vineyardstars.com Wine Travel
Blonde on Blonde
Chablis, France
Ninety minutes after you leave Paris, driving on the A6, you'll take an exit for Auxerre. Some miles down the road you come to a bend. You turn the bend and there they are. White, chalky hillsides, with neat rows of black vines, basking in the hot sun. They surround you and they are impressive. Welcome to Chablis.
Standing between two towering hills, you get your first glimpse of Burgundy's diamond-jewel. There are very few, if any other, wine-growing regions like this one. It seems as though you're in a desert. The sun bounces off the alabaster soil. You feel the heat setting in. Sweat rolls down your back. You start to crave the juice that gets squeezed from those golden chardonnay grapes. A little farther down the road you'll get some.
You drive down the winding highway between the chalky vineyards, eventually coming to the old town that is called Chablis. The streets are lined with old stone houses, signs saying Degustation, Vente and Caveau pepper the outside walls. You cross a bridge over a canal where a three story tower rises into the sky. You turn left and go up into the hills. Here are the grand cru vineyards.
Chablis seems to be a microcosm of all the wine regions in France. It is set off by itself in the northwestern edge of Burgundy, isolated from the others. At its heart is a little village where the sale of wine takes place. This is a model of the French wine industry on the smallest scale, with every detail. And why it seems to be the best place to start one's discovery of the wine country in France.
Finally, you come to rest, back in the center of town. A wine bar sits at the crossroads, complete with wooden deck, overlooking the village and its vineyards beyond. Thirsty bikers have stopped, along with a few tourists, but for the most part, the place is empty. Under the umbrella, the waitress greets you and you order a bottle of Montmains. She brings it out in a silver bucket filled with ice and sets down two delicate little glasses.
The wine sparkles like gold as it goes into the crystal. The nose is mineral, coconut and butter. Your first sip is thirst-quenching, but this is God's nectar. A sip is all you take. And wait.
No California wine here. Flower petals and ghost-like music, dancing on your tongue. Violins and perfume. Fresh breezes, ripe fruit, sweet spice and summer air. Golden honey with a dry, sterling finish.
It takes forever to finish that glass.
And then, you pour another. The bikers leave, more tourists come. The place is still somewhat empty. You look around at the town. Everything seems sun-baked white and warm. Maybe you'll explore, taste in the caveaus, you think. After I finish this glass.
The streets that lead to the center of town are filled with hidden treasures of their own. Tasting rooms and cellars, sleepy cats and cobblestones walks. You'll meet the people who make the wine, who are this place, these hills, this land. All in good time. You're starting to cool down in the shade. Settle in. Relax.
And it takes a day to finish that second glass.
MORE TRAVEL PAGES