Actually, now that I think about it, all of France is wine country isn't it? More specifically, this is ground zero for the pinot noir and chardonnay varieties. Henry explained that in the Middle Ages the church was in charge of wine making in France. Seems so strange to me.
We hiked a short distance from the train station to our hotel, the only one serving the 6,000 inhabitants of Chagny. The boat was docked on the canal about 300 meters away and as Wayne and I checked in, Henry went to inspect it. He would spending the night on the boat and he had some preparation to do.
"Only in France" is a phrase I've become fond of. It's an all-encompassing statement for bizarre Gallic moments. I said it out loud to Wayne as we entered the "hotel", which in our case, was next door in an adjoining house. We'd unknowingly rented two updtairs rooms in an artist's house. We cracked open the front door and his dogs rushed forward barking in full voice until their owner called them to a halt. There were paintings everywhere, on the walls, on top of the table, leaning against the walls. Some were nude studies but most were of flowers.
My room was spartan to say the least but the bed was comfortable, a fact not lost on me as I pondered sleeping on the boat the next night.
That evening we took a walk around and had dinner at an outdoor brasserie in the town's center. It's a handsome place that even sports a Michelin 3-star restaurant, the Lameloise. The 137 Euro fixed-price menu was a tad much. Who comes all the way to this small town to eat such an expensive meal? Is still cannot figure it out. After our meal we retired to a small pub to watch a world cup match: Uruguay vs France. Surprisingly, there was hardly anyone there. Henry explained that from his travels in rural France he's learned that the recession has hit hard and many folks simply stay home and drank cheaply.
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