Savigny-lès-Beaune, Vézelay, Blois - France, February 8, 2016

I left a note for John last night since we didn't see him that we wanted breakfast a little earlier so we could leave at 9. I saw him when I went to put the first of the bags in the car and he was ready for us. 

It was grapefruit this morning instead of pineapple, and we stuck with the cheeses and jams instead of adding a softboiled egg, but the tea and everything was the same quaint setting. 

We got caught up in talking, again, including discussing the ineptitude of the French government according to them, and the amount of holidays. We also talked about their plans - they are selling their house and the adjoining buildings so they can really retire this time. (Apparently, that's what they were going to do until their friends put them in a guidebook as a B&B.) I'll get a commission if I find someone to buy their property, so if you are someone that wants to buy a 1.5€ million house to run a B&B in gorgeous wine country, hit me up. I highly recommend it (and I might get a commission if I find someone to buy it - I've got all the details if you hit me up!)

So we got to Henri de Villamont ten minutes late, and the tasting room around back was locked. There were quite a few cars, so I wondered if we missed a tour group? I played the dumb tourist and poked my head into a couple doors until I found an office who flagged down our host. 

She, as is the custom, walked us through the process, from the steel tanks where they do the alcoholic fermentation for both the Pinot Noir and the Chardonnay. (No oak casks for that here.) Then, it is piped down to the cellar which is fairly young at 140 years old, and aged in oak for the 12-18 months. They have over 60 different vineyard that they own or contract with, and all their wines are single vineyard, yet they only produce 200,000 bottles a year. 

The facility was built in the early 2000s, so it was definitely a counterpoint to Domaine Lejeune, which has been doing things the same for its seven generations of existence. 

We tried two whites and three reds, ended up with a bottle of each (though Mark and I completely disagreed on our favorites), and headed to Vézelay for a stop at a basilica before our ultimate destination on the other side of the country - the Loire Valley and Blois. 

We couldn't find exactly the Basilica of Saint Mary Magdalene on Google Maps (just one of the things Mark is good for), but an abbey of Vézelay came up and we assumed it was the same thing. 

We had turned off the A10 and on to smaller country roads that were quickly leading up a hill to an imposing church, and the clouds and rain that had plagued us cleared. For the second time in as many days, the weather broke right as we wanted to get out and explore.

A cobbled lane led steeply uphill, so I parked mostly off to the side in mostly a parking spot (our M.O. has been if someone else is parked there, we might as well). I was like 90% not on the yellow line. 

We approached the basilica as it started chiming noon. A few blocks up, and the chiming started behind us too. That's when I began to doubt Google Maps. 

Suspense over! Google was right! We reached the asymmetric spires of St. Mary Magdalene and pushed inside, out of the screaming wind. (It wasn't raining, but it wasn't really good weather either.) The vestibule led to the medieval sanctuary with barrel-like arches led to the Gothic nave with pointed arches, larger windows and more light. 

The crypt was underneath the altar, so after admiring some of the column toppers (at the advice of Rick Steves), we took the short flight of rock-carved stairs down to a small chamber. Against one wall was a wooden crucifix. Built into the other was what caused the spike in visitors in the 1100s and then the plunge into irrepair when the Pope took back his decree - the potential remains of Mary Magdalene. 

The relics were unassuming pieces of bones in a golden case. There was a basket of prayers on the two steps leading up to the glass covering the inset. 

We walked solemnly (and as quietly as possible in the echoey church) through to the offices and out the side. 

There's a museum and excavation that was closed, but the view over the surrounding area was open, and only got sunnier as we walked toward the low stone wall surrounding the park. No one is going to believe us that the weather was grey with all these pictures of sun-tipped cathedrals and countryside. 

The wind was no joke though. It was a view that merited a bit more time than we gave it, but I couldn't see due to my hair whipping in my eyes. 

There was a bistro that was right by where we parked the car that was open, and we walked as briskly as the wind down the hill. A nice old man greeted us as he rushed around with a catering order. We got some soup, a "sandwich" for Mark (a baguette with cheese and meat) and a Croque Monsieur for me (which, while "vegetarian", had some thinly sliced cured meat with the potato and egg on toast). My "ancient" hot chocolate was cocoa powder that I sweetened with sugar. Mark's glass of wine wasn't great. 

It was the right price and the right amount of time, though, so we headed to Blois, and our first château of the trip where the royal Apartments were the point, not the defensive positioning. We accidentally missed a turn and ended up across the river at first - though it was a gorgeous sight, so a very happy accident. 

We parked and got to the ticket office with 45 minutes until they closed, which the couple guards we ran into told us first in French than in English. We followed the signs through the first giant hall, where Louis III had a group of officials try to decide what would happen when he died heirless. 

The apartments were set up for François I and his queen, as well as for Catherine de Medici, who seems to have lived a captivating life. François did kill two brothers in two days, including one in the the bedroom we visited, so that his Protestant heir could take the throne, so it definitely wasn't a boring part of history. 

The apartments were the first to be very separated from the people the royalty ruled. Especially the court expected more access, but François didn't give it until a revolution forced him to take their recommendations into consideration. 

We were in the final rooms when a guard started sweeping along behind up, closing and locking rooms. We missed the fine art museum with its portraits, and the entire Neoclassical wing (skippable according to Rick Steves anyway), but got a view over the ramparts before being summarily asked to leave. 

We took a wander around the château from the outside. High old stone walls might harken back to when it was a fortress. We wound among the cobblestones, seeing a hint of old French city life as a woman opened fifteen foot wooden doors to a garage made of stone to park her car in. 

We moved the car to the street in front of the hotel, right near the train station. The front desk woman gave us a variety of suggestions for restaurants for dinner that were open on a Monday night. We have been incredibly fortunate that, while we never have an abundance of variety, we have been able to find something open to eat at everywhere we've gone. 

However, it was only 6pm - much too early for a French dinner. So we sat down and played a Scottish-themed board game (Glen More) with whisky barrels and clansmen. Mark would be happy that I'm reporting that he won a game he's never played before and I have. 

We took the recommendation of the closest restaurant, and did quick, dark, windy walk to a place with a goldfish in a giant wine glass. 

They brought out a fluffed goat cheese aperitif (can you use that on non-beverages?) while Mark decided on the beef of the day and I got shrimp and scallop risotto. 

Halfway through our first half bottle of wine, the dishes came out. Mine was good; Mark's was mouthwateringly good. Like, melt-in-your-mouth steak. 

He won for dessert too, getting a trio of mousse, lava cake, and a fudge-y bar. My ice cream was good - but extra good on his warm cake. 

So, with Mark solidly winning the evening, I got a comeback with a round of Duel. By the final game and final half bottle, he took back the lead. Tomorrow we'll see if that averages out at all.