The Road to Bordeaux

A daunting ten hour bus ride after three hours of sleep, three armangacs, a bottle of wine, and a belgian blonde (read: hangover) quickly became a joy ride once we left Dijon’s city limits.  The countryside is so beautiful and lush that I resigned myself to the silent tour of farmlands, vineyards and flat, open space.  March in France is, evidently, spring in a way that Boston rarely sees: the trees are just beginning to bud, while the shrubbery is in full bloom and the grass is deeply green.  We’ve had rain for two days but it comes and goes, and has been a welcomed relief to last week’s sun-- or, so says my Irish heart.

On a side note, the drinks last night were mostly free, thanks to our hotel’s very gracious overnight concierge.  I never caught his name, but we all owe him a huge debt of hospitality.

In any case, I slept off the remnants of a headache and awoke when the bus began to sway back and forth as if at sea.  We were in the mountains, on a narrow road.  Above us were the many peaks of an unknown range, and below us was a river overbrimming with yesterday’s rain.  I had been asleep for only 45 minutes, but had no concept of our location.  An hour later we emerged into another valley, still on back roads, and eventually came to a stop in some nondescript village.  There was a Casino Market, a handful of Boulangeries and some apartments, but not much else.  Janick, our tour manager, told us we had one hour and ran into the only open restaurant to see if we could be seated.  Half of the group broke off to scavenge for a meal while half of us stayed in hopes of a warm, simple meal.

The result was, without a doubt, the best meal I’ve had since I’ve been in france: A large portion of salmon, warm and creamy risotto, stewed mushrooms and, to compliment the trio, an incredible sauce which I can only guess involved butter, cream, herbs, jus d’orange and some sort of wine or vinegar-- it was divine.  Jared and I enjoyed a Provence Rose to compliment the meal.

It turns out the river was the Loire, and that little town thrives on travelers and tourists.

The landscape here, wherever we are, is much more mountainous.  A grey fog looms over the valleys and its begun to rain again.

Practically every hill top has been trimmed to accommodate vineyards, and with the early warmth and generally wet season, I have a feeling this will be a very good year.

It’s...beautiful.  Just beautiful.