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"Do you fancy Burgundy? " I was asked. “With a piece of steak, nothing nicer,” says
I, contemplating
rolling the velvety red wine around the taste buds. But I got it wrong
it was the rolling green countryside of Burgundy itself that was
meant. A few days later we were there wandering through byways and
leafy lanes, navigating
by signposts with names familiar from wine bottles and passing
rustic villages where time seemed to have stood still.
It was in September and the grapes were ripening, so
for a couple of days we helped with the harvest, sleeping in a great
farmhouse loft with about a dozen other helpers. Then we explored
Dijon and moved on to Beaune, where we visited the Hotel-Dieu, an
hospital built in the mid 15th century. In
one great room beds are set into recesses in the walls. In
these, beneath heavy
red blankets, the sick
once lay, sometimes two
to a bed, looking up at
a great timbered ceiling decorated with hideous
gargoyles.
I suppose they took your mind off
your bed-mate’s affliction.
Back in the country we spent the night in a farmhouse
and woke early to find the moonlight still shining on the mill pond.
Horses clattered on the cobbles as we went over the yard to the
kitchen where a large black cat purred, and bacon sizzled loudly in
the pan.
As the first grey streaks of dawn edged into the sky
we saddled up and rode off through
fields and hedgerows. It was like riding into a Constable painting, none
of the buildings we passed was less than a couple of hundred years
old.
I’d never been on a horse before but managed to
coax Princess
along by flattering her and murmuring
“ Princess, tu est tres belle”
in her ear. Nijinski the horse ahead was not quite so controllable and stopped
to devour what ever leafy plant took his fancy. There were a few
nervous moments when at the end for our trek
we rode into town and through the local market.
Fortunately he didn’t choose to graze at any of the
vegetable stalls so we were able to stay and join the locals for a
drink at a pavement cafe.
The next day we took to the water and tried out a
hire cruiser on the
Canal de Burgoyne. Bicycles on board enabled us to
nip into little villages and pick up bread and shopping. Pottering
along peacefully we passed yet more signs with ‘wine label
names’ and we were never without a good glass when we eat. At
one lock the keeper asked us to wait. He ‘thought’ he could hear
another boat coming in the distance and invited us to pass the time
visiting his cellar. We sampled the wine and later emerged blinking
into the sunlight clutching a couple of bottles and minus forty francs.
Surprisingly the boat that was ‘coming’ had disappeared!
The final activity in our visit to Burgundy was a
balloon flight. We flew
with the ‘Flying Snail’. The balloon
of Air Escargot looked enormous as it was inflated next to a couple of
little 2CV vans. It was a glorious evening as we lifted up over the
trees chasing our long shadow over fields chateaux and farms. You
could hear every word spoken on the ground and dogs barked defiantly
and chased the monster in the sky.
 Some wished we might stay up for ever and it looked
as though we might have had to, as there were vineyards all around
and scarcely a space to land without squashing a grape.
The prospect of landing worried me a little for I was
wedged in the basket next to a very large American lady. All would
be well if we put down upright but if we were to tip over I would
have either a very soft landing or be squashed to death.
In the event it was a perfect landing and as the sun
went down and we drank a traditional glass of champagne. It’s what
we balloonists do best!
Report
by Allan Rogers
FACT FILE
French Travel Centre, 178 Piccadilly,
London W1V OAL .
France Information:Tel. 09068 244 123 (calls 60p per minute)
Burgundy Comite Regional du Tourism, BP 1602,
21035,
DIJON, Cedex, France Tel 010 33
80 50 10 20
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