Champagne to Burgundy

We bused south out of Reins and quickly back into the countryside. The land kept rolling like an ocean swell but increasingly it was forested rather than open. The motorways cuts in relentless straight lines versus the country roads which chart nicer lines, but at least the motorways are quick! They have trainlines beside them and we saw the TGV (high speed train) pass us like a javelin. The forest is very attractive and eye catching, then I realized We have never seen temperate northern hemisphere (deciduous) forests before. There are wild deer in the forest so it is open and light, like a woodland. Small leaved trees such as birch and oak, Dappled light and all in its fresh summer greenery. We thought about Champagne as we left the area, and could understand why it's unique and unable to be copied anywhere else. The whole Champagne making venture is a community activity with many participants at different levels of the business, that work together like a beehive. Blending of many componenifferenta in different areas is another key to the style, rather than grapes from one site. 3.5 hours later we had passed Dijon with its bright mustard fields and had the first view of the Cote D'Or in the heart of Burgundy. The Cote (slope) itself is unremarkable, being just another of the modest swells on the landscape with a cap of scrubby woods. But the chalk soils aNd therefore the vines are back and we knew the Cote had a string of famous names and villages like Vosne Romanee, Nuit St George and many more. We drove into the town of Beane to our hotel Le Cap. The town is apparently one of the best preserved medieval towns in France. Its a toy town, a fairy story of tiny old houses and narrow streets. Limestone walls, tiled roofs, cobbled roads, shuttered windows, old stone structures and even a sparkling little spring creek. The town is well tree'd, with lovely old limes, oaks and others. At this time of the year it smells wonderful, with mock orange, roses and other abundant flowers, the Lime trees are loaded with their winged flowers and everything is in the fresh green of early summer. There was also black bird song everywhere and even a blackbird nest in the vines around our hotel balcony. So we loved the town but it's very tourist oriented along the lines of Queenstown and you wonder how it will survive the onslaught. Hotels and accommodation, restaurants and tourist oriented shopping is very evident. We thought back to some of the rural villages of Champagne where the reverse was true, with not one concession to one visitor, anywhere. That afternoon we visited one of the large negotiant firms with a broad portfolio of wines from the southern half of the Cote. We sat down in their gorgeous old dining room for another stunning lunch which was so striking I photographed the dishes - fois gras and asparagus terrine, then veal wrapped in fine pastry, then a cheese board then fresh berries. Incredible wines with each course - we shook our heads at what we were getting. Then a tour of their cellars, in one of four large old circular stone buildings that were relics of fortifications. The town itself has a pre Roman (Gaul), Roman, and medieval history, so you are left wondering at all times 'how old is this?' Then we stood round a table for a tasting of 16 wines across their portfolio - very demanding to concentrate and note take at that time of day and after that lunch, plus it was getting hot. We returned to our hotel and bang, straight on to dinner, billed as a 'light dinner' in a local restaurant. Light it was not and early it was not, so bed was good around midnight. The next day a third of our contingency didn't make it to the bus for our 9.30 departure and a day of visits to two small producers from the northern Cote. They were fascinating, the first at a winemaking facility within the town but with the usual underground cellar and the usual charming hosts. Burgundy cellars are grubby versus their Chanpagne counterparts, musty and cool, damp walls clogged with black cellar mould and barrels, tools, seeming random stacks of bottles or barrels lining the rabbit warrens cut into the limestone. Bare bulbs to light your way, crouching to pass through low doorways and careful negotiation of steep stairways. Then round a corner and hey, a line up of bottles, glasses and spittoons. Each wine poured and a ring of bowed heads sniffing it in the gloom. The winemaker talks (in thickly French accented semi intelligible explanations) and there is a bit of note taking. We drove on to (for me) the highlight of the visit, up the old Roman road at the foot of the Cote, looking up the lines of grapes to the hilltop perhaps a km away. We drove past a string of beautiful village and wine districts, all with their evocative names that I am familiar with but could now see. We drove to the village of Moray St Denis for lunch, and again a collection of crisp waiters and staff, and their fluid service. The dishes seem to come in small increments, often several components to one supposed 'course'. There is hardly an interval between something coming or going. Not sure how the dish washing works but the crockery comes and goes like some form of madness. In this case our slate place mat and entire set of crockery was removed after a tiny 'amuse Bouche' of soup (about 20 Mls of it) had been served. The usual incredible lunch experience then a short drive to our second winemaker, in the same village. A beautiful old stone home, walled and gated, and cellars underneath. This winemaker was typical of the family lineages that have run these places for ages. Each speaks strongly about their own approach and philosophy, looking imploringly at you while they explain how you must respect the soil, grapes, etc and what they are striving to achieve. This winemaker went in detail into the use of wood in the winemaking which opened another door into better understanding a whole new industry, being the growing, harvesting, maturing, barrel construction, barrel toasting (charring the interior) of the oak which is a critical part of the process. Then onto a tasting at the cellar entrance, where an electrical storm entertained us with flashes and booms, then torrential rain. I think ours heads were spinning, standing at the great timber doors, cobbled court yard in front and cellars behind, tasting a string of the makers most exceptional wines while he talked engagingly about them. We drove home, back down the Cote, into our bedtime story town and hotel. Our hosts invited Shanti and I out for dinner, as it was a free time evening. We of course accepted and enjoyed their company walking through the town to the selected restaurant, perusing a wonderful local wine list and menu, then a classic and not inexpensive few hours followed. We got home in time for the storm to cut loose, so went to bed with the widows open to the wild weather outside. I was too tired and the body too abused by the day to sleep easily, but shanti blinked out without any problem, as usual. We are now en route to Lyons, then into the upper part of the Rhone Valley, for a very different part of the country that will take us directly south, tracking the Syrah grape in particular from the cooler higher regions such as Hermitage, down throught Chateau Neuf du Pape near Avignon, then down through Provence eventually to Marseilles on the Mediteranean coast.