Burgundy gives me a whole new perspective on France

I have never shared the deep love of France so common in others. I have an intellectual appreciation for the country and have had many fine times there, but never found France to deliver a similar captivation to that exerted upon me by Britain or Italy. Until now.

Clearly, Burgundy is what I've been waiting for. Amazing food, beautiful wines, expansive landscapes, a high density of cultural sites with a low density of tourists and locals who are, generally, laid back, cheerful and happy to see you.

With the global economy collapsing in flames all round us, the advent of the Northwestern girls’ annual holiday seemed particularly appropriate. This year’s motto:

Qu’est-ce-que tu va faire?
Moi, je vais boire.

(Translation: "What are you going to do? Me, I’ll drink." This should be infused with a Gallic shrug for the right effect.)

In the dying embers of last year’s Tunisian holiday, we’d spun some fantastic plans for cruising up the Croatian coast on a small boat, dipping into hidden inlets, exotic villages and little-visited Roman ruins. The hefty costs for that proposition started to become obvious at about the same time the economy first started to falter and, thankfully, in the same month that friends closed on their second home in Burgundy. It was ours to use, as long as we left the wine cellar better than we found it. In a tough market, who could turn down that offer? Thus sunset on the 4th of October found driving into a tiny, backwater town called Ravieres in the Northern Burgundian district of the Yonne anticipating a week of rest, good food and fantastic wine.

Rest was particularly important. I don’t think I can remember another trip in our 9 years of traveling together when all three of us were so mentally and physically exhausted. The first two days were dominated by sleep and quiet reading with just a touch of sightseeing. Having a long morning in bed, however, proved to be a bit challenging as our friends' house sat directly beneath the church spire, where sonorous bells marked every hour and, particularly irritating, rang for a full minute each morning at 7 am. Ironic that on this, the holiday where we vowed there would be no alarm clocks, the location provided one anyway. At least we had the joy of ignoring it and going back to sleep.

The offending bell tower looming above our friends' house

By Tuesday our energy levels had returned and we were ready to hit the road, chalking up between 100 and 200 miles of wandering a day. Our average routine was a nice drive, a bit of late morning sightseeing or wine tasting, followed by a massive gourmet lunch, followed by more sightseeing or wine tasting. Then a return to the house for quiet evenings of reading, scrabble or cards, with more wine and a bit of bread, cheese and meat before heading to an early bed. Just what the doctor ordered.

In coming days I'll post entries on cultural sites, red wine, white wine and food. For today, I'll stick to a general summary.

Burgundy is actually quite a big place. We stayed in the districts of the Yonne and Cote d’Or, never wanting to go more than an hour and a half from our starting point. These are regions of remarkably picturesque countryside. Miles of fields stretch to far horizons, hills are covered with lofty forests, snow-white Charolais cattle graze decorously in emerald pastures, rivers meander, canals are framed by avenues of stately trees; all heightened by the fact that we were there at the apogee of autumn colour, so those forested slopes were blazing yellow and red. Every so often man has enhanced the landscape with castle, abbey or charming town: the fairy tale castle of Chateauneuf towering over the main highway to Beaune; the medieval church of Montreal on way to Vezelay (the top photo); the walled town of Semur-en-Auxois on pink cliff above a curve in the river Armancon; the crazy-quilt patterning of the tiled rooftops in big and small town alike. Such was the delightful backdrop of the world in which we found ourselves.

There are a lot of major sightseeing destinations here, and we barely scratched the surface. The abbey at Vezelay, the Renaissance chateau at Ancy-le-Franc, the medieval hospital at Beaune and the picturesque town of Noyers got our attention. Leaving me feeling quite deprived that I missed the art treasures of Dijon, the charm of Auxerre, the abbey at Fontenay and a list of interesting chateau. But a week, it turned out, was a very short time to discover this area, and sightseeing wasn't our main objective. That was wine.

The Burgundians are deadly serious about the product of their vines, which isn't surprising considering they've been acknowledged as one of the world's finest producers for at least 1000 years. In the main wine villages it seemed that every other building was a "domaine" producing its own label. Sampling these delights was not, however, as easy as we'd expected. Turns out that October isn't such a good time to come. The harvest is in but the wine is actually being made, and tourist season is considered over. Many of the domaines were shut up tight; others featured people who told us tastings weren't available. And then there were the blessed few who were open and pouring, all of whom will be mentioned in future entries.

In fact, the empty, closed-up feel went far beyond the wineries. All of Burgundy felt sleepy and a bit abandoned. Village after village featured long rows of houses with shutters closed tight, shops closed and few people in sight. We ate in near-empty restaurants and walked near-empty streets. It wasn't until our very last day at Vezelay (one of Burgundy's two UNESCO world heritage sights, Fontenay being the other) that we finally encountered other tourists in any number. We found this isolation fun, but also a bit spooky. Where were all the people? Clearly, we'll have to return to find out.

We also had to adapt pretty quickly to the French pace. It is hard to do much sightseeing, shopping or wine tasting in a country that shuts down from noon until 2:30. Alternatively, it's almost impossible to get any real food if the clock is pushing 3. Circumstances pretty much forced us to all those multi-course lunches with the really good bottles of wine. After all, there was nothing else to do, and we owed it to the spirit of the trip to taste the local wines one way or another. Furthermore, it would have been insulting not to indulge in a cheese course in a county that gave the world both Chaorce and Epoisses.

A typical Burgundian lunch: The Northwestern girls about to tuck into lobster bisque with a nice glass of Chablis

Just to make Burgundy even more interesting, consider what lies half way between it and London: Champagne. We made highly satisfying stops both on the way there, and back. There's no better way to stretch your legs after a few hours of driving than to enjoy a stroll through Reims Cathedral or a wander around some of Moet & Chandon's 18 miles of cellars.

Tonight I am back at home, filled with contentment. And a bit of trepidation. The economy continues to collapse, work pressures loom, diet and gym demand serious attention to counter the effects of this fine week. Reality sucks.

Qu’est-ce-que tu va faire?

Moi? I'll be writing these blog entries, re-living all those fine memories a few more times. Next: the cultural highlights.