Ed Space: Dijon - Final Day

Dijon is the historical capital of Burgundy (Bourgogne), the region of France famed for its food and wine. Thus, it was only natural for me to spend my last day savouring the gastronomical fare and famed drop this place had to offer. First off, a visit to the food market with a leisurely stroll through the indoor food hall where there was an abundance of cheeses, meats, fish, baked goods, fruit and veg, spices and various other delicacies. After stocking up for lunch, I had a look around the outdoor markets that sold, along with food and wine, various other things – clothes, books, antiques and a myriad other trash and treasure items.

It was now time to try some wine. Dijon, being the “gateway to the Côte de Nuits, meant it was easy to access the many vineyards on the Route des Grands Crus. But first, a lesson in the history of wine production was in order. So I stopped at Chenôve on the way, a small medieval village south of Dijon and home to the original Pressoirs (wine presses). I got off the bus and the place was kind of deserted. A little, old lady who happened to be on her way home from shopping approached me and advised me the Pressoir was closed and would not open for another forty minutes. She then invited me to “chez moi”. Rather surprised at the offer and her insistence, my limited French could not construct a sentence of polite refusal, so I ended up following her down some isolated back lane to her home where I met her husband, pet dog and pet cat (in that order). She fed me tea and biscuits and chocolate gateaux and we attempted to hold a conversation. I fumbled my way through the answers to her questions and even tried asking her some of my own. After awhile, she went into the back room and returned carrying a folder. I opened it and it was full of photographs of young, Asian people as well as letters and other things. Ok, so that’s not freaky. Before I could mutter, “Aurevoir, Madame Psycho”, she explained to me that these were international students who were previous tenants of hers. Apparently she rented out her spare room to students from China and Japan and so wasn’t too fazed about asking me back to her house. Phew. From what I could make out from the rest of our conversation, her name was Collette and she had a son who was a veterinarian and she enjoyed travelling to Italy and Switzerland.

The minutes dragged, but soon the time came for me to visit the Pressoir. I fumbled a message of gratitude for her hospitality and ventured out into the streets.

The Pressoir was fairly boring – a preserved exhibit of the wine technology of days passed. The guy working there – a literature student – tried his best to explain things and showed me a dated ten minute video on the wine making process. Ironically, he was a teetotaller and didn’t drink wine.

Empowered with this knowledge of how wine is made, the next place to visit was a winery. Marsannay-la-Côte, situated at the foot of wooded hills and the entrance to the “Côte des Nuits”, was to be my winery village of choice. I visited the “Château de Marssanay”, and joined a tour with a couple from Hong Kong/Australia/UK (they weren’t really sure where they were from). We sampled several different wines, and agreed that the Gevrey-Chambertin was the highlight. Did I mention I know nothing about wine?

After a successful afternoon of wine tasting, I decided to head back to Dijon. I had arranged to have dinner with Steve (the Californian roomie) at a little brasserie called “La Comedie”, situated on a street corner in the town centre. We had Boeuf Bourgogne because we were in Bourgogne and Clement (the French roomie) had recommended it.

After dinner, we went to a low-key bar and sat outside, sipping our beers and sharing conversation. What a relaxing way to end the day I thought to myself. Then the police raid happened.

Around ten or so cops – some plain clothed, some uniformed – rushed forth and started questioning the other patrons, frisking and searching some of them. It was an amazing, yet startling sight. We offered up out passports and bags for inspection, but the officers didn’t seem to care too much as we were “touristes”. The only thing the police officer asked me was if I had a gun in my bag. I did not. Thankfully I’d left it back at the hostel.

After the excitement and an exchange of quizzical looks, we got to talking with the couple next to us. They were local and we asked them the reasoning behind the raid. “Drugs,” they said. We had a nice conversation, and they taught me how to cuss in French. The girl also wrote down the name of some places I should check out when I was in Lyon including the name of a club whose bouncer was a dwarf.

Lyon was my next destination.

Some photos - Enjoy!

The Pressoir