Day 18: Dijon

I was so tired last night that I reckon I was asleep before my head hit the pillow. I must be out of practice with these driving days, although we didn’t go very far – maybe 250-300km total.

Or maybe my tiny brain is still blown about the things that we are seeing here. I’d better start getting used to that.

It’s Sunday here today, and we thought perhaps we might go to church. Preferably an english-speaking one, otherwise it will be harder than usual to follow along with the sermon. A quick Google search seemed to identify that there is indeed an english-speaking church that could meet our requirements, and it was about 6 or 7 down on the list of possible results.

Unfortunately though, it is in Paris. And that’s a bit far to go.

Sunday also means that many things here are closed, or so we discovered. The supermarket across the street is closed, although we already have muesli and yoghurt and milk for breakfast. And coffee.

Claude gets the day off today. I think I mentioned that we had been unable to organise a walking tour of Dijon, but we found a booklet here in the apartment about “The Owl’s Trail”, which is a circuit of the city centre (and specifically the older parts of Dijon) with 22 separate stops at historical buildings. Stop 17 was about 1.2km from where we are staying, so that was our starting point.

MBW – clever thing that she is – figured out that if we got away by around 9.00am, we would be at a good location around lunchtime to stop for lunch.

There were a few factors that drove our thinking today. We had some leftover pasta for dinner last night, so we needed to have something significant to eat today so that we don’t waste away.

I know what you’re thinking, and you can just keep that thought to yourself.

Sunday night is traditionally somewhere between “get your own dinner”, and “surprise dinner” in the Taylor house. When I say “surprise”, its normally a surprise if we have anything better than a bowl of breakfast cereal or a piece of toast on Sunday nights.

So we figured that we would have a substantial lunch, and then we can have something simple for dinner.

Man cannot live on baguettes and croissants alone. Apparently.

The other factor driving our thinking was that it was a bit cold this morning. 9 degrees that felt like 7.

So we had breakfast, put on some warm clothes, and I did a quick welfare check on Claude. I’m pleased to report that he was still sitting happily in the carpark out the back of the apartments.

Very tiny, narrow parking spots, too.

And the ramp out of the parking area is just plain scary. It turns out that Claude has mirrors that can be folded in, and I can see why that is necessary.

Once again, I’m glad that we are not in the Landcruiser.

We were out the door and walking up Rue Charles Dumont towards our starting point just after 9.00am.

They are a strange bunch of drivers here in France. I’ve had some really bad expeiences where I’ve been backing out of a parking space at a supermarket and I’ve hesitated a nanosecond too long putting Claude into Drive, and some impatient driver comes roaring around the back of me.

Yet when you are a pedestrian, they can be inordinately accommodating. If you even make a move to step onto a pedestrian crossing, they will flash their lights at you (in a good way) and screech to a halt so you can cross the road. Unlike in Australia where they speed up and swerve at you to make you get off the road.

Or maybe that’s just me that does that?

I’m not going to show my ignorance by trying to name and describe all of the stops on the Owl’s Trail, but you can read more about it here, or you can just Google it yourself.

But I will say this. There are parts of the historic centre of Dijon where you feel like you have stepped back in time. There was one castle that we looked at that was built in the 4th or 5th century – more than 1,500 years ago.

Unbelievble.

Have a look at the pictures below.

We found a little takeaway place and bought some chicken wings and hot, roasted potatos in garlic, and it hit the spot.

MBW also found a souvenir shop in the Place de la Libération, and bought some mustard … which seems a little counter-intuitive to me because I’m sure that you can buy mustard – even Dijon mustard at home.

We had finished the circuit by about 1.30pm and headed back towards our apartment, with no plans for the afternoon. We stopped at a boulangerie and bought a baguette for dinner, and a coffee eclair because … well … just because.

Don’t judge me.

They sell various types of baguettes here in France. Some of them look like a traditional (Australian-made) French bread stick, while others look quite different.

We saw some the other day called “rustic” baguettes, and the guy in the shop today said that they are also known as “traitional” baguettes and that it has someting to do with the flour they use. The traditional ones are a bit more than half a metre long, while the regular ones are maybe over a metre – similar to Frenh bread sticks at home.

But the rustic or traditional ones have more of a sourdough or wholemeal look about them, and if you are really lucky, they hand it to you in a bag and it is still warm.

Sell my clothes …

We got home, had a cuppa and the eclair, and then asked ChatGPT for some advice on things to do within 50km of Dijon.

One of the main options is to drive the “Route des Grands Crus” (roughly translated as “road of the great wines”) which is a self-driving tour through vinyards that stretch further than you can see. And as you follow the signs and the road, you go through these unbelievable little medieval villages.

I know that I keep talking about these villages, and I keep using the word “unbelievable” to describe then, but they truly are mind-blowing. I seriously wouldn’t have been surprised if I saw King Arthur walking down the street – that’s the honest feeling that you have.

The tiny narrow winding streets, the buildings that are 100s of years old, and the feeling that virtually nothing has changed since they were built. And many of them look like they are still in serious need of roof repairs.

Walking or driving through these little villages causes some serious “pinch me” moments. I can’t believe that we are here and experiencing something that I can’t even begin to comprehend. And yet the locals probably see it every single day and think nothing of it.

Apparently this is the place where the best reds in the world come from. We are going to have to buy a bottle and give it a try.

We drove down as far as Beaune, and turned Claude around and headed for home.

Joséphine – that’s the name of our Google Maps voice – seems to struggle with the English pronunciation of the French place names here. I suppose that we could change her to speak in her native tongue, but I suspect that will simply make driving here just that little bit more challenging that it is already. And we absolutely don’t need that.

We found a servo with reasonably priced fuel so that Claude has plenty of juice to get us to Annecy tomorrow for the night. There’s a funny story about Annecy, and if I remember, I’ll tell you that one tomorrow.

There is a C&W song called “There’s a cold beer calling my name“. Well, I’m singing a variation to that one … “there’s a warm baguette calling my name”.

Dinner.

Check out the photos below for a summary of our day.

Ciao

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