Lyon’s green revolution makes it one of Europe’s best cities to visit. I should know, I live here

I saw rabbits on my commute today. Baby bunnies, eyes like marbles, frolicking on the banks of the river Rhône. It’s not unusual to see rabbits. Occasionally I see snakes too, wriggling across the sandy bike path.

This morning, a low mist hung just over the water. It glowed amber in the dawn light, making it look as though the river was smoking.

If someone was going to narrate my Lyonnais commute it would probably be David Attenborough – when I lived in London I’d have opted for Raphael Rowe or Louis Theroux. How often does your commute feel like a wildlife documentary when you live in a city of 1.4 million people?

Lyon is the sixth city I’ve lived in, and after calling it my home for four years, I can firmly say that I’ve found my sweet spot.

The third largest city in France, it’s a much more manageable size than other places I’ve lived, such as London, Paris and Buenos Aires, and means that if I’ve got over excited and said yes to two parties on the same evening (it happens), I’ve never got more than half an hour to travel. If someone lives 30 minutes away in London, they’re practically your neighbour.

Ironically, Lyon used to have a bad rap as the most polluted city in France. It succumbed hook, line and sinker to the concrete revolution between the 1950s and 70s.

Unesco-listed Vieux Lyon, the Renaissance quartier and the prettiest part of town, was almost demolished in the 1960s to make way for a motorway. I look at old photos with fascination — roundabouts next to the rivers, motorways cutting through the city centre, car parks lining the water’s edge — all in the name of progress.

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Now, both the Saône and the Rhône rivers are fully pedestrianised along their left banks. There are parks, riverside swimming pools, and even sandy little beaches, although it tends to be dogs that swim from them as their owners picnic on the shore.

We don’t have Anne Hidalgo jumping into the Rhône to show us it’s safe for swimming, but Lyon’s clean-up hasn’t been confined to its waterways and wasn’t solely geared around the Olympics.

The green party, Les Écologistes, has been in power for five years now, and cars, car parks and concrete are being steadily pushed out.

To that end, 220 miles of new cycle tracks are currently being installed and we’ve already got more than 620 miles of cycle lanes – more than in Amsterdam.

Earlier this year, the city centre was fully pedestrianised between the two main squares, and at the start of the summer we got a shiny, floating alternative to the Metro. The Navigône boat is included in a TCL transport card, or costs €3 (£2.60) for tourists. To think I used to take the Central line.

Traditional guides to Lyon will tell you to go rooting around in the city’s traboules (covered passageways), to visit the cathedrals, basilicas and art galleries, and to eat at a bouchon, our famous tripe-serving, red-checked tablecloth-wearing restaurants. While I’m not saying skip these things (they’re as much a part of the fabric of Lyon as the centuries’ old silk industry), they’re not why I love this city.

I love that I can hire a kayak from Lyon Canoe and paddle all the way from Île Barbe, where there’s been an island monastery since the fifth century CE, to the convergence of the two rivers at Confluences. The Musée des Confluences, a natural history and anthropology museum with fantastic temporary exhibitions, sits on the peninsula like an angular disco ball.

I love that a 20-minute bus ride takes you to the Monts d’Or, where the sunbaked houses are the colour of digestive biscuits and steep, stony footpaths take hikers and trail runners up to Mont Thou (611 metres). If it’s clear you can see the Alps from here – even snow-covered Mont Blanc.

I love that a single cycle path can take you from city park La Tête d’Or to Parc Miribel-Jonage, seven miles away. Here, dozens of lakes and ponds form a watery patchwork quilt from which I can swim and paddle board. Along the banks of the Grand Large Reservoir just opposite are sailing schools and guinguettes (waterside bar-restaurants).

Many of the main streets feel like a breath of fresh air: wandering along Cours Franklin Roosevelt in the shade of ash trees, admiring the window displays of numerous cavistes, is a far cry from Oxford Street.

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And on a plate? Moving to Lyon as a vegetarian was met with confusion by many, but I had my fill of calf’s head and andouillette in my pre-veggie days, when I visited the city as a student. And why would I miss kidneys when the coolest neighbourhood wine bar, Becbec, serves an all-veggie spread, and the best pain au chocolat in town, from Zoï, is vegan?

You don’t have to miss out on traditional cuisine either. The most famous restaurants in town (such as La Mère Brazier and Restaurant Paul Bocuse) will serve up full, creative, vegetarian spreads if they are made aware when booking, and traditional bouchon, Le Bouchon des Filles, always has a non-meat option.

London left me stressed, Paris craving green, but Lyon? I’ve got all of the perks of city life, and I still feel like I’m photosynthesising.

How to do it

Arrive green by taking the Eurostar from London St Pancras to Paris, followed by a two hour TGV from Gare de Lyon.

British Airways, KLM and easyJet fly from various UK airports, including Manchester and London Gatwick, to Lyon-Saint-Exupéry.

Where to stay

Bed up at the charming, Green Key-certified Hôtel de L’abbaye, where rooms start at £176 per night.