Nothing much needs to said about a day that begins with Champagne and caviar in a random Seattle, Washington park more suited to meth use than recreation, a 9 hour flight, a one hour layover, another flight one hour and thirty minutes followed by a two hour drive except thank god it is over. The flight went well with little Beaumont behaving as good as one would expect from a restless six year old.
British Airways temporarily lost one of our bags. Lucky it arrived on the next flight from London an hour later. To add to insult, the conveyor belt broke while bags were being offloaded. I scampered up the ramp and proudly grabbed our last bag and returned to Lisa like a caveman might have after offing a woolly mammoth.
The only real hard part of the day was the last two hour drive from Grenoble to Burgundy. Beau would fall fast asleep in some awkward position, only to be woken by a swerve, followed by a rain of tears till he fell back into a deep slumber. Poor kid was tired beyond belief. During the last ten kilometers, I started seeing double and tried vainly to cram toothpicks in my eye sockets to keep my drooping eyelids from closing completely. I was very relieved to see the Puligny Montrachet sign announcing our arrival.
AH LA BELLE FRANCE! So very happy to be here. Words cannot express the joy my heart feels. The smell in the air, the beautiful timeless limestone buildings; Puligny Montrachet is a ridiculously gorgeous little wine town housing some of the best vines in the world. What a pleasant surprise, when we arrived at our vacation rental we found two bottles from the backyard vineyard and a basket of cheese, butter and bread. Let the good times roll.
With a nice buzz going, and feeling energized, we drove into Beaune seeking passable food and even more wine. Sunday nights are quiet in rural France so the bigger city of Beaune offered at least a selection of tourist restaurants that were open. Sadly my favorite restaurants, Ma Cuisine and La Ciboulette, were not open. Though I am not sure I would have eaten there either. I needed a transition restaurant to bridge me and my stomach from the mediocre chicken curry on the airplane and what is to come.
The tourist brasserie was predictably bad and offered immediate reassurance that cooking at home would be the better option in the future. I ordered a steak frites and Lisa a magret de canard that actually was very good. Beau’s croque monsieur was mushy and our friend Wendy’s beef bourguignonne an insult to the town of Beaune and all of Burgundy. She remarked it was bit more Dinty Moore than good.
The plan was to stay up as late as possible then crash hard. We could kick jet lags ass quicker that way. We wandered down the quaint streets gawking like the rest of the tourists. Beau and I rode the carousel near the brasserie laughing at the absurdity that our chariot “farted” every time it hit a certain point. A French women seemed to think it was us which made it all the funnier. The joys to be a child again.
Sleep came quick and hard as I passed out on the terrace over looking the street in front. Good Night from PM!