Dijon (27-30 September)Sep 27, 2008
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A marathon drive (10hrs): taking the direct route from Mont St Michel through the Loire Valley rather than the A1 via Paris did not save time as anticipated, it meant we traveled through every little town along the way at an average of 60km an hour rather than the 130km allowed on the motorway. We were happy to drop the car off at the end of the day with minutes to spare before the closure of the rental company. The Fiat Bravo diesel was the worst hire car yet.
Woke up Saturday morning – Grand Final Day – to Michael's muttering that he had never missed a grand final, and it was already over without him even knowing who had won. We were barracking for the Hawks, but did not think that had a chance against the Cats (Michael will try and re-write history and suggest he never thought that - believe what you will ...)
The city was bustling with Saturday shoppers and we made our way to the covered market: a plethora of butchers, bakers, cheesemakers, prepared meats, fresh fruits and vegetables, pastries and chocolatiers all amid the din of french as locals completed their Saturday morning shop. After a quick reconnaissance, we decided to have a coffee at one of the busy cafes that ran along the market while we re-grouped and formed a quick shopping list. We had not run into an English speaker all day, but serendipity prevailed and we sat down at the cafe next to a group of four Hawks supporters from Melbourne who were only too happy to share the result. Refreshed and with Michael's curiosity satisfied we went back to the market where we taxed our knowledge of French and the goodwill of the marketeers to come away with huge haul of fantastic fresh food (slices, cakes, baguettes, cheeses, fruits, salad, desserts, quiche, croissants). We did not find any truth to the rumours of the French being rude or unhelpful - provided you made an effort they were patient and helpful (if somewhat amused at our ineptitude). We found a statue in the main square that seemed to be sporting a modern convenience on his wrist.
We had a picnic in the Jardin Darcy (the park) and - while Michael entertained himself taking photos of me eating - nothing could dampen my enjoyment of my raspberry tart which proved to be my favourite pastry in France (and I tried several) – we were consistently bugged by a couple of young guys trying to show off their skills on the unicycle. We spent the afternoon browsing the shops – there was some funky pop art shops and a nice hand craft/art shop that Michael really liked although the eagle eye of the store owner prevented him from getting any photos. We finished up the afternoon with a tour of the Dijon fine arts museum.
The following day we did the Owl Trail (you pick up a booklet from the tourist info and following the trail of the Owl around the city and read about the different sites). The trail is named for the owl sculpture in the facade of Dijon Notre Dame – local tradition says that he rub him for luck so he has lost a few of his features of the years.
We had discovered that the few shops that open Sundays close by lunch time, so we picked up a baguette early in the day and took it on a tour around town including the Palace of the Dukes of Burgundy, the Tower of Phillipe the Bold, Liberty Square, the Palace de Justice and even through the Museum of life in Burgundy. We had some great times with that baguette (before and during the eating of him) and like to think that before his demise he had a good appreciation of local architecture and culture!
The following day we took a train down to Beaune – wine centre of the Burgundy region – we went for a bit of a wander around the town stumbling by pure luck on two of the wine cellars we had intended to tour. We went for a wander around town (it was very small and adhered strictly to 12-2 closing), had some lunch and then spent the afternoon at the cellars of a winery where we enjoyed generous tastings of 15 wines. We went round with another couple from Melbourne and four older Brits – there were others who came and went, but the 8 us had a similar approach and attitude to 'tasting' (i.e., if you think it is good you should have another try just to be sure) and shared our tasting notes and drinking stories (the Brits had many) as we made our way through the 5km of underground cellars. When asked how they saved the wine from the Nazis, the cellar master simply said well there was some that must be found, but if you have just arrived then you do not know how big the cellars are or that there was not a wall in this place before. We completed our tour to find that it was already 5pm (the staff started to out number us to get us to leave) – we had managed to spend 3 hours on what is usually a 45 minute tour and feeling quite jolly headed back to the train station (with one more quick stop for another 3-4 tastings at a wine co-op) that the other Melbourne couple tipped us off about before the four of us got the train back to Dijon.
