A Week In Burgundy

Getting There

The coach, less than half full, speeds towards Hull. People chat, eat cream cakes and drink coffee. In the swaying bus, some sip and spill Lanson and some, Palo Cortado. In Hull, the rusty ferry dwarfs everything. A cheery woman from security boards the coach to check passports. The long and wide gangway is steep. At the top, a young women hands out cabin keys. In the Brasserie, the only champagne served is the virtually undrinkable Piper Heidsick. A pleasant, fruity Chardonnay from Argentina accompanies the grilled sardines and the Portuguese waiter suggests a new world style Douro red with the lamb cutlets.Breakfast next morning with the sea simmering in the bright sunlight, is smoked salmon and poached eggs with endless pots of tea and toast layered with good Frank Cooper marmalade. The long drive to Burgundy is punctuated by stops for coffee and lunch at the pleasant Autogrlll just past Reims. In between, there is vintage Cava, Torrontes from Argentina, Sauvignon Blanc from New Zealand and Hunter’s Pinot Noir. Puligny Montrachet, at the edge of great white wine vineyards, is reached in the early evening.

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