Day 3 - Saturday 9th August - The Beaujolais

The hills of the Beaujolais soon loomed on the horizon after I set off, and the country changed dramatically as I entered the region.  Gone were the flat fields of the river plain and the rounded hills which surrounded me were carpeted with vines and dotted with farm buildings made of the famous “pierre dorée”.  I was also immediately struck by how narrow the roads were, especially when there were big drops down one side. It is surprisingly difficult to judge your offside in a left-hand drive car. I got fairly used to it however and thankfully, throughout the day, I met very few other vehicles.

In fact, everything was looking good until I tried to find somewhere to stop for a drink. Disappointed expectation is always a terrible thing. I went from shuttered village to shuttered village, and realised that the people of the Beaujolais took the “fermeture annuelle” very seriously. (Something to do with the imminent vendange being the real tourist boost in the area no doubt).  I headed for Vaux-en-Beaujolais, in the hope that this tourist centre must have the necessary cafés and restaurants open to supply me with what I was looking for.  Maybe I just arrived there at the wrong time – too late for the morning and too early for the afternoon.  The place was a ghost town. I only found one bar open, and it looked unwelcoming enough for me to get back in the car and continue.  In the end, I crossed the whole of the Beaujolais from West to East between Villefranche-sur Saône and St Nizier-d’Azergues without finding a single place for a drink, let alone lunch.  Finally at St Nizier I saw just what I was looking for; a restaurant terrasse under vines where people were eating and drinking happily.  I walzed over with a smile on my face and was told I was too late to order! (Well it was 2pm!)  The syndicat d’initiative didn’t open until 3.00, so I got back in the car and continued on in poor mood.  I decided that the only hope was to go somewhere large and headed off for Beaujeu (managing to coax a ham sandwich out of a roadside bar at 2.30).

Beaujeu looked rather better, but the Hotel in the main street was closed (fermeture annuelle of course).  The lady in the syndicat d’initiative told me that I’d struggle to find a hotel (not because they were shut, but because they would all be fully booked!!)  She suggested a chambre d’hôte as she knew one that had just had a cancellation.  It wasn’t what I was looking for, but I decided to give it a try (chaque jour une aventure!).  It was the best thing that happened all day.  Mme Lagneau accepted the booking (after it had been explained that “il parle français très bien”, and I was told to report to her before 5pm or the room would be taken.   I spent half an hour or so wandering up and down the main street in Beaujeu and visiting an exhibition about Hector Berlioz in the Beaujolais museum and then set off.

Mme Lagneau was a delight and I had a tour of her cave and a dégustation of her husband’s Beaujolais before sharing a table under the trees in her farm courtyard with her and two flamands who were also staying and who spoke a sort of French with tortuous accents.  The meal was described by Mme as “simple” and tasted wonderful.  “Sémoules et salade de tomates avec du poulet” doesn’t begin to describe what we ate, although that is how she described it.  Every mouthful was delicious and washed down with a bewildering array of different Beaujolais cuvées.  In the meantime, the sun slowly set over the vineyards that were spread at our feet below the hilltop farm.

After the flamands went off for a walk, I went to join the other two who were staying. Mme had explained that one of them was the woman who had painted and mounted the Berlioz exhibition in town, and she had remembered seeing me there earlier.  She set up the exhibition each weekend and stayed at the chambre d’hôte with her mother while it was on.  She and her mother were “pieds noirs” from Algeria, she loved poetry and music and Berlioz.  Apart from the exhibition, and the book on Berlioz that she had just had published, she spent her time teaching music.  Between us, we found enough to happily natter about until midnight. I sort of promised I would go back to the exhibition again tomorrow and I think she hopes to sell me a copy of her book.  We’ll see.  I haven’t quite decided what I will do tomorrow yet.  Probably the North Beaujolais – Juliénas, Chénas Morgon etc.  Tomorrow is another day…

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