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My wife and I were travelling from Florence to Paris via an overnight sleeper train.  We had splurged on this journey.  Since we had flown to Europe in coach, we decided to go first class on the Trentailia train.  Your editor was imagining champagne and fine dining.  What he got was a tiny, old, dirty private cabin.  Given the pitiful state of our cabin, we imagined what "coach" on an overnight Trentaila train must mean....and decided some things just don't need to be thought about at all.  A word to the wise:  if you're travelling across Europe via train, try to book on the nicer French SNCF trains.

We honestly didn't know what to expect from Paris.   Someone told us that Parisan demographics were changing, and that if we wanted to see the "real" france, we should go to the french countryside instead.  Consulting a map, we noticed that the train from Florence to Paris passed very close to Burgundy...the famous french wine country.  Knowing that the only way to truly understand a region's wine is to visit in person, we suggested to our travelling companions that we should stop in Burgundy.  Purely for "research" purposes, mind you.  Our dear readers expect us to recommend only great wines, so we must suffer through the necessary research.

We landed in a small town named Beaune (pronounced "Bone").

We arrived in Beaune early in the morning after a sleepless night on the rickity old Trentalia train.  Fueled by excitement and adrenaline, we consulted Google maps and decided our Bed and Breakfast was a mere seven tenths of a mile away.  Why wait for a taxi?  It was a beautiful morning in the French country village.  Let's walk!  We'd been on a cramped train all night, and we could all use a nice brisk walk anyway.  This was our line of reasoning to our wife and travelling companions anyway.  So, off we went.  Your editor, map in hand, leading our little band...to a place he had never been before.....in a foreign country......where he couldn't read the signs.  What could possibly go wrong!

The luggage.  Six bags between the four of us.  Why should that be a problem?  We'd been skipping workouts anyway!  This was an opportunity to get the blood pumping and catch up on our exercise!  Besides, we argued....we've already gone three tenths of a mile....we're probably halfway there by now.

We entered the village proper.  Uh-oh, cobblestones.  Luggage doesn't roll so easily over cobblestones.  No matter.  Surely we were almost there.  After about ten minutes of huffing and puffing, I volunteered to scout ahead.  We stopped in front of a beautiful doorway that led into a nice little alcove.  Looked like the perfect spot for my companions to wait with the luggage while I made my way further up the street.  Up I went, one block.....then two.  No sign of the place.  Perhaps it was down the side street.  The proprietor had warned us in his email that his B&B was a tad difficult to find.  I made my way to where the address should fall.  No sign of the bed and breakfast.  Dejected, I slunk back to my companions.  I'd have to tell them we had turned the wrong way somewhere and we'd have to drag the luggage back the way we came.

I finally arrived back at the little garden.  No sign of my companions or the luggage!  I walked further into the garden and saw a little sign that read "de bureau".  de bureau?  What does that mean?  I walked over to the door and knocked......and my dear wife answered, laughing!  "This is the place" she announced, "we were standing right in front of it.  Let me introduce you to Phillipe, the owner."

de bureau means "office" dear reader.  As in the office of our B&B....

Stay tuned for the rest of the story.....

Sincerely,

Clint Watson

FASO Founder, Software Craftsman, Art Fanatic and Wine Lover

PS - If you're looking for that wine recommendation here it is:  Get a Close de Vougeot from Chateau de Marsannay.  Hard to find.  Not cheap.  Heaven in your mouth.  You'll probably have to order from a wine dealer.