus Barbie, the "butcher of Lyon". Madame Bertholet was tortured to death in the basement of the Hotel Terminus, just one murder of many. This realization, that the museum is set in the Gestapo's headquarters--Klaus Barbie's headquarters--didn't dawn on me until the end of my visit. Geesh. I like to think I pay attention to such details.

When I bought my entry pass the attendant offered me headphones for the audio tour. She asked if I wanted French, English, or German. At least she just didn't give me one tuned to English. I took French. It's immensely powerful to hear historic figures in their own tongues: Petain, Laval, and other callabos rallying French fascists around work, family, and the fatherland (ok, patrie is homeland but it's much the same idea); old women describing their oft-overlooked role in the resistance, and BBC broadcasts of coded messages. The latter seems to issue forth from a radio in a recreation of a humble Lyonnais home during the period.

It was intensive. I sometimes had to read the English transcription to get the complete message. When they say someone was décapiter en Cologne you want to know if that means what you think it does--it does.

It was moving. I found myself sniffling a few times. It was hard not to. I heard a young women sniffling too. I think she was American. (You can tell.) There was a multi-image panorama of pictures towards the end of the dark maze that was the museum proper that took you from the beginning of the war to Stalingrad and Pearl Harbor through to British and American troops storming the beaches at Normandy. It was overwhelming. No normal person could go through there with a dry eye.

And the exhibits didn't pull any punches about French and the French government's collaboration with the Nazis. They displayed the memos, the decrees, the arrest lists, and pictures of Petain warmly greeting Hitler. (Petain, the collabos, and German propagandists said that Hitler saved France from the Communists). There's a plaque on the wall before you enter the museum. It's the same plaque I've seen on the Hotel de Ville in Avignon, and in certain train stations, wherever there were Jews, communists, gypsies, and other "undesirables" deported to the death camps. The plaque acknowledges that the French government willing participated in the arrest, deportation, and execution of its own citizens. Never forget this, it says.

Lyon was the center of armed resistance in France. By 1944 there were 50,000 maquisards, or guerrilla fighters, in the Massif Central to the west of Lyon, and in the Jura and Vercor to the east. I guess that's why the Gestapo assigned the up-and-coming young executive Klaus Barbie to eliminate armed opposition and to step up deportations. By all accounts he was good at his job.

The resistance mostly sabotaged rail lines and circulated underground papers (all punishable by death). They also harassed German units and staged some spectacular what we would call today publicity stunts. For example, they took over a village in broad daylight on Bastille Day (the French fourth of July) and paraded through the center of town singing the national anthem. However, when they sought to start major uprisings they were overrun and slaughtered.

In the Vercor there were as many as 4,000 maquisards and in the summer of 1944 with the Allies on the beaches in the north, the maqui staged an uprising. The Germans, French militia, and the French unit of the Waffen SS killed one fourth and dispersed the survivors. The Germans then went on to execute 200 people in the nearest village. Nancy, Billy, and I stayed in this village several years ago. This event is still a part of local life. So too is the "rafles" or roundups in Lyon.

On the way back to the hotel I stopped for a beer--needed one--and a salad Lyonnais full of lardons (bits of thick bacon). I grabbed the newspaper off an adjoining table. Headlines about possible war in Iraq. More of the same every day. And then a little news item. People of the Villeurbaine district of Lyon were holding a remembrance for March 1st, 1943. Within one day of setting up office in the city the Gestapo raided the working class quarter and arrested 180 men, ostensibly for work in German factories. They were deported to Malthausen. 45 survived. That was better than the average. Of the 70,000 Jews deported from France, only 3% returned.

Maybe if I'd studied more before I left, the museum wouldn't have had quite the same effect as stumbling onto the Hotel Terminus.

From The brown pencil (tower), Part Deiu, Lyon, France

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