Beaune + Dijon
Run Off the Road in Beaune
A birthday in Burgundy, but not mine. I had the chance to met Tara in Beaune to celebrate her birthday with bikes, wine, snails, and ice-cream. She has just finished a two week language course in Nice, and this gave her opportunity to continue practicing her French. It gave me the chance to stuff my face with great food and wine, so it was a win-win. Beaune sits comfortably in the middle -ish of the Burgundy region, and is a lovely little town complete with cute outdoor cafes, adorable little squares, and ancient architecture. Our airbnb was in one of these antique buildings. It looked charmingly dilapidated from the street, but was nicely updated on the inside. It was split on two levels, connected with a tiny, slippery staircase that would give any modern day home inspector nightmares. It was nicely warm during the day, hot even, and since there wasn’t any a/c, we left the windows open as much as we could. The only downside to this was that the apartment was on the top floor, so we were eye-level with all of the various birds that liked to hang out on top of the surrounding buildings. Tara was convinced we would come back to find a flock of birds had taken over the bedroom while out during the day, or wake up at night fighting off a colony of bats. Sadly, neither happened,
We are not really wine connoisseurs, but we do love to twist the cap off of a good bottle or two. Red, white, with bubbles or without, if your’e asking me if I want a glass, yes is going to be the answer. Pinot noir is by far my favorite varietal, same for Tara, and I specifically like those from the burgundy region of France. It may sound snooty to those who don’t drink a lot of wine, but you really can taste the difference between a burgundy red and a pinot from, say, California or Oregon. They are worlds apart. The same with the chardonnay. This isn’t the normal swill you get from Napa valley, or New Zealand. It’s actual 100% chardonnay grapes, were from the U.S. it only has to contain 61% chardonnay. The rest can be whatever garbage they scape off the vine. It’s even worse for Australia and New Zealand, were it’s only 51%. So, being in a place with more good wine that it knows what to do with, we signed up for a wine tasting.
Touring the various vineyards and wine tasting is kind of the thing you do in this region, and Tara’s original idea was to rent a couple bike and spent a few days riding around the countryside, samplings various vintages and zipping from one small village to the next. Just thinking of spending a few hours, much less a few days, on a bicycle made my butt sore, even with the promise of copious wine to help sooth things. Thankfully, she opted instead for a day tour to save a bit of time, which worked out well, mostly. One issue with booking these types of tours, or any group tour (which we rarely do - it’s almost always better to arrange things on your own. It’s usually cheaper, allows for more flexibility, and you usually learn more by doing the planning yourself) is people sign up for activities they really shouldn’t. Biking through the countryside isn’t the Tour De France, but you should be reasonable comfortable on a bike if you’re going to do it. This is where someone was run off the road. Except, it wasn’t either of us and in fact it was Tara that did the running off. She blasted by an elderly cyclist in our group who probably hasn't been on a bike since a Roosevelt was in office, doing her best Lance Armstrong impression. This poor woman got startled and tumbled into the ditch beside the road. She was fine, and while I admire her gumption for getting on a bike, maybe it’s time to start sticking with the bus tours.
Wine tour complete, we toured the rest of the city and the surrounding towns, eating our way through regional dishes like Escargots à la Bourgogne and Boeuf Bourguignon. We fell in love with Kir, and aperitif that combines wine and black current liquor (Cassis), or even better, local sparkling wine and cassis. We had the most impressive bread bought from the least impressive food stall/cart in Dijon, sold to us for one and a half Euro. It was the size of my torso, and put to shame all those stiff, impossible-to-chew baguettes that people love some much (sorry Tara, I know you love them too). We sat in a park and made a picnic of various cheeses and duck/beef sausage we had bought at the market, and explained what a collapsable water bottle was to an older French gentleman who joined us on our bench.
Our short trip wrapped up too fast, and while tomorrow Tara heads home, I fly to meet my friends Mike and Martha - from Trek for Two - in Almaty, Kazakstan, for the beginning of a five country Central Asian tour. We are avoiding bike tours, so everyone should be ok.
