Le vin et l'élégance en Bourgogne Côte-d’Or
Meursault from across the vineyards of Château de Cîteaux
I had originally intended for this weekend to be my relaxing, low-effort trip—staying in my home region, only traveling about 30 minutes from Dijon, easy-peasy. I wasn’t even going to stay overnight until I realized that I had a free hotel credit to use up. So of course it ended up being unexpectedly exhausting, but it was pretty magical all the same.
In a shocking twist, my schedule was upended almost immediately by yet another train strike, so I rented a bike and waited patiently for the next train. Of course, the earlier cancelation meant that that train was absolutely packed, so maneuvering a bike onto it was not the easiest thing I’d ever done. By the time I got to Beaune, a charming village in the heart of Burgundy’s Côte-d’Or (“gold coast,” named for the brilliant yellow hue of the leaves during harvest time), I was already regretting the bike rental so I locked it up at the station and headed into town on foot. The scattered showers meant that I was wearing rain boots, which didn’t make the hour of wandering I did before my wine tasting all that comfortable, but I survived.
My Saturday tasting was at Maison Joseph Drouhin, which came highly recommended by a friend whose taste I trust. My delightful guide, Adele, showed me and the two Italian winemakers who joined us through the labyrinthine 13th century wine cellars, which was fascinating. The wine was delicious; the company was lovely. I even got an invite to a villa in Florence for when I finally make it to Italy, so it was a great afternoon all around
I had hoped to spend a bit more time exploring Beaune, but the truncated train schedules made me so nervous that I headed straight to Meursault instead. If Beaune was charming, Meursault was unreal: I walked past parcel upon parcel of picture-perfect vineyards en route to my breathtaking hotel. Chateau de Citeaux made me antsy for my upcoming weekend of chateaux-hopping, with its stately elegance and beautifully manicured grounds. My feet were so sore by the time I checked in that I only had the energy to sit in bed in a bathrobe enjoying the spectacular view of the vineyards from my window. I did briefly check out the inclusive spa, but did not partake due to lack of swimsuit. Next time!
Lyon put the fear of god (read: dinner reservations) in me, so I had the foresight to book a table in advance at the hotel’s restaurant, La Cueillette. Good lord, what a meal: I chose the three-course tasting menu that turned out to be more of a six-course, and every dish that appeared before me was more delicious than the last. I especially loved the truffle gnocchi with comté sauce, and the caramel cake for dessert that I was sadly too full to finish. The fact that all of this occurred in a 19th century ballroom was just icing on the (delicious) cake.
Sunday morning, I enjoyed coffee in my room while taking in that breathtaking view, including surprise chickens wandering the vineyards, before venturing into Meursault for a pain aux amandes with surprise nutella filling. I also met a very sweet cat outside my hotel who followed me around for so long that I thought I might have a new travel companion. It was soon time to check out, and I left my bag and bike at the hotel and decided to head to Pommard for that day’s wine tasting on foot. I’ll admit that I was not wearing the right shoes for it, but my surroundings were so incredible that I barely noticed the pain. How could I possibly describe the feeling of walking through 5km of vineyards under a sky full of billowing clouds and the sparkling chatter of birdsong? I’m still not entirely certain it was real.
![follow the [vineyard-flanked] road](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5e447084a2964f55351c10d9/1679576138003-FKLCH33N6YR99PXNIGEO/IMG_0320.jpeg)
I made it to Chateau de Pommard with time to spare and spent a lovely half hour in the chateau’s garden before it was time for what turned out to be my private tasting. My guide, a former chef in a Michelin-starred restaurant named Xavier who was a wealth of knowledge when it came to potential food pairings, took me through the detailed differences in each parcel’s terroir and gave me ample seconds of the wines that I liked. He then let me wander the chateau’s vineyards for awhile, where I met a lovely couple from Florida. We swapped travel recommendations until the rain returned.
Sadly, I didn’t have time to wait out the storm inside, so I trudged back towards Meursault in the rain; thankfully this was short-lived and the majority of my journey back was dry and relatively sunny. I made it back to the station with ten minutes to spare, which of course meant my train was late. I barely made my connection in Chagny, where I got yelled at by a station worker for not knowing that I couldn’t use the crosswalk on the tracks (him: “do you cross the tracks in America?” me: “we don’t really have trains in America.”) and then had to perform some creative acrobatics to fit myself and my bike onto the overly-packed train that made my journey to Beaune seem roomy in comparison. Shoutout to my fellow riders who went out of their way to make room, and to the adorable baby squeezed in next to me who only stopped fussing when I played with her. Needless to say, I was thrilled to get home and to drop off my dumb bike.
And so my “quiet,” “easy” weekend in Burgundy’s wine country turned out to be neither of those things, but was still so lovely and magical that it almost made up for the hardship. Whenever I think about my sore feet or those awful train rides, I just have to think instead about the view from my hotel room or those fascinating wine tastings or that truly sumptuous Saturday night meal and it’s like the frustrations never happened. Well, they happened, but they pale in comparison to the memory of those vineyards.
surprise chickens in the vineyards of my hotel—sound on!
