The Swans by the Rhône

(Tuesday, March 18, 2025)

Still jet-lagged but unable to resist the pull of a sunny day, I went for a morning run along the Rhône. The sky was a soft, pale blue, the river sparkled under the sun, and the trees lining the riverbank swayed gently in the breeze. Perfect conditions for running.

I moved at an easy pace, taking in my surroundings. Running has always been one of my ways of discovering a new city. In France alone, my sneakers have kissed the beaches of Nice, traced the sidewalks of the Seine, and pressed into the dirt tracks of the western countryside. Now, they’re ready for Lyon.

Lyon seems to be a runner’s city—not just because of its infrastructure, but its spirit. In just two days, I’ve already seen countless runners at all hours: running solo, in groups, some wearing weights, others inexplicably sporting swimming goggles. They move at a noticeably milder pace than the runners along Lake Michigan in Chicago. I wonder if they run longer distances, or if it’s simply the French way—to run lightly, effortlessly, as if floating through the spring morning.

A delightful surprise this morning was the swans. Dozens of them, gliding across the Rhône—bigger than the geese that dominate Chicago’s lakeshore path, with the perfect swan silhouette I remember from childhood cartoons. They moved so gracefully, barely disturbing the water, a few lingering near the moored boats, the Hermès and the Van Gogh.

Of course, I had to take photos.