Ah the lovely Beaune. Set in the heart of Bourgogne, it never fails to delight. Beaune’s ancient centre bustles with restaurants and shops but its true soul lies in winemaking.
It’s also famed for its medieval hospital, Hostel Dieu. Founded by the Duke of Burgundy in 1443 to treat plague victims, it continued serving the local community until the 1960s. With a a sightly higher incidence of plague victims in the 1400s one suspects.
Today the hospital is major tourist attraction (it’s excellent, we took the tour on our first visit) and the site for an annual wine auction. If you like pinot noir or chardonnay, this is the place to be. All the best Bourgogne Domaines are represented and there are endless options for degustations and tours, including one through Beaune’s underground cellars. Apparently there’s a labyrinth below.
Beaune is buzzing – a Tour de France Italian support crew has set up just across from us, tweaking bikes. A steady crew of locals and tourists alike stop by to peer through the fence periodically. The Italians are fabulously exuberant – everything is hotly and loudly debated. I was tempted to shoot the pic below through the fence but didn’t want to be accused of spying – apparently an Australian support crew is nearby too.
I’ve had many a happy moment in Beaune. The Saturday market of course, bursting with gorgeously fresh produce. A truffle followed me home once and make me a very happy girl. On another visit, a set of copper saucepans made the journey home, now sadly only decorative as they don’t work on an induction stovetop *sob*. This time a Laguoile baguette guillotine catches my eye. Oh! Want!!! I drop a clanger of a hint to Himself. It only takes him a block to tell me to go back and get it. Cue happy dance from Moi. I have wanted one for ages (major envy any time I see a restaurant using theirs) and this one is beautiful, complete with its little bee motif.
We’ve arrived mid afternoon, having been house elves this morning, but at least the laundry’s done, the motorhome is washed and the larder replenished. Except for all those lovely things I’m going to buy at the market tomorrow – our arrival is excellently timed.
We’ll explore at length tomorrow, but for now it’s a drink in the square with our new friend the life size panda (no idea) and my new precious to play with. PS: Himself not actually grumpy, possibly needs Botox. Or a vin rouge or three.
The next morning brings market day but along with it, rain. Somehow we’ve jagged the only day’s rain in a fortnight. C’est la vie. I’m delighted to have the opportunity to road test my market bag nonetheless – it’s been looking at me forlornly, longing to come out and play. Umbrellas at the ready and we’re off!
The market just as fabulous as I remembered. I’ve lost many a happy morning at markets at home and overseas, and today is no exception. The best of early summer produce is on offer – stone fruits, berries, tomatoes. Yum!
I’m usually guilty of going overboard but manage remarkable restraint this time. Well at least until I go past the truffle man. I take a few passes before I give in. Himself is not particularly a truffle fan, meanwhile I’m pretty sure I could get a job sniffing them out. And speaking of truffle sniffers, photos of his are proudly on display – just look at those sweet faces. I do love a dog with a job.
I select my truffle and step back to do my second happy dance of the day. It’s then I’m treated to the highest level of customer service – the truffle sniffer herself trots over for a well deserved pat before dutifully returning to await her next customer. I’m certain she understood every word when I thanked her for a truffle well found. They used to use pigs, but they’re so greedy for truffles, they frequently ate them. Dogs meanwhile are happy for a treat and a kind word.
Returning our goodies home, Himself’s focus is lunch: boeuf borguignon, unusually served with linguini. I’m tempted, but instead opt for a veal escalope. I’ve been missing Italian food. Both are perfectly executed, buttery soft
Post lunch we wander through hitherto parts unexplored: the medieval fortified wall, the lovely church, the canal and streets well away from the hubbub.
I coax Himself out for a last drink at day’s end. I’m just not ready to go home yet. He’s perked up hasn’t he – I told you a glass of red would do the trick.
Miss Baci Travels 