Tuesday dawned a bit warmer, overcast but no rain, at least not in the hills of Barbaresco. Giovanna, our hostess, informed us that the weather up at the Frejus tunnel where we would cross the Alps from Italy into France was fine and no snow storms predicted. Good news since we hadn't bothered to get chains for our rental car.After packing up, paying our bill and saying goodbye and thanks to Giovanna for her kindness and hospitality we drove back toward Barebaresco, down the snaking roads toward the valley floor and the Tanaro river, heading in the direction of Asti. Before long we were on the A21 autostrade heading west toward Torino and the Alps. (photo above: a last stop in Italy before the Frejus tunnel.)
The weather hinted at sun to the east but as we skirted Torino and began climbing toward the Frejus tunnel (the 12.8-km tunnel dividing Italy and France somewhere in the bowels of the Alps). The temperature continued to fall and we soon ran into a light rain which plagued us all the way to the tunnel. Indeed, by the time we reached the Frejus it there was quite a bit of snow on the ground and we actually ran into a major snow storm just at the tunnel entrance.
But we were soon in the tunnel, out of the inclement weather and the temperature begin rising from about 0 celsius at the entrance to more than 23 degrees at about the midpoint of the tunnel, or from roughly freezing to over 73 degrees fahrenheit! At just about the same time we crossed the border between the two countries.
The Alps on the Italian side:
And just a few kilometers away on the French side:
As we exited the tunnel we were struck by snow-covered mountain peaks covered by clear blue sky and a brilliant sun. With temprature fluctuations of more than 4-70 degrees, from grey skies and rain and snow to clear skies and sun and warmth. what a truly an breathtaking drive. We followed the signs for Lyon and as we continued our descent from the Alps toward the lower foothills the temps continued to rise and by the time we reached Lyon it was nearly 15 degrees (almost 60 degrees)!
Our route continued west until we reached Lyon where we turned north and headed in the direction of Burgundy. The plan was to spend two nights in Beaune, taste some great burgundy wine and eat some of the local cuisine before tackling the last leg of the drive to Paris.
We arrived in Beaune in gorgeous sunshine and after driving around the city center a couple of times looking for our hotel (the mini ring road is one-way) we found the Hotel de la Poste, parked in front, checked in and set off to explore this beautiful little town.
Well little may be a bit of an understatement but we were struck about how compact it all seemed to be in the city center. (Coming in to the city center one passes an enormous number of hotels and holiday residences that seem to literally encompass the town.) Still, the streets of the city center (centre ville) are dotted throughout with plenty of cool little shops, lots of places to sip wine, eat pastries or anything else that tickles your fancy.
You will notice from the obvious mediocrity and blandness of the photos an the absence of any real excitement here. I'm not sure why this occurred but like a sore that festers the feeling worsened throughout the evening after our arrival in Beaune.
We experienced no problem when we checked in to the hotel, and strolling though the city center was enjoyable. In faact we both remarked that we hoped to spend the following day in the city before heading out of town and exploring some of the nearby wine country: Meursault perhaps, or Pommard.
But something happened to us during the evening, something that somehow pushed us to cut our stay short and head on back to our home in Paris, however tentative that home may be. Maybe that was part of the problem. The knowledge that our lives were about to undergo yet another upheaval -- all our own doing of course. But an upheaval nonetheless.
Perhaps it began when we stopped in a small wine shop that advertised a free wine tasting that evening. We were the only ones there and when we inquired of one young salesman -- in fractured French to be sure -- about the degustazione, about the tasting we were given quizzical looks as if we might have asked him if he were wearing underwear or not. Hmmmm.
Another salesman came along who spoke some English and we changed the subject and asked if he knew of a restaurant where we could get wines by the flight with dinner, say a flight of three or four whites or reds. "Sure, sure, no problem." He gave us the name of a place just 10 meters away and so off we went to check out the menu. While we were looking at the posted menu outside a man came out of the restaurant, it was also a bar as it turned out, and told us in English that the food was very good and the prices reasonable. Well it certainly looked promising.
We walked back to the hotel, refreshed ourselves, stopped in the lobby to read the newspaper and have a glass of Cremant before going out for the evening.
As we strolled back to the centre ville we found ourselves walking by the tourist office, which was closed of course, but in a nearby room there was a photo exhibition of people working in the vineyards around Beaune. We strolled through and then walked on to dinner at Le Part des Anges (24 rue d'Alsace; ph: 03.80.22.07.68).
It was possibly here that things came a bit unglued although I'm still not sure how or what happened. it was eight o'clock and we didn't have a reservation but the man who met us at the door kindly seated us anyway.
First the wine: no wines served in a flight (I suspect this may be a concept lost in communication somewhere) but they did have a board of wines served by the glass. There were two winelists: what I call the Commoner list and the Nobility list. The former was very long, quite exhaustive and full of interesting sounding wines from this incredibly wine-rich part of Burgundy. The latter was handwritten and just two pages of extraordinarily expensive wines. When I asked about a particular wine on the Commoner list our waiter (the same man who seated us) shook his head no they didn't have that one. I tried to ask for recommendation but he was clearly impatient with us, a feeling that became increasingly evident in his eagerness to have us coose our food. (Picture a guy tapping his pencil on pad behind your left shoulder waiting for you to decide.)
Questions seemed out of the, well, question. Tension grew in the air like a cloud from one of the nearby smoking tables and just hung over us until along came Glenda the Good.
The other person working the floor was a young, very pleasant, very amiable woman who was our saviour for the evening. She smiled, joked and knew enough English, which along with our limited French, helped get us through the evening.
The food: very good indeed. We skipped the prix fixe menus and did a la cartre: we both had a soup starter, creamed lentils with poached egg and salmon (scrumptious); I had pork. We both had a bottle of Meursault. I had hoped for a suggestion of a red but that was not forthcoming.
It was during the meal we decided to leave for home the next day and not stay any longer in Beaune.
Why?
Good question. I suspect a number of dynamics were at work. One we were beginning to feel the pinch of wanting to get back home and get ready to pack up for the Big Move on Saturday. (Originally we wouldn't have gotten back to Paris until sometime in the afternoon of the 29th and that evening we are meeting our Florentine acquaintances Melinda and Dave for dinner.) We also were feeling a bit odd in the dramatically different contrasts between Beaune and Barbaresco. Two areas that produce some of the world's greatest wines and yet the costs in Beaune were exorbitant by comparison.
One can get a world-class Barolo for example for €20 or €30 -- in a restaurant mind you -- and yet in Beaune the prices for some of the wines -- for example the wines on the handwritten "Nobility list" as I call it at Le Part des Anges, were in the hundreds of euros. Of course I'm sure value can be found in Beaune as well as any other serious wine country but it seemed that the level of pretentiousness in Beaune was significantly greater. We just felt that the attitude was very different than we experienced at the various Piemonte places where we sampled food and wine versus this one place (I admit only one place) in Beaune.
of course another issue is all about communication. We felt much more confident in communicating with Italians and, equally important, we perceive that the Italians are more open to people trying to communicate in their language no matter who poorly done. We rarely feel that way about the French, I'm afraid.
If it hadn't been for Glenda the Good. . .
In any case we decided that we just didn't feel quite right there. Odd to be sure but it was what it was.
So we the next morning we checked out and left bright and early on a beautiful Wednesday morning, heading north to Paris, where we dropped our car off at the Gare d'Austerlitz. Fortunately we missed the riots at the Gare de la Nord.
All in all, in seven days we drove more than 2000 kms, spent about €125 on gas (well diesel actually) and another €100 on tolls. We met up with old friends, made a few news ones, ate some wonderful food and drank some of the world's finest wines. We're lucky people indeed.
Wish you had been there,
Steve
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