Saint-Emilion
I was up and out of the shit-sty in about 7 minutes, back pack packed, a little dirty (showering in the weird free standing tin-can style shower in the room would have meant becoming dirtier) and super excited to be on my way. I arrived in Saint Emilion just as the sun was rising (around 8am) and it was about a 20-minute walk from the train station up to the village. As I walked the sun was washing over the vineyards on the hills around me, gently awakening the vines from their slumber, and by the time I reached the village, with its cream colored houses and rust colored tile roof tops, I was greeted by an incredible view.
I found a killer bakery, got some pastries, and then went to the tourist office to rent a bike. I was in the mood to do some wine tasting (Saint Emilion is one of the great wine regions of France, chock full of vineyards and wineries) so I called a few Chateaux to arrange a degustation and hoped on my bike. Totally had one of those smiley, “hair blowing in the wind” bike ride moments (minus the hair and the blowing).
The Chateau was called Haute Lavallade and was fantastic. I had a private tasting with the vintner woman who was giving me all the facts, in French, in her sassy baby blue fleece, complete with wine stains and dirt cakes. I bought two bottles, popped them in my backpack and headed back to town to write post cards and read in the sun.
That night, back in Bordeaux (in my crack-den of a room), I drank my bottle of Saint Emilion grand cru while sitting on a folding chair watching the tiny TV suspended from the ceiling. I had some quality bread and cheese that I bought earlier and after drinking half the bottle, things weren’t so bad. Ok they were pretty bad so I decided to leave the room and I went to a bar, drank more, met a friendly Spaniard named Alberto, talked about beaches and zippers, and was rendered sufficiently indifferent (i.e. wasted) to spend a final yucky night in my scary room.
No comments:
Post a Comment