Barging Through Burgundy – Auxerre to Chablis

After three days in Paris we were collected from the Hotel Ampere and driven to Auxerre in Burgundy where we boarded our luxury barge, La Belle Epoque. Some people choose to cruise canals the hard way, without a crew. We chose a luxury cruise and we were not sorry. Captain Nick, Louisa, Lola, Emma and chef Steve (from New Zealand) spoiled us rotten. The barge can, at a squeeze, take 12 guests, but there were nine of us – two Scottish couples, Ian & Nancy, Stanley & Kay, Mari from the Isle of Wight, and a really lovely Australian couple, Dennis & Patrick, whose company Colin and I especially enjoyed (they taught me how to do cryptic crosswords).

We were greeted with champagne and canapes, then Colin and I took a quick walk around the town of Auxerre. Here’s a photo taken the next morning, looking back at the huge cathedral:

Steve Wilson, originally from Wellington, turned out to be a very clever chef, totally unpretentious and really laid-back in true Kiwi style, though I bet there was a bit of teeth-gritting going on in the kitchen when some of the guests, who shall remain nameless, requested parmesan cheese to go with the gorgeous seafood pasta dish Steve prepared later in the week. Anyway, on our first night we had a taste of the week’s cuisine, and a warning of why I would stack on four kilos in one week – four course dinners with wonderful wines and cheeses. For example, this night we had duck entree, chicken main, vanilla and rose water creme brulee. But the cheeses, oh dear heaven above, the cheeses!

Regal de Bourgogne aux Poivres made near Auxerre, a semi-soft, cow’s milk cheese covered in crushed peppercorns.

Ossau-Iraty- a ewe’s milk cheese from the Pyrenees, (excuse my French, but I can’t do accents on this blog) made in summer, with quite a mild flavour. These two towns in the Basque region, Ossau and Itary, used to be at war and made their own cheeses separately, but they now make this cheese together.

St Felicien – a soft, mild, cheese made from goat’s milk, from the Dauphine region between Lyon and the Alps.

And the wines? Pouilly-Fuisse, from the Maconnais, 100 per cent Chardonnay but nothing like what is put in bottles and labelled Chardonnay in New Zealand.

St Romain, a Pinot Noir from the Cote de Beaune, a village well-known because of the barrel-maker, Francois, who sells his barrels to top wine producers all over the world.

The next day the barge’s engines started up and we cast off toward the first lock. Most of the lock houses have pretty gardens, though the lock keepers are very unionised, somewhat surly and lazy, and if you arrive on the dot of midday they refuse to let you through because it is their lunchtime so you have to wait for one hour. You’re not even allowed to do it yourself. But this is what some of the lock houses, or sheds, look like. Very pretty.

We cycled past a lovely gite, with a very colourful summer garden, petunias in abundance and geraniums everywhere:

When the barge is level with the land in a lock, you take the bikes off and cycle along the tow path, in a vain attempt to dump some of those kilos you’ve stacked on at dinner or lunch, which is also a magnificent repast.

Our first lunch was a terrific chorizo soup, followed by mixed pates made by Steve, a bitingly piquant chickpea salad, and a garden salad with grilled courgette. Then more seductive, alluring, salacious, mouth-watering cheeses, which I just have to tell you about because writing about them is  poetic:

Selles-sur-Cher – a goat’s milk cheese from the Loire. Similar to St Maure de Touraine, it is covered in ash and ripened for up to three weeks, has a hard texture and is not very strong in flavour.

Brie de Meaux – from Paris, known as the Queen of the Cheeses, it has a creamy, smooth interior and a white crust ripened partly by moulds, bacteria and yeasts grown on the surface.

And to wash these down we had Macon-Villages Chardonnay from southern Burgundy, just above Beaujolais; and Cotes d’Auxerre, a lovely soft Pinot Noir from the hills around Auxerre, possibly the oldest vineyard still in use in the whole of Burgundy.

Not content with simply biking, CCQC decided to do some work and open the lock.

And here’s La Belle Eqoque making her stately way along the Canal du Nivernais.

The next day we would visit Chablis, and Domaine Laroche.

 

Paris

How you gonna keep us down on the vineyard, now that we’ve seen Paree?

Well, we’re actually back at the vineyard now, and my computer sulked all the way round the rest of the world after the United States. I guess it didn’t want to leave the Krsuls. Neither did I, but I was more adult about it. So I couldn’t log into the net, and blogging had to wait until now, and since the London leg of the journey was all about whanau, I’ll leave that section private and skip to our Paris jaunt.

We were staying away from central Paris, at the Hotel Ampere, which turned out to be really very good indeed. We were on the top floor, with a private balcony which looked across to these apartments.

Beyond this we could see La Tour Eiffel and l’Arc de Triomphe. Here are two images, day and night: We could lie in bed and look out at this.

I love the rooftops of Paris. I love the fact that the people of Paris, after one modern towerblock was built, thought it was so ugly they banned the building of any more similar edifices in the city and now they all must be erected outside the city ring. The chimney pots remind me of that last scene in the film, “Last Tango in Paris” when the camera pans down and across the rooftops of Paris.

Paris, because of the recession, has suffered badly from a downturn in tourists, but this was good for us. Not so many “les rosbifs” – as the French so disparagingly call British tourists – meandering around and clogging up the Champs-Elysees. We were also lucky as this neighbourhood was very quiet but with good quality restaurants just a stroll away from our hotel. In particular, a seafood restaurant, where we each had half a dozen oysters (les huitres) and a glass of champagne, then grilled carrelet, a white fish, which was excellent, with a bottle of Condrieu. No tourists in sight, just Parisiens.

Next morning, I looked down from the balcony and the streets had been washed clean, creating this pattern on the pavement.

We did the usual walking for miles, Paris being a walking city. Up Avenue Wagram to the Arc de Triomphe, down the Champs -Elysees, across Place de la Concorde, through the Tuileries to the Louvre then out and along the banks of the Seine all the way back past Pont d’Alma where Princess Diana met her Waterloo, and home a different way to the hotel. We’d been walking about five hours by the time we arrived home so needed a nap, then drank the bottle of rose we’d bought before going out for dinner at the Bistro next door.

Next day we walked to the Bois de Boulogne. Despite both of us having visited Paris numerous times, neither of us had been here before. It’s worth a visit, though not at night – you can see why it has a seedy nocturnal reputation. Look at the state of this seat and its surrounds after someone has enjoyed a picnic lunch:

But the walk there and back was pleasant, along the Boulevard de Pereire, where gardens and roses line the centre strip.

And here’s CCQC enjoying our balcony back at Hotel Ampere:

 

 

Chicago the Spectacular

After my initial success with WiFi there have been disappointments so I’ve saved everything – the Herald column, the blog, the bill payments, the emails – for one day. The day before we left San Francisco the sun came out and we took a walk up Nob Hill and around Chinatown. It was Sunday, so crowded with dawdling tourists which always drives me crazy, but a fountain donated by Mrs James Flood on Nob Hill, which features three dancing cherubs, captivated me because of their darling faces turned to the sun:

Then before we departed, I insisted on being photographed outside the San Francisco Press Club.

And I took a photo of the wines you can taste at the Press Club. If you look carefully at this photo you can see me taking a photo of me:

Then it was off to O’Hare, Chicago airport, where we arrived at around midnight. Must say, domestic first class United Airlines is only the equivalent of economy Air New Zealand, just with a little more space. We should be proud of our national airline. The Krsuls – John and Justine – our friends whom we met last year at the ABA (American Bar Association)meeting in New York when they were assigned to host us and who live in Bridgman, Michigan State, collected us next morning from our airport hotel and drove us to their place. First we went to Mount Baldy, Indiana State Park,  in a somewhat roundabout way. Not deliberately, we went through Gary, Indiana, one of the poorest towns in the USA. This is where the Jackson Five were born. I was pleased we drove through here, it’s tragic and sad. It once was a thriving steel worker town but no longer. To cut a long story short we did end up at Mount Baldy, a huge sand dune on the shores of beautiful Lake Michigan, had our picnic lunch, then drove to the Krsul’s daughter and son-in-law’s property, Longacres, on the lake, where we had a lovely traditional American beach family barbecue (grill) complete with swim, fireflies, chit-chat, children, organic beef burgers, Michigan wines, beautiful salads and just good old American hospitality. Americans, I swear, are the most hospitable nation on the earth. These are some shots of that lovely family:

Next day we went for a walk through the woods by John & Justine’s house,

down to and along the beach.

This area of America is so beautiful, it’s like stepping back in time. Everywhere we went, they never locked the car. On our third and last day, we went to visit some wineries and vineyards and it was interesting to see the different viticulture from ours, much more relaxed. No netting was required because there is no bird problem. There are no strong poles required for trellising like ours. The canopy is not trimmed like ours, but much more relaxed and allowed to grow longer, as you can see by this photo. One of the wineries, Round Barn (with this delightful old barn where they hold wine tastings) also makes beer and vodka. And here we are outside the Krsul’s cool car.

Then it was packing bags again and driving to Chicago for the ABA meeting – a fantastic time with great speakers in that architecturally spectacular city. You can read about one of the highlights for me, a speech by retired Justice David Souter in the Herald on Sunday, next Sunday in my column, and later I hope to write about another high, when we listened to the American Attorney General talk about solutions to crime (not three strikes policy which isn’t working here) and we sat just in front of Bill Gates’ family when Bill Gates senior received the ABA medal. Last night was the black tie dinner and we sadly  farewelled the Krsuls who were driving home to Bridgman.

One more day, then tomorrow we leave for London.

 

Wine Tasting in Carneros Region

What a fun day that was. I love America, and it irritates me the bad rap Americans seem to have in New Zealand. Kiwis tend to think all Americans are like George Bush, but over here, they’re so friendly and they sure know how to have fun. I haven’t laughed so much in years. On Friday afternoon we climbed on buses and visited two splended wineries in the Carneros region.The first, Artesa, was breathtakingly beautiful, as you can see from these shots:

They have their own resident artist, Gordon Heuther, who created six  sculptures around the pond and stairs leading up to the winery. We had a great time tasting six wines, matched with six cheeses. Americans seem to like ‘hot’ Pinot Noirs, high on tannins, a little different to ours I think. I loved, adored the first wine we tasted, a Spanish varietal I’d never had before called Albarino. This was 2007 Limited Release Carneros Estate, described as “layers of seductive aroma such as lily, honeysuckle, apricot, and lime as well as a hint of orange zest and tarrogon in the nose”. If I lived in the States I would have bought a case. It was perfectly matched with Prima Donna Young cow’s milk Dutch cheese.

Then we moved on to Domaine Carneros, a winery which specialises in methode, founded by Champagne Taittinger. Spectacularly sited on a rise and modelled on the French Chateau, this was one impressive operation. The seemingly endless rows of stainless steel vats – 5150 USgallon capacity each – put our little 2000 litre vat to shame. The guide (I think his name was Jean-Claude, I can’t find it on the website and after so many wines tasted I apologise for forgetting) was really informative and in no way condescending. I think even someone who thinks they know all there is about winemaking would have found this interesting. The photos didn’t come out so well because of the light – the first is Jean-Claude in the room with the champagne riddler where the bottles, still with their ‘coke-caps’ are turned just a quarter so the yeast doesn’t settle against the side of the bottle. Scratching his head, because the process is so complicated, is the QC.

The second photo is the cellar with long rows of huge stainless steel vats.

Then a bus full of snoring people headed back to the Four Seasons Hotel in San Francisco. That night we caught a streetcar down to the Ferry Building where, surprisingly, most restaurants’ kitchens were closed by 9pm but we went into One Market and had lovely dinner – Alaskan Halibut – and, according to the waiter, “the best Chardonnay in California”, 2006 Kistler Chardonnay.

 

San Francisco

No wonder Tony Bennett left his heart here, it truly is one of the world’s loveliest cities. We’ve only been here 24 hours and had such a fabulous time already. Great flight on Air New Zealand – watched the real Frost/Nixon interviews and felt like weeping we don’t have interviewers of that calibre any more. Frost was actually considered a bit of a lightweight, not a great intellectual, but he knew when to shut up, when not to interrupt, and to let Nixon just talk, and boy did Nixon talk. As soon as I get back I’m going to order these from Amazon and just sit down and watch them again for the sheer pleasure.

We’re at the Four Seasons Hotel on Market Street and it’s great. Here’s the view from outside our window and as you can see, I’ve mastered wireless – just hooked up to the Four Seasons’ system and charged it to my Visa card.

Yesterday when we arrived we had a brief rest, then went next door to the Press Club for a beaut wine tasting – Hanna Winery Sauvignon Blanc which was nicer than most NZ Savvys (I don’t like NZ Savvy hush my mouth – too grassy these days), Chateau Montelena Riesling (the winery from that bad movie “Bottle Shock”), Hanna Russian River Pinot Noir (too hot, alcohol too high but good nose), Miner Family Oracle (perfect Bordeaux nose but I thought the palate was too hot but Colin was more positive about it), but best of all was a lovely Miner family Viognier – absolutely lovely wine, picked at brix 25.5, same as ours this year, and if our Viognier turns out like that we shall be very happy.

Then we went on to dinner at a private house at Pacific Heights with a stunning view out to Alcatraz and Golden Gate Bridge. Well, it would have been a stunning view if it wasn’t for the famous SF fog. We could just see Alcatraz. But the house was incredible – breathtaking objets d’art everywhere one turned, three levels high, one of those darling wooden colonial style houses which New Zealand copied at the turn of the last century. We met some wonderful people, including a great couple from Santa Barbara. He represented the late Art Buchwald and many other journalists who have been pushed around by spineless publishers, so he and I got along famously. Wished my former editor from North & South magazine, Robyn Langwell, was there. She would have loved him.

Today we set out on a legal walk around SF – the tour itinerary was given to Colin by a NZ judge who’d done it some years ago and it was really great because not only were the destinations really interesting, we went up and down streets I’d never otherwise thought of heading through. We started out at Union Square and the St Francis Hotel, where in Suite 1219-21 in 1921 the female friend of one Fatty Arbuckle died from the effects of a ruptured bladder. Many years ago I read the book about his famous trials – three – for rape and murder, “The Day the Laughter Stopped”. Sad. Here’s a photo of the beautiful clock lobby:

This is a scupture atop the San Francisco Moma:

We stopped to rest (and CCQC to send emails on his Blackberry) outside the SF’s tallest building,  the Transamerica Pyramid with its grove of 80 redwood trees, so I lay down to take this photo looking up:

and beside us was this bronze in the little lunch-eaters’ park, titled “puddle jumpers”:

 

Going Abroad

The pig trauma is over and I coped, despite Ron, from Superior Meats in Carterton, telling me I am “a butcher’s nightmare”. Bratwurst and Crackling went off looking like this:

And came back looking like …..actually I’m not going to show you what they look like now because some of you are just too sensitive. I’m just proud to say I coped. I did give Ron a long letter setting out the cuts I wanted, and he just laughed and threw it in the bin, before threatening to shut me in the chiller. I got my cuts out of the New Zealand Cook’s Bible, which he told me to burn, and I now have in the freezer two beautiful hams for Christmas, numerous roasts, cutlets, masses of loin bacon, seven spicy salamis, steaks and slices, trotters, and two heads out of which I shall make brawn. Piggies, you did us proud.

But now it is time to depart for warmer climes. Our bags are packed. We have house-sitters, retired farmers, moving in for four weeks. Taja, Kete, Winston and the chooks, and Pip & Squeak (not their real names) will be well cared for. My littlest daughter (23) came to stay for two days last week and took some snaps of pip & squeak, taja, chooks in the blimmin’ garden, and kete in her basket.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Colin’s littlest son (25) came to stay and brought a wild duck shot for him by his boss, which I cooked for dinner, and it was delicious.

So, temporary family farewells over, our first stop is San Francisco. Colin, two years ago, was inducted into the International Academy of Trial Lawyers, and they have fabulous conferences around the world where social discussion of cases is forbidden. There will be wine tastings, cocktail parties, and a private dinner near the Golden Gate bridge.

Next stop, Chicago, where Colin, as President of the New Zealand Bar Association is a distinguished guest of the President of the American Bar Association. More cocktail dresses. A black tie dinner. You can see I shall have to mind my P’s and Q’s. But first we catch up with our dear friends the Krsuls, whom we met in New York last year. They will pick us up from O’Hare and take us to their place at Bridgman where we will see some sun! (oh joy) and do some swimming (oh more joy!). In Chicago we will also see much of Colin’s daughter Tracey.

Then to London and my other two girls, my biggest girl whom I haven’t put my arms around for 19 months – too long. We stay with them for a long weekend in the Cotswolds (much laughter), have dinner back in London with my journalist mate Stryker McGuire from Newsweek, then over to Paris for three nights and a barge trip through Burgundy to check out if they can make Pinot Noir as well as we can.

Yeah, sounds like hell doesn’t it, but someone has to do it. If I can master wi-fi along the way (I’m a techno-retard) I’ll keep blogging as I go.

I bet the time goes all too quickly, and right now I’m pretty anxious about getting everything done before we go. But when I sink down into my seat on that plane on Wednesday night, heading towards San Fran, with a glass of Champagne in my hand, I will allow myself to start getting excited.

 

Tarlant Express

Several weeks ago Peter Rumble who owns Rumbles Wines in Wellington organised a trip from Wellington to Wanganui on the steam train. But that was the least of it. This was a special trip, a Tarlant Vintage Champagne tasting, no less, with around a dozen different vintages to sample on the way out and on the way home. How could we refuse?

I love travelling by train. You get to look into people’s back yards – washing on the line, kids hitting balls or just mooching around while Mum cleans the house. Then you hurtle past Saturday morning playing fields, kids playing footie, further into the outskirts of towns and the semi-rural industries like fake lawns, alpaca farms, and then you’re into the real agricultural landscapes with farmers feeding out. And at every level crossing, every town, the people drop what they’re doing to wave to the steam train. Whoooh-oooh, goes the whistle, a strangely haunting sound, and families come running. Even grown men step out of their utes to wave to the train. Young mums with babes on their hips part the curtains of their front rooms and wave to the steam train. Horses take fright and flee across the paddocks, tails in the air, snorting wildly, and gallop from the steam train. It was a splendid day. Half way to Wanganui the driver stopped, we all got out and clambered on to an overbridge while he backed up the track then whooshed under us while we took photos, and I took this video.

When we got to Wanganui, we got on a riverboat and steamed up the Whanganui river a bit, then turned around and came back to catch our train home. And all throughout the journey Rumble and his staff trudged up and down our carriage, dispensing champagne and good humour.

The Tarlant Express – travelling in style.

 

Au Revoir, Piggies

The time has come to load the piggies on the trailer and drive them to Parkvale. Last weekend we made a ramp for them to walk up into the trailer, then we parked the trailer in their yard so they could get used to it. They’re so accustomed to me now that they don’t spook at anything I do around them so they just thought it was a new toy. This week I decided I’ve give them a lovely week of big feeds of pig nuts, but I nearly overdid it, because when I went down this morning, they weren’t interested in eating at all.

They knew. They knew it was their last day. Brattie wouldn’t get out of bed, and Crackling was standing in the corner. I got in with them and we had a little chat. ‘Look here, boys,’ I said. ‘Everyone has to die. I have to die one day too, and I don’t know how I’m going to die. I might not die as quickly, and as humanely as you. I might go ga-ga and linger in a home somewhere, dribbling, losing my marbles, wearing nappies, unable to run around in my final days or hours like you guys have been able to. What’s more, after you die, you are still useful, because you are food. When I die, I’m useless, I just take up space in the ground and am no use to anyone. In fact, I’m a burden, because someone still has to look after the space in the ground I take up. They’re not allowed to eat me, which is stupid because it would make a lot more sense if they were allowed to eat me, or feed me to some pigs.’

Then I gave them a good patting, and a bit of a cuddle, and I had a little sniffle (but not too much because someone might think I was going down with swine flu), and they perked up again. Their tails curled up, and they tucked into their breakfast, and they joshed each other, and shoved each other, and I could almost hear them saying, ‘yeah, she’s right, we gotta go so let’s tuck into these pig nuts and enjoy.’

They let me take these photos:

I know I’m going to cry when I drop them off tomorrow but that’s nothing to be ashamed of, I reckon. As I said to someone yesterday, ‘How would you like it if you died, and nobody cried?’

 

Young at heart in Martinborough

With apologies to that marvellously heart-warming movie “Young at Heart”, I’m borrowing its title for my blog entry to tell you about our first gig as the Midday Singers. (I know I’ve used a cliche, but it’s nice to have one’s heart warmed every once in a while.)

I love singing. I took singing lessons all through my secondary school days and I’ve used singing throughout my life to get me through sticky situations. To calm animals for instance. If you’re riding a frisky horse and feeling nervous, singing is a good way to calm him (or her). You can’t sing, and be nervous at the same time. Horses sense when you’re nervous and they misbehave even more, so when you sing, they think you’re in control even when you don’t think you are in control, so they start to settle down and then you can begin to take control. I sing to my chooks and it calms them down – they look out the sides of their little eyes at me and think, ‘what’s she up to then, eh?’.

I used to sing to my babies, and sing nonsense songs to my children when they were little, and we were going on long journeys in the car. When Briar was little she used to love me singing songs about crocodiles: “She sailed away/on a lovely sunny day/on the back of a crocodile/you know said she/it’s as safe as safe can be/floating down the nile/the croc winked his eye/as she waved the world goodbye/wearing a sunny smile/at the end of the ride/the lady was inside/and the smile was on the crocodile.

Then there was another one which started “Never smile at a crocodile/no you can’t get friendly with a crocodile (that’s enough about crocodiles and children. Ed).

I sang when I was scared of the dark. I sang when I was deeply unhappy. I probably should have burst into song when I was being attacked in Parliament – that would have shut them up. Now I sing because I’m blissfully happy. And I have joined a singing group in Martinborough, which started with just six of us and has grown to, at last count, I think 18.

Last week, we had our first house concert. Under the expert musical directorship of Jancis Potter, former head of music at Kuranui College, we practised and practised these songs: Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah, Go Down Moses/Joshua Fought the Battle, A Maori Hymn “Tama Ngakau Marie”, An African Hymn “Siya Hamba”, When the Saints/Goodnight Ladies, I’ll Be Your Candle on the Water, Schubert’s “To Music”, and The Rhythm of Life.

We’re an eclectic lot – tenors, altos and sopranos – men and women just singing together because we love it. Ineke accompanies us on guitar for the Cohen piece and it sounds great. For the last piece, Rhythm of Life, Cherry joined Dawn on piano because it’s written for two piano parts and that gave it a bit of zing. Here we all are:

And here are the two pianists:

Then yesterday we did a repeat performance at the local retirement home, Wharekaka, and the residents enjoyed that. One gentleman in particular was especially appreciative, calling out after each item, “lovely, lovely! The sopranos are lovely!” So that went down a treat.

Now we have a break for a month, and Ineke and I are keen – or slightly mad – to plan a show to raise funds for the renovation of the town hall!

 

Growing grapes in a cool climate?

Well, yes, but this?

These hills are known locally as the three canoes, or the waka of Kupe, because they look like three upturned canoes. This morning we awoke to snow on the waka.

The photos say it all.