Road Trip - Burgundy 1987

The third of the road trips in France ... At the end of September one year, we took the rental car from Paris to Dijon to start a leisurely tour along the Route des Grands Crus in Burgundy. Each specific wine-growing area blends (inappropriately dreadful pun) from one to another going south: Cote d'Or, Cote Chalonnaise, and Beaujolais. Having enjoyed our share of such labels as Pouilly-Fuissé, Puligny-Montrachet, Meursault, and others, we wanted to pay due homage in person. There was an indefinable excitement in the air because the harvest was beginning; men and machines were filling the fields and back roads.

 

This was some time ago, you understand, and many details have fallen by the wayside along with crates of corks and labels. Plus: the relevant scenes in the old family collection of slides (remember slides?) were largely unidentified to very specific places. I don't want to lose the remaining bits of magic so it's taken some sleuthing to rescue the highlights.

 

It's not a huge distance from Dijon to Macon where our ten-day-or-so journey stopped. We stayed in two or three relais as central points for countryside and winery exploration. We did manage a visit to the twelfth century Abbaye de Fontenoy along the route from Paris. I have no memory whatsoever of Dijon other than we had a dinner booked at a Michelin-starred restaurant ~ gourmandise was definitely part of the planning ~ where a supremely cool woman dined alone with her little dog resting under her chair. Soon we were meandering south.

Beaune was a perfect place to stay for a few days, especially Hôtel Le Cep in the middle of town. We could explore on foot; the glazed tile roof of the mediaeval Hospices de Beaune is an iconic Burgundy landmark. Centuries of history lie here from its 1443 founding as a charity hospital. Sixty hectares of vineyards producing fine Pinot Noir and Chardonnay support the continuing tradition.

... And we had tastings on a tour of wine caves.

Macon was as far south as we went before returning to Paris. We stayed some miles from Macon in the impressive thirteenth century Château d'Igé. Igé has a waterside terrace among other peaceful spots.

Here a strange bacteria or bug caught up with me and ― horrors! ― my stomach forced me to decline dinner one night in the company of some copacetic fellow guests. In fact, we followed directions next day to consult un médecin who turned out to be the most charming elderly gentleman who never criticized my French. There's nothing like a restful historic ambiance in which to feel restored from flu-like symptoms ‒ fortunately they passed quickly away.

 

Macon itself was humming on a market day. Besides the usual foods, lace products were very much in evidence, particularly the filmy curtains with imaginative designs. And of course the entire area is chock full of restaurant dining pleasures. Grape harvesters were busy everywhere in the district's biggest business.

Time ran out. We did not reach Lyon, having to turn back. A world away from home.

© 2016 Brenda Dougall Merriman

Road Trip - Bordeaux to Monaco

On the lame side ... another attempt to recapture fleeting and fleeing memories. One time we were guests at Château Loudenne, owned by a subsidiary of a friendly client (his client, not mine ☺). The chateau is one of many in the Médoc wine-growing region along the west side of the Gironde Estuary. We had a few days, mostly exploring the countryside ― Pauillac, Saint-Emilion, Margaux, St-Julien ― and of course numerous wine-tastings at these famed places we'd only known previously as labels on our red wine bottles. 

The historic pink chateau sits in one of the oldest (seventeenth century) Cru Bourgeois estates in beautiful grounds above the estuary. Loudenne vineyards occupy 154 acres. Besides the serious wine business, Loudenne caters to guests with "upscale quarters and fine dining" and is popular for wedding parties.[1]

Each evening as the only guests we had a semi-formal dinner with the chatelaine of the manor, feeling like aristocrats. The kitchen often offered fresh white asparagus, to be eaten by hand, dipping into a memorable hollandaise. We were loyal to Chateau Loudenne's products for many years while the LCBO carried them. Quite recently the chateau was sold to a Chinese company that continues its traditions but plans to expand guest accommodation and sell half its wine production in China.[2]

I do remember this!

We managed to see a little of the city of Bordeaux. Here's a historical postcard view:

From Bordeaux, we drove across country to the Mediterranean coast, passing Toulouse and the mediaeval fortress of Carcassonne. Having read The Holy Blood and the Holy Grail, the latter made me think of the Crusades and its mystical associations nearby with guardians of religious treasures ~ perhaps even the Holy Grail itself ~ my imagination working overtime. One photo did survive, regrettably damaged ...

I'm not sure now if it was a one-day drive, but it was late when we reached our next destination: Monte Carlo. We had tickets for the Monaco Grand Prix! Quelle spectacle! In our Formula B racing days we had met some Formula 1 drivers ... Denny Hulme, Jimmy Clark, and the like, but darned if I can remember a thing about the race itself or who won. How exciting is that. You know, something like below - the start of the course - with ear-splitting noise:

It was also a fortuitous opportunity to visit with an ex-pat friend living in nearby Villefranche-sur-Mer. Our old friend was working diligently on acquiring his third wife and consuming vast amounts of local plonk. Maybe that's why I recall so little of the entire trip. Eh?

Villefranche street

[1] www.chateau-loudenne.com.

[2] Jane Anson, 3 July 2013, "Chateau Loudenne's new Chinese owners planning luxury hotel," Decanter (http://www.decanter.com/wine-news/chateau-loudenne-s-new-chinese-owners-planning-luxury-hotel-17756/ : accessed 16 March 2016).

© 2016 Brenda Dougall Merriman

Road Trip - Provence

Provence and Beyond (http://www.beyond.fr/villphotos/baux-photo-gallery)

Moons ago, first side trip to France from England. Fly London to Nice. Destination: Les Baux de Provence. Gourmet Magazine had published a mouthwatering feature on Hôtel Oustau de Baumanière. Of course I no longer have the article, nor do I have personal photos. The hotel website provides some, as do Mr. and Mrs. Smith (mrandmrssmith.com) and other travel websites.

Provence and Beyond

Les Baux is a steep and picturesque village, fortified since the Middle Ages, perched in scenic Provence. The old cobblestone streets on the rocky ridge seem unchanged since then. Exposed rock formations in the region have provided defensive positions throughout history dating at least to Roman times; even ancient Celtic artifacts have been found here. Magnificent views from the crowning chateau-fortress ruins look in all directions to Avignon, Arles, St-Rémy, and Aix-en-Provence, all of which made great day trips. Somewhere in that landscape between Les Baux and St Rémy was a particular, quiet, shady village of the kind that makes you think, I could stay here; how closer to perfect can it get? A passing magic moment. Alas, the name slipped into the fading files of my mental filing cabinet. 

mrandmrssmith.com

The town was almost secondary to the hotel and its Michelin two-star restaurant. Oustau Baumanière backs against the spine of rock and at the time we were there, was not as extensive as it is now.

mrandmrssmith.com

 This photograph comes closest to how I remember our room.

mrandmrssmith.com

Our first dinner night was a bit intimidating, having to struggle with French in translating and ordering for two. If only I could recall more of it (actually, more of any meal there) other than the failure of receiving kidneys instead of boeuf tournedos. For which I shall never be forgiven, and undoubtedly have mentioned more than once. However, some comforting things can never be misinterpreted: RHONE WINES!

I remember the other ignorant failure too: plugging my North America curling iron into a French socket and burning off a chunk of hair. Again, no photo; be grateful.

The point being that even as a first French culinary/wine-tasting venture, it was an introduction to the chateaux et relais network for travel to come. No less consequential, it rekindled a serious travel bug for historical and archaeological sites.

© 2016 Brenda Dougall Merriman 

Past Pieces of Paris

A. Before ...

The pre-teen years. Evening in Paris. Remember that? A gaggle of entranced little girls in grade five overdosing with the same scent. 

Eartha Kitt purring "Sous les ponts de Paris ..." was the rapt epitome of an enthralling city that attracted eons of artistic and literary figures.   

B. Then ...

Back when life was still young and travels in France were plotted with Gourmet Magazine firmly in hand we liked to stay at Hotel Montalembert on the Rive Gauche, mainly in the company of gourmands focusing on restaurants with multiple stars and fine wines (who's complaining?). What a rush, aspiring to perfectly-accented, luscious French. Except one time the mental dictionary failed me. After the order for two was enunciated, kidneys appeared instead of beef medallions, a lapse for which I was never forgiven.

At Le Grand Véfour, a Michelin two star, I nearly choked on my Gateau St Honoré when I sneaked a look at the wine prices (menus for female companions, bien sûr, protect them from the sordid side of life).

Another memorable meal was at Vagenende 1900, a brasserie of acclaimed art nouveau decor on Boul' St Germain. Eight of us breathed in reverence as each new course appeared. And led to a lifelong obsession hunting for rhum baba and crême brulée.

C. After ...

The world of budget living. A drop in my bucket: Père Lachaise Cemetery. The Palma Hotel is near a side entrance to the cemetery; it's a quiet, mostly residential neighbourhood in the 20th arrondissement.

A couple of days to admire tombstone architecture and commune with the long-dead artistes. Molière, Chopin, Hugo, Bizet, Wilde, Delacroix, Colette, Daumier, Modigliani, Signoret, Montand, Proust. Abélard! Jane Avril!

  

What about Eartha, that icon of international flavour, whose song was to me the embodiment of a seductive, starry Paris? "There won't be a burial," she said to her daughter at the end. Santa Baby: she died on Christmas Day 2008. She was cremated and the location of her ashes is unknown.

© 2015 Brenda Dougall Merriman