The Gare de Lyon buzzed quietly at 6:30 this morning, with sleepy travelers standing blankfaced in line for their coffee. The train to Dijon was sunny and sleepy as it rocketed smoothly through the lush French countryside.
Sunday coffee in Châtelet on the way to Porte de Clingancourt. We meet a local friend for a morning tour of the Les Puces market, which is sprawling and full of amazing antiques: copper pots, Victorian dresses, Louis XIV furniture, and everything in between.
Spend even a few days tasting Burgundy, and the power of terroir is hard to miss. During a brief visit last week, we sampled Volnay, Savigny, Givry, Mercurey, and Pommard — five wines made from the same grape and the same region. But the characters of these wines could not be more disparate.
A quick breakfast at the Abbey, before heading north to Paris. We drop the car at the Gare de Lyon, take the metro to the Marais, and find a crêperie for lunch. Chèvre and salad, then butter and sugar, with dry sparkling cidre to match. It’s cooler here, with a blue cloudless sky.
Breakfast is in the light-filled winter dining room — soft boiled eggs, croissants, local yogurt, chèvre and locally smoked salmon. We borrow a pair of bikes from the Abbey, and set out on a 25k loop around the surrounding countryside.
Croissants and coffee this morning on the Place Carnot, Beaune’s central square. We head south mid morning through the Côte d’Or and out the St. Aubin valley to the Chateau de la Rochepot. The castle dates from the 13th century, and was carefully and lovingly restored in the 19th century by a local family. Rochepot boasts classic Burgundian tiled roofs, a bright and sunny courtyard, and a 230 foot well through solid rock dug entirely by hand in 1228.
Not all meals in France are complicated. On Tuesday we shared a delightful afternoon meal with the Cartier Family, owners of the Domaine les Goubert. On a sun-filled terrace in the charming Provençal town of Séguret, we each enjoyed a fresh salad, a glass of wine, a simple dessert, and a small coffee — no fanfare, just simple elegance.
We started the morning on the road, driving due north out of Provence, past Lyon, and into Burgundy. The terrain flattens out and the hills become greener; the sun today is clear and very warm.
We took our coffee in Vaison-la-Romaine this morning, in view of the extensive, sprawling weekly market. The market is an impressive collection of vendors selling everything from meats to wicker baskets to clothes to soaps and spices. We grab a few souvenirs, then head back to Gigondas.
We arrived in Rhône on Sunday evening. The weather here is warm, the air smells of lavender, and the sun sets after 9pm. The Southern Rhône boasts an impressive collection of winemaking towns, but the jewel of the crown is Chateauneuf-du-Pape. Made famous by French popes in the 14th century, and then again by Robert Parker in the 1980s, the area is rich with winemaking history.
The morning is cool, clear, and sunny; light bounces from the shimmering olive trees. Began the morning with a trip to the local market for lettuce, fruit, sausage, olives, and a collection of cheeses.
A cloudless summit of Mont Blanc greets us on our final morning in Chamonix. After breakfast in a streetside café, we pack our car and head east, out of the Alps and into the Savoie. We drive past orchards, cows, and vineyards as the dense forest behind us fades into flower-filled meadows.
When it’s made well, Puligny-Montrachet is the most elegant of white Burgundies. Though long and rich like its neighbors from Chassagne and Meursault, Puligny shows an added minerality and tension, making it a combination of class and energy in the glass. As writer Jay McInerney once put it, Puligny is “the Grace Kelly of wines.”
For our last day in the Alps we board a cog railway up the south wall of the Mont Blanc Valley. The 20 minute ride brings us from the valley floor up to the base of the Mer de Glace glacier at 6100 feet. The giant “sea of ice” is 220 feet deep and over 4 miles long, snaking between towering jagged peaks. After a nerve racking gondola ride down the steep side of the gorge, we begin the 430 step clime down to the surface.
Croissants and coffee on the pedestrian street in Chamonix, then a stop at the local grocery for provisions. We drive west along the valley floor — another perfectly clear blue day. At the base of a winter-only chairlift we park the car, and hike towards the base of the slope.