Vineyards and mudguards

We drove from Épernay - "you've crossed the road; Champagne!" to Bourgogne (also known as BUR-GUN-DY), home to arguably the best wine around (strongly disputed by the vintners of Bordeaux, one suspects). We arrived at the unprepossessing little village of Flagey-Echézeaux in search of our B&B, apparently entirely populated by ugly modern bungalows. However, this was perfect as it set our expectations low so that as soon as we stepped through the walled gates of the old stone masse we were staying at, we were entranced by this vision of ivy bound architectural beauty:

Not a bungalow

We settled into a room next to an artist's studio overlooking a lily pond, and got a recommendation for a local cave where we could purchase, and more importantly taste, some of the esteemed, aforementioned Burgundy wine. We knew we couldn't possibly have hoofed two bikes on the back of our car for nothing and so we cycled off in the evening sunshine to find said wine, only to find that in fact, a bike isn't the best vehicle for transporting large quantities of booze, so we had to return the next morning to pick up our haul in the car, which we did. 

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We drove through some of the most famous vineyards in France and stopped at Domaine d'Ardhuy, a stunning vineyard just past Nuits-Saint-Georges. Despite not having an appointment (notice a theme here?) they kindly let us taste some wines and we invested in a bottle of Clos de Langres, a lively red monopole from the very vineyard that surrounded us as we stood. It will be at its best in 2020, but a miracle if it lasts that long in our hands (or for that matter, we're still alive to drink it).

Domaine L'Ardhuy

Vines

Charlie in good spirits after dipping his fingers in our wine glasses while we weren't looking

We stopped off for a pleasant hour in Beaune before the big drive south, but managed an epic fail as a driving/navigating team as we headed out of town when Katie directed Ed into three lanes of oncoming traffic. Under considerable pressure from 17 furious Frenchmen slamming on their horns, Ed's panicked three point turn resulted in the removal of a mud guard and a not-inconsiderable amount of the 'simmering marital resentment' of which we spoke in an earlier post. This set the tone for a sweltering six hour drive deep into the Alps, via the Frejus Tunnel, where we were charged an almost amusingly extortionate 43.70 euros for a ten minute drive through a mountain. For those who know us well, you can well imagine the words that were exchanged with the toll booth attendant.

Hôtel-Dieu de Beaune

However, we're now installed in Kate and Andrew's wonderful house in Serre Chevalier, which by the way looks bloody different in the summertime. We've got about two days before the whole place shuts down at the end of August (even the boulangerie) when we will presumably resort to killing mountain goats for survival. We actually managed to eat a non-bread product for dinner tonight - bean salad with boiled eggs - although we did have to put a bit of bacon in there as we can't go a day without eating a pig. Yum. 

Charlie refused to eat this and had melon for dinner instead