It was Tuesday, and we were half way through our workshop. We always try to alternate shorter days with longer or special ones, and it was time for one of the latter. I had received a telephone call the previous day from the manager of a large-but-very-select winery with an excellent reputation among connoisseurs both in the region and well beyond. On the property is a very grand house that is not open to the public. As those who have been following this blog will remember, Arnie and I had been given permission to photograph in their gardens when we were scouting the week before.

Phone systems are different in various countries, so when Florence, our hostess, rang the room and said I had a phone call instead of ringing it straight through, I ran downstairs to get the call. I didn’t realize that Florence was going to patch it up to the room, so like something out of the Three Stooges, I ran back upstairs. Fortunately, the manager called back. Not only did we get permission to photograph the outsides of the buildings and the private gardens, but we would also be able to photograph anywhere on the private grounds. We agreed to come by the next day (Tuesday).

After a leisurely breakfast (actually, I can’t think of a breakfast that wasn’t leisurely) we hunkered down to process some of the numerous megabytes of images in our computers. There were funny comments as people discovered this or that or echoed one of the principles we had given them. In order to get to the winery at the appointed hour, we had a picnic at the hotel. Roast chicken, avocado, cheeses, and fruit bought at Sunday’s market made for a wonderful feast. Of course, we added the obligatory bottle or two of wine that we had bought at one of the tasting rooms.

Sated, we headed off to the winery in a nearby town. It turned out that we had been granted permission to photograph in many more areas that we had requested. The barn and both the white and red caves were open to us. Row after row of oak barrels greeted me, along with that wonderful, damp, slightly musty aroma that I associate with wine cellars, as the manager took me down and introduced me to Jean-Francois who was in charge of the whites. He was busy scrubbing the areas around the barrel plugs/stoppers (not corks, as they would be too porous). He also dipped into the barrels to check on the fermentation process. Each time we visit one of these wineries, we learn yet more about the art of making wine.

When we were done in the white caves, we migrated over to the red cellars where they had to put up 5,000 bottles of very fine wine before the end of the week. This meant, alas, there was no tasting to be done, but again, they gave us carte blanche in the caves. While there were barrels of wine here, too, what interested us were the many bins of assorted vintages that they had put aside to see how they aged. Some had been there for quite a few years!

Later, in the same little village, we tried to visit one of the famous chateaux for some tasting. Instead, we met the only ungracious person in our whole visit. The gates were open, the ropes in place, and the signs up welcoming us and directing us to the tasting room. My French is more than passable, and people usually think I am Dutch or English, or occasionally even from another part of France.

I was accosted by a woman on a broomstick who summarily dismissed us, “Nous sommes fermés!” Not even a “Je suis désolée, Madame, mais nous sommes fermés. Pouvez-vous retourner demain ? Nous nous ouvrons à…” Translated: “I am so sorry Madame, but we are closed. Can you come back tomorrow? We open at…” I restrained myself from pointing out that they did not close for another half hour, and we walked across the street where we had a tasting down in the cave of another vintner. We relayed our experience across the street, and he said they were geared for the busloads of tourists and weren’t known for being very nice.

We found some selections we liked and headed off to find a restaurant that would allow us to bring in our own bottles for an understandable uncorking fee. After a very tasty meal, we enjoyed the evening a bit in the town square by the fountain before heading back to our hotel. The evening sky was gentle, and I was struck by the reflections in the fountain.

Wednesday was our next-to-last last full day, so we went into Beaune in the morning for market day. People wanted to do some shopping for presents to take home, and the hustle-bustle of the market is a great place to find some treasures.

It was late morning, so I found a little café on a quiet square where I enjoyed a cool drink and watched people drift in and out of an art exhibit across the way. After relaxing there for a bit, I found a little spot across the square and sat down on a wall in the shade of a plane tree. It was a great place for people watching. To my left was a young, teenage couple, obviously quite smitten with each other, stealing kisses. Across the way, the café filled up. Mothers pushed strollers with their small children, older siblings tagging along. Old ladies shuffled along with their two-wheeled shopping carts. Life in a small town. As I walked back to meet our group after they had finished shopping, I passed by a window that caught my eye. It was an interesting blend of reflections and offerings within.

We went to one of Arnie’s and my favorite picnic spots in a little village not far from our hotel. Set in a park above the vineyards, there is a lovely view down into the valley. Unbeknownst to one another, we had all picked up things for a picnic.

We settled down on the wall and benches and shared our goodies with each other. It was fun watching the little French vineyard tractors buzzing along the roads, until one entered the field below the park to spray the vines. It was fine in the beginning until the wind shifted and we started sneezing. We quickly fled to the safety of cleaner air!

Since we had already had a nice chance to relax and enjoy our lunch, we drove to an area that is famous for its windmill as well as for its wines.

We explored the streets of the town, making photographs and enjoying, as always, the history of this very old part of France. Everyone was drawn to the beautiful flowers everywhere, the wonderful textures of the stone buildings, and the ancient, weathered, wooden doors.

Later, in the hillside above the town, we wandered amongst neat, graphic rows of vines, visited the moli, and took in the patterns in different parts of the valley.

After imaging on Thursday, our last full day, we headed over to our favorite little café about ten minutes away. This was probably our third visit there, and the waitress was quite funny. Since a couple of us collect bouchons (corks) and had asked for them before, she immediately and triumphantly brought over a couple for us before we even had a chance to review the menu. It was a great lunch, and being our final one together, we didn’t rush.

When we had sipped the last of the wine and scraped the dessert plates nearly clean, we walked down the narrow road to a grand chateau. It was a gorgeous day, so we weren’t interested in heading inside for a tour of the building where we probably could not have photographed anyway. Instead, we stayed outside in the beautiful gardens. As Arnie quipped, “Zee wine biznees haz been good to zee wine makers.”

The highlight, of course, was the lily pool. I have never seen so many varieties of water lilies in one spot. They ranged from white to coral and peach to deep, variegated pinks. Some looked as though they had been painted; they were almost surreal. We were entranced by all the different colors and shapes, and we wandered around the pool finding different ways of photographing these stunning flowers.

It was hard to leave, but we wanted to return to the little village where we had enjoyed our picnic, hopefully with the spraying completed. Everyone had final assignments, and Arnie and I had fun working with them and watching them make discoveries on their own.

When we regrouped around 4, no one was interested in leaving yet, in spite of the fact that we had a 6:00 dinner reservation. So, we walked the little lanes together. There was a very old, abandoned stone house that had caught my eye, so we headed up the hill. Some really narrow, steep steps greeted me, but I think they discouraged the others. I clambered up, and explored around a bit. I must admit, it was pretty hairy going back down those steps. It was one thing to climb up, as I could walk on the balls of my feet. Going back down was another matter, as I had to walk down à la Charlie Chaplin, toes aimed straight out to the side!

Down the hill, we all ended up at some old baths or washing station. We didn’t know which, as there was no sign. The late-afternoon light streaming through the columns, however, was magical, and we enjoyed the peace of it all.

I am always amazed and delighted at the connections we make with our “students.” Yes, it is tiring running workshops, but it is also energizing. We gain inspiration from our students just as we hope they do from us.

So it was with regret that we approached our final evening. Everyone had voted without hesitation to return to Arnie’s and my favorite restaurant just down the street for dinner. It was every bit as good as the first dinner there, and we laughed and chatted well into the evening. We bid a sad farewell to our hosts, but told them we’d be back next year.

And so we will! The dates are already listed on our website.

Meanwhile, we were headed for a few days in Paris, the City of Lights, before heading home. We’ll be writing about that for next week’s blog.

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