High in the hills sat a lonely goatherd

Sunday 6 September

Its Sunday morning and we (Helen and I) had toyed with the idea of Mass in French. But the morning got the better of us and one last meal (breakfast) in the square won out. We leave the hotel early - like 9 am - and walk around to the Place des Ducs. The sun is bright and the marble and sandstone of the Plaza are positively gleaming. So much so that there is no way we can sit outside! We find only a few of the cafes open this early on a Sunday morning and head for the Brasserie des Ducs on the far side of the plaza.

Sitting inside, but still within the reach of the warming sun, we order brekky - I'm not really hungry and just have a coffee and croissant but the Helen and Michael opt for omlettes that look and smell wonderful. The tables here are stunning - all different representations of the medieval period during which this town obviously flourished. One last walk past the Palais before we head back to the Hôtel des Ducs to finish packing and hit the road.

We realise that there was only such a small part of the town that we saw. But that is the lot of the short-stay tourist - you see a little but miss so much. Can't dwell on that or we could be caught in some sort of a tourist time-warp in many of the places we see. I know so many people thought that a year in Europe was the ultimate, but believe me, a lifetime in Europe would never be enough to really see this continent well!

We say a final goodbye to the reception staff in the hotel - Latifa and her counterparts have been wonderful ambassadors not only for the hotel, but for the City. They are vibrant, confident, beautiful young women who were a joy to know - even if for such a short time! Thank you ladies.

As we are leaving Dijon, we pass beautiful gardens, the remains of the City Gates and part of the City Wall, realising that although we have spent one and a half days wandering through the old town, that there was so much more to see. As I said, one of the downfalls of staying in really interesting old towns that are jam packed with history and interesting communities! And we can never stay long enough to see all of it - what bummer in a way!

Soon we are again out in the French countryside and there are times when we compare it to the back of Gympie, the Lockyer Valley and sometimes even the Atherton Tablelands. And yet it is different too. The sky is big - lots of open space. Many of the fields lie fallow at the moment, having recently been harvested. The last of the sunflowers are hanging their tired heads on drooping necks, too old now to be bothered with following the sun god they so worship.

One big difference though are the avenues of trees that are planted along the edge of the highways - particularly coming in to and out of the towns. They create the coolest, shadiest tunnels of dappled light that immediately drop the temperature by a couple of degrees. Now, you all know how much Helen is in to light and shadows, so you can just imagine the oohing and aahing and trying to capture every one on camera. She used to laugh when I told her the number of photos that we were taking in a day - well, today she wins with 731!

And then there are the little towns like Ville d'Auxonne here, with their ties back to history like this portal gate that, once part of walls helped to fortify the town and keep it safe from the maraurders that crossed the continent in search of conquests. We see aquaducts, and lots of public art in the form of sculptured gardens on roundabouts.

When we were planning the route I asked Helen if she preferred to go via the French Riviera which she had previously mentioned) or the Alps. She ummed and aghed a bit, but finally decided that as she had never seen really high mountains or snow, and so the vote went to the Alps. We had previously stayed in the French Alps and know now that it is more affordable than Switzerland, so we searched for somewhere in the French Alps. To get there, we will go through Switzerland, down along Lake Geneva before turning back in to France.

We are headed for a small town called Cordon. We had previously spent a wonderful week a little further to the west from there, but as we are ultimately headed south east to Italy, we have booked a room in a winter ski chalet for a night that attracts lots of summer walkers.

Travelling along the winding highway we chance our first glimpse of Lake Geneva. However, as we negotiate the steep inline we pass, on either side of us, Herculian cyclists straining at their cranks to provide the necessary energy to reach their lofty destinations!
Hang about...?

We're being passed by bikers, (..again on either side,) hunched over their screaming steeds hurtling towards their destinations. Are we seeing things - Dolpengangers, maybe? We sharing the road with the same bikers...oh, shades of Mt Glorious! 'Here he comes again', or 'There he goes again'. These blokes mustn't have anything better to do than shatter the peace and quiet we have attained after stopping at our viewpoint - and what a view!

Lake Geneva is glistening like a lapis lazuli jewel, it is indeed a breath taking sight. We're in awe, although, there is a faint haze it only adds to the lakes beauty....and here goes another biker. As they round the bends, we hold our breaths wondering whether we'll be witnesses to a tragedy. Anyhow, back to our reverie - from our vantage point, the surrounding mountain ranges appear like mantles, surrounding the lake and its environment like a watchful sentinel and today's glorious warmth is certainly reflected in the vision before us.

Though transfixed, we still have our own destination to reach. Returning to our car we make our way along the highway, and as we reach its lower slopes we notice on our right a group of bikers. These lads are obviously the same riders we had seen screaming up and down the highways incline. They stand in a group around their steeds appearing to be in deep discussions over their conquest of the mountain. If their is one saving grace with these riders, is at least their leathers are dense unlike the sheerness of their cycling bretheren?

We reach Switzerland, passing through the former border control with the bored look of experienced travellers - oh, that is all but Helen! This is the first land 'border' she has crossed since joining us in France. We travel through Geneva, along the shores of the lake, negotiating the Sunday afternoon traffic - it seems that almost everyone is out on the roads, ready to see and be seen.

The quite quickly, we are again crossing back in to France and climbing back into the maountains. We finally arrive at Cordon (the Balcony of Mont Blanc) and a quaint village indeed it is - but where in the hell is the hotel. All the residential dwellings and hotels appear in to built in the same 'Alpine' design. Kate leads us the way which is barred by the ubiquitous barricades...groan....another detour. The detour is a result of a 'Bread Festival'...yes, you read correctly...a bread festival. What a sight as there are folk dressed in traditional Lederhosen combined with 'Oompa-pah' music. We see a horse-drawn wagon gaily decorated with revellers calling out jibes of good cheer.

Kate has tizzy fit in an attempt to redirect our route, however, we are almost going in circles - not quite, but almost. We decide to draw upon local knowledge, so Michael ventures forth with the trusty phrase book to seek help. He returns frustrated, he will need to search further to find someone who can speak some English. Success, Michael finds a tavern whereby after some gesticulating, smiles and phrases he obtains the necessary directions to 'Les Rhodos', our accommodation for tonight.

The hotel is perched high up a slope which provides a gob-smacking view. If anything, today has been a day of vistas! Our room is located on the first floor with a panoramic window, allowing us to absorb the view before us! Words at this point are just superfluous....

Settled into our room - which combines a rather unusual arrangement for ablutions? The bathroom at one side of the room and the WC on the other - next to one of the beds. (A description of sound effects is not provided....)

Before we make a move towards having dinner, we just watch the light change across the alps as the afternoon slowly descends into twilight. The only accompanying sound is the dangs and dongs of the distant cow bells. And we wonder about that lonely goatherd, or cow shepherd!

Dinner...hmm...just what Herr Doktor ordered:
Starters:
Club Sandwich au saumon fumé et sorbet tomate basilic (Club Sandwich with smoked salmon and tomato basil sorbet) Helen
Ravioles du Dauphiné au Beaufort (Ravioli Dauphine in Beaufort cheese) Michael and Maria
Mains:
Fondue Savoyarde - servie avec assiette de charcuteries et salade verte (Cheese fondue - served with sausage and salad) Maria and Helen
Souris de a'gneau confite au miel de citron et épices (Lamb shank with honey, lemon and spices) Michael
Dessert:
Creme Catalan (Rich creme brulee) Helen and Maria
Profiteroles au chocolat au beurre (Profiterole with chocolate butter) Michael

Once dinner was done, we got talking with Chef owner Pascal who runs this busy little hotel with his wife Valerie and their adorable little boy Titoeun (sorry guys if I have the spelling wrong - let me know and I will correct it!). He explains that he studied for 6 years to get qualified as a cook and then worked in various restaurants for another 5 years before coming to Cordon. It has paid off - his food is fabulous!

Eventually we head back up to our room and admire the moon rising behind Mont Blanc - my god what a majestic sight. It is at times like this that you sit, in awe of the beauty of the nature around us.

Dijon - without the Mustard

Dijon –home of mustard – but there is no mustard factory here any longer – like in many parts of the world, including Australia, the artisan has been squeezed out in our world of instant gratification. We don’t know where the factories are now – no-one could tell us.

Despite the noisy and (locally) exciting DJ concert, the room was reasonably quiet and we all slept. It’s funny to be between two snorers – cos I sure don’t snore! Skype is a wonderful thing and Helen is able to talk with the girls and with Greg. His sister Cathie has flown home from Victoria for Father’s Day, so she even gets to talk with her. How lucky are we – we are able to travel the world and yet still see and talk with family ‘face to face’. I’m lucky to be in the room when Antony calls in – can’t talk with Bella because she is long asleep. But it’s nice to talk with Antony and James (and Amanda out of view!).

Knowing that we tend to stay out late, we don’t rush this morning. About 9:30 am we head down to breakfast – Hel’s first truly continental brekky. There is actually a really good selection: cereals, yoghurt, canned fruit salad, croissants, bagette, brioche, toasting bread, eggs to boil, cold meats and cheeses, spreads, jams and Nutella! Orange or apple juice, tea, coffee and hot chocolate. We toast brioche, Michael cooks eggs. So does Helen, but as it doesn’t come to a rolling boil, her egg is still very ‘liquid’ so Michael gets a third! After breakfast Michael and Helen venture out to visit the Tourist Information Centre to find out information on a tour bus and Laundromat.

(Michael) It is indeed a glorious morning for walking through the streets of the old town. There is such a hustle and bustle as the streets swell with people going about their business. And in the market place, the shouts and cacophony of the market sellers filled the air with a boisterous clamour.

Helen was in awe of her surroundings: the people, the ambience and the architecture – a symphony of sight and sound. The old town of Dijon is a mixture of cobblestoned narrow streets and Medieval/Renaissance architecture. The upper floors of the buildings, built around the 14-15th centuries, literally overhang the streets at varying degrees.

Making our way along the Rue de Chouette we are dwarfed by the height of the Church of Notre-Dame – what an amazing sight. The cathedral’s design is a jigsaw of flush and flying buttresses, spires and steeples, Gargoyles and Grotesques! However, the part which stopped us in our tracks was the sight of a group of people clustering around a small sculpture against the corner of the cathedral. It was a six inch sculpture of an owl, the detail of which has been worn away by pilgrims stroking the ‘bird’ whilst making a wish. A ‘Kodak’ moment – yes, sir! We were later to discover, the origins of the owl are unknown as is the identity of the artist. Albeit, it is referred to as “The Owl” and the exact location is on the buttress of the Chapel of Reconciliation.

We eventually find the information bureau and obtain the necessary information concerning the bus and, (….more importantly,) a Laundromat. Oh, we are pleased to be informed the bus is not exactly a ‘tourist’ service, however, it is a free shuttle service which does the circuit of the old town and passengers have the option of hopping on and hopping off!

(I'm back) After a while we head out for the day. Off around to the Notre Dame Cathedral, passed lots of unique little shops. We pass ‘La Chouette’ the Town Owl and rub its belly for good luck, all making wishes that I suspect have something to do with winning Lotto. The owl is the town symbol and so it features very prominently in the tourist scheme – small owl plaques to steer you in the right direction for the town walks and large numbered brass plaques set in the pavement where there are points of interest.

The Cathedral is something else. It has the most amazingly interesting roof line complete with flying buttresses. This corner of Dijon is quaint and the kind of place you might expect to see in France - there is a tin cat silhouette on the roof of a building opposite the Cathedral, and in the side street alongside the Cathedral, a busker – complete with the faithful dog belts out some mournful French tune - very Edith Piaff'y. In his poor English and our poor French we learned that he found the mutt on a visit to Switzerland. He was kind of like a lost soul - we tend to collect a few!

There is a petite town bus that operates a route into and around the Old Town centre – its free and runs to a schedule every 15 minutes or so. It is well patronised by locals and tourists alike. And Helen is right, this is a sign of a generous community. Sure, it is a tool to minimise traffic in the narrow streets of the Old Town centre, but they could easily charge for the service.

We have coffee at a cafe in the Place de Ducs – sitting on a plaza that is a beautiful rich cream coloured stone – including the bricks that form the roadways. And the plaza. And the gateway portal. And the buildings. It’s a monochromatic heaven (ask any of the scrap-bookers!)

After coffee and a sit in the sunshine, we ventured across the place (plaza) to the Palais des Ducs and in to the Musée des Beaux-Arts de Dijon. This building is probably close to the size of Fontainbleau but is far more dignified. I think that that monochromatic look is less pompous and offers a look that is not above the rest of the community. It has a sense of uniformity and togetherness with its surroundings that is really nice. The architecture is interesting as everything is built in to a semi-circular wall across the place including arched accesses to the streets - very very classy.

The museum is free - so yes, Hels is right - a generous community. This place has soul and body and spirit. And it is really interesting the collections that these regional museums have. There are works of art, some stuning sculptures, two rooms that are done in the decoration of the period, and egyptian collection and more. But we are out of time now - its 6 pm and they are closing.

The traders aren't dumb though - they are still open and we manage to divest ourselves of a few of our hard-earned sheckels! I bought Bella some fantastic stuff at a Kids educational toy shop and even Helen bought some secret present stuff!! And then we found the gingerbread shop - oo la la Glen McGrath - and now we have some goodies for the car (not that these three chaps need fattening!).

Tonight we decided to head in the opposite direction to find somewhere for dinner. Just down the corner we turn to the right and find a tiny restaurant that looks appealing (a restaurant as opposed to a glorified bar). Le Théâtre des Sens - cuisine traditionnelle remise au goût du jour (The Theater of the Senses - traditional cuisine delivered to the taste of the day)
It is really busy and we only see one table free - "Bonsoir, une table pour trois s'il vous plaît?" is met with "downstairs". Ah, more tables downstairs! Hah, only four more in a tight little space down (dreaded) part spiral stairs. C'est la vie! Vincent, our waiter speaks some English - always a help and gives us a hand to decipher the menu.

Entrees:
Huit escargots de Bourgogne au beurre persille (Eight snails of Burgundy in parsley butter) Helen
Œufs en meurettes à l’huie de truffes (Poached eggs with Truffle sauce) Maria
Fois gras de maison (Fois gras of the house) Michael
Mains:
Coq au Vin, tradition bourguignonne (Coq au Vin in the Burgundian tradition) Helen
Quenelle de brochet (Pike dumpling) Maria
Lamb shank with a selection of vegetables
(Jarret d'agneau avec une sélection de légumes) Michael
Desserts:
Coupe Bourguignonne (Burgundy ice cream with liquer) Maria and Helen
Nougat de crème glacée (Nougat ice cream) Michael

Mmm - another example of great French cooking.

I go back to the hotel to try to wrestle enough time with a terrible internet connection (you have to keep signing in) and do some work on the blog while Michael and Helen go back to the Plaza for a coffee. The night photos are amazing - and in a place like Dijon, I would expect nothing less!

(Helen's turn) Dijon is tres bon! Ces't magnifique and to date my favourite place on planet earth. It has the right blend of quirky energetic happy people and a sense of respect for all eras past and present that I could easily fall in love with and stay for while. Perhaps I will be lucky enough to bring my favourite people on planet earth with me to share in it's honest generosity and welcoming style of living.

Versailles in the Sky

Oh crap. Its pouring. We don't have far to walk, but it is uphill, with luggage. And it is a really really shitty day here in Paris. I wish I hadn't given Michael all the horror stories about driving in Paris because then I might feel like I can phone him and ask him to come via here. But I can't. So here I sit trying to work out which railway station en-route we can get a cab to, that is not too far to travel, and yet allows us to get in and out under cover more or less. Looks like Issy might do it.

Oh joy of joys - the rain stopped! And in time for me to stop panicing! We loaded all our luggfage - mind you Helen had to sit on her suitcase so that she could shut it with her pillow in! Hels takes some photos of the apartment - I think that it has given her some ideas for home! Then we are off out the door. As we push the button for the lift, it arrives on the 7th floor with the next tenant for Isabelle's Marie Antoinette Apartment. Carla from the US is here for just over a week. We have a quick chat and give her a few snippets of information before heading downstairs.

And finally we are away. It has been an amazing four days and I am so blessed to have been able to share them with Helen - this is something we will always be able to chuckle over.

We walk (OK Hels, we crawl) up Quai de Grenelle to the RER station, clunk our suitcases down a flight of stairs, easily buy tickets to Versailles Rive Gauche Station and then wrestle our luggage through the two tiered turnstile system they have in place here. The train we want is the second one due, so we have enough time to catch our breaths and prepare to get ourselves and the luggage up the two steepish steps on to the train. Funnily, the Australian Embassy is across the road and I find it kinda cool that in the same view, I can get a photo of the Eiffel Tower and the Embassy with a huge banner advertising Australia!

Versailles is not very far from where we are. It only takes about 25 minutes on the train to get there. Michael is meeting us here after driving down from Albert where he has spent the last four days. I'm a little worried for him as he hates driving in cities at the best of time and Paris is probably the worst city in the world for drivers. Mind you, he won't be driving in to the centre of Paris, heaven forbid - even I wouldn't do that! He will follow the Peripherique (the Ring Road) around the outside of Paris to get to Dijon in the south west edge of the city.
Luckily, Michael was able to get a mobile the other day and so once we have reached Versailles and can identify that Starbucks is a really visible place and so might be somewhere that Micael can find, I phone him. Poor thing, he is in heavy traffic and won't be here for some time yet. We order breakfast but poor Hels has yet to find the right coffee and doesn't enjoy the one she has. Me, I'm just happy to be sitting and eating. I am kinda anxious and keep looking out for Michael. Of course, Helen hasn't even seen the car yet so she doesn't even know what we are looking for! Finally, I see him driving by!! O thank god!

Thankfully Frances has trasferred her cover to Michael today and he finds a spot very close to us in the nearby car park. He comes over - gosh its good to see him. Four days ain't long, but ... Of course more than ayone, he needs a coffee! So we sit a little longer while he has coffee and donut. Then its up on the sticks and off we go. Of course Michael takes 90% of the luggage which makes the walking oh so much easier! And hello car - oooh you are nice! I have missed you more than I thought.

VERSAILLES
Very
Enormous
Rive Gaudy (Gauche)
Superfluous
A lot of Gold
International tourist central
Ludicrously loud
Long
Extravagant and Excess
Stormy.

Versailles, Versailles you are so high
You make me scream inside
I hate the way you look so smug
Your gilded face caught us by surprise
When the heavens opened up
And down poured the skies! (contributed by Helen!)

Ah, Versailles! After a couple of big days walking in Paris, I knew that there was going to be no way that I could walk around the behemoth that is the Palace of Versailles. So I opted to stay in the car and have a yiayia (nana) nap! Michael and Helen therefore set off to explore the Palace. Even though I have not see it myself, I know what to expect and I wanted Helen to see one end of the spectrum so she can better appreciate the less grand palaces and castles we will see.

Maria has been bugging me to do a paragraph on Versailles so here it is.

I had heard a lot about the vastness of this palace from Maria and she was determined that I view it for myself. Having lived in Queensland all my life, there was not much that I had in my little head of experiences that I could compare it to as yet. Well??? It was big, real big, really, really, big! It was a series of buildings bound together with a never-ending rope of guilded wrought iron fencing, interspersed with monumental gates. It stood above your eyeline, so when you approached it, I assume you would have gasped at it's greatness. Not me. It seemed filled with people. Touristy people armed to the hilt with cameras and maps.

To be honest, I didn't really concentrate too much on it as I negotiated the dreaded cobblestones at my feet. We faithfully lined up for tickets like the rest of the throngs of voyeurs from all over the world. We waited and waited for tickets to view the likes of the chambers of Louis 16th and Marie Antionette, but we were informed that the next tour was hours away."Stuff that !" Michael and I both said in unison. We turned out of the ticket office and had a wander around.

Why was I not impressed? Why did these buildings of such historical importance, not bring me to my emotional knees? I mean, this was were the Treaty of Versaille was signed at the end of the second world war. Having said that, it wasn't until Michael sugggested that there was more to see in the backyard that I perked up a bit. Yep, what a big backyard this place has. It was filled with delightful ordered gardens and so many statues both modern and ancient, that one really didn't know where to look. There were indeed lots of the pretty manicured topiary and symmetrical gardens that Maria would have yelped with delight at.

I just saw the bloody big storm building, down the end of the huge runway like lakes at the furtherest edge of this property. My goodness! What a storm... You could see it advancing like a row of cranky prawns on a massive chess board. I anxiously reminded Michael that there was indeed some wet weather on the way. But he was a man on a mission. He had Maria's camera and he wasn't afraid to use it. My battery had run out so I was bored and over it.

The gardens were divine, the flowers showing their last sets of summer floral dresses. I tried to be inhe moment and remind myself of where I was. In VERSAILLES! but storms beat palaces any day!

Eventually, as the heavens opened up and I realised that there was at least 500 meters between us and the buildings, I tried very unsucessfully to share the south end of a topiary with another bedraggled and sopping tourist. Michael joined us, but there was no room in the inn!

We gave into Mother Nature and abandoned the saturated tree and ran quickly towards the palace as it thundered all around us and I think, some lightning was very close by. We raced up the steps, past the non working fountains and into the tunnel that separated the front from the backyard, then over those dreaded cobblestones and across the eddies of running riverlets that said storm had created. It was windy now and my jeans were glued to my backside from the rain. Now those Africans were selling umbrellas not Tour Eiffel statues at the front gates. Never let an opportunity we wasted in the name of a sale. My umbrella was in my bag in the car! Ugghh We eventually made it back to the car. I got changed between the shelter of two open doors and sat down. It was a grand spectacle in Versaille afterall! "Good", I said. One palace down, another 90 to go! NOT!

OMG it was actually quite funny watching Michael and Helen arrive back at the car. I looked up and there they were, sopping wet, bedraggled and looking positively defeated. And it was OK that Hel's jeans clung to her ass, because no matter what she says, it is quite shapely! Out came the towels, and while Michael went to pay the parking fee, Helen managed to get into some dry clothes - amazing how we lose our self consciousness when we really need to - I mean she was between the two opened car doors, shielded by the car parked next to us!

And so we head off. The rain is quite persistent, but the worst of the storm has been vented. As usual, I have programmed Kate to lead us away from the motorways. Its not too long before we're back in rural France - after about an hours travel we see a tourist sign for one of those amazing covered bridges and so there I go again, ignoring Kate and setting off down a road of exploration while she patiently and persistently tells me "in 100 m turn right" or "turn around when it is possible" - I have learned to just tune her out when I want to!!!

Eventually we end up in the town of Milly La Forêt without having seen the bridge, or any more signs to it. As we come in to the town and follow the road into the centre, I realise that it was not a covered bridge, but the Covered Market Place. These are amazing (this is not the first one we haved seen) - they are where once upon a time all the traders came together under shelter to offer their wares for sale. Some, but not many are still in use today for this purpose. I got the feeling that this was not one of them.

Luckily, this road takes us past Fontainbleau - another of the French royal estates. Although grand in its own scale, it is nowhere near as gaudy as Versailles. Happy to see it just from the outside, we linger for some photos from the car before we push on. After all, we still have 2.5 hours of travel to reach Dijon.

Its a joy to be travelling with Helen as there is again a sense of wonder and awe. I guess that with all the travel we have managed to cram into the last eight months, we have become a little blasé and now, we are getting our second wind and again starting to really appreciate the beauty of places new! The country is open with farmed lands being framed by forests and wooded areas. It looks cared for and used well. Intersperced with small villages and towns, aloof, once isolated country estates, often hidden behind high walls continue to amaze us with their size and dominance over the surrounding areas.

Helen was amazed that it was village after village after village, all so alike, and yet each unique with their own sense of style. Village houses are set right on the edge of the streets - ha ha, she comments about the "masterful manipluations of the driver's wheel around tight streets" - if only she knew what close really was! The colourfulness of the flower boxes not only on the houses, but on all the public infrastructure - lightposts, bridge railings etc. The homes appear to turn their shoulders to the streets, indifferent to the traffic that passes by on its way somewhere else. Before we reach our destination we pass through more than 50 and Helen tires of taking photos - you know, lots of those O Wow moments - and yet she continues, time and time again.

Finally we get into Dijon. Now, I made a fatal error - and the for the first time, have written down the address and phone number of the hotel where we are staying. All we can remember is that it was Hotel des Ducs, and I think it is near the railway station (turns out that was wrong - it was another one we were looking at). So I follow the signs for the Railway Station hopeing we will see a sign post to it. We are in new Dijon and are collectively unimpressed with what simply is another modern working city - almost without soul.

After driving around for a quarter of an hour or so, we pull up near one of the police stations and Michael is off - in search of directions. Hah, its the Police Headquarters and they close at 5 pm - its now pushing for 7 pm! Eventually, he finds a phone directory in a bar and we have a street name. And wouldn't you know it - Kate can't find it. Back he goes and gets the phone number. Eventually we phone the hotel - thankfully the receptionist speaks great English (it was such a blessing Latifa). She confidently gives us detailed directions complete with landmarks. At this point Helen comes up with the bright idea of asking Kate to find the street, not according to the fastest route, but rather by the most direct route - and golly gosh, there she has it! Its amazing that such a tiny choice can make such a huge difference - and I am glad that I have a truly lateral thinker in the car! She suggests that the police station might have a communications block in place - guess we will never know!

Ahh - this is more like it - we have reached the old town and Helen is absolutely agog! As we get close, the police have streets cordoned off - turns out there is a huge party in town tonight. Some famous European DJ is in and the whole town is out for a good time - pity the poor tourist trying to get to their hotel! A quick word with the Gendarme guarding the railing put up across the street though and we are through (the car park is literally just on the other side of the fence!) And getting in to the car park under the hotel was a whole other story - we just won't go there!!!)

We are tired and a little cranky. Latifa is wonderful, welcoming and calm and soothing. And pleasant and genuinely pleased when we ask for her recommendation for dinner. She suggests a local restaurant 'Les Clos des Capucines' that serves regional food, so unpacked, loo'ed we head off. Turns out it is just a block away and around the corner.

I was so glad in a way that we had cafe'd it in Paris. Now Helen is getting some of that great regional cuisine that we have been going on and on and on about. Interestingly, they are not busy - what with the concert on! Dinner tonight is an amazing affair - there are a couple of set menus and we all decide to choose from them. So here are our choices - it is a pity that blogspot does not have smell-a-vision or taste-a-vision. Words are not enough to describe the deliciousness of the meal - the creaminess, the richness, the cleanness of the tastes and the combinations of those tastes offered to us. Poor you!

We begin with an apperitif - Pastis 51 (which Helen doesn't like and so she then gets a Kir Royale, leaving me to drink two!) and poor Michael with Mineral Water. Out comes an appetiser - a doublet of salmon - one small rectangular cube of meat with a creamy mayonnaise and a tiny aspic covered vegetable and salmon set mousse. Oh god, have we died and landed in French heaven????

Entrees next - Michael has Terrine de foie gras maison et sa brioche (Terrine of foie gras and brioche) and Helen and I each have Paris-brest de St Jacques sauce époisses (Scallops)

Mains were: Helen - Tulipe d'homard et gambas girolle á la fleur d'hibiscus (Lobster and prawns) while Michael chose the Emincé de Lotte au cumin et crevettes sauce truffe (Sliced Monkfish with Cumin Shrimp and Truffle Sauce) and I had Caille et grenoille cuite à la graisse et sa figue (Quail and frog cooked in fat and fig - OMG have just transalted and realised I had frogs legs!!!!)

This was followed by cheese (as you do in France) with Michael and I enjoying Ronde de fromages - a selection of three morsels, a goats cheese, a reblochon and a mature camembert while Helen had Fromage Blanc - a cultured cheese with a soured cream. They bought salt and pepper and sugar for her to add should she want - either savoury or sweet - she opted for neither.

Then it was dessert - another O My God moment. We ordered one each of the three offerings (just as we had done with the mains)! Michael got Gratin de raisin á la crème d'amande, Helen had Gauffre aux fruits exotiques avec sa glace sauce violette and I had Autour de la poiré.

Chef Felipe Vasquez has worked wonders with this menu. His young apprentice has made my pear tastes for dessert and Christelle and her staff have provided superb service to us during the night. VERY highly recommended should you ever find yourself in Dijon.