Beaujolais

On Wednesday, we traveled by bus into Beaujolais. Our guide worked hard to have us remember all the details of the region, especially the particulars of its wine production industry. I remember the numbers. There were ten something, two something else and 12 other things. She even had us call out the names of the 12. If they had been apostles, I might have remembered. They were alas, French wines, with very French names. Not only did I fail to understand her pronunciation, but neither Am I able to spell them or pronounce them myself. Just remember the numbers 10, 2 and 12 and that they have something to do with Beaujolais. I have always liked the wine they produce, so if you learn what the numbers mean and can spell the words correctly, please let me know what they are.

As per our book club folks, we did learn that Beaujolais Nouveau is sold only after the third Thursday of November. It’s a wine that is produced quickly and sold only after that date. Like milk and other non-alcoholic, non preservative products, it does not have a long shelf life—maybe just a few months. Anyway, Beaujolais Nouveau will be the red wine served at our book club on the 3rd Sunday of November. We’ll have to drink it all up that night, so the conversation at book club should be lively. I plan to record the session for posterity, or prosperity in case I ever need extra cash. 

We started with a visit to a village somewhat restored to what it looked like in the 17th century. It received an award for its efforts to maintain the atmosphere of that century. It was delightfully colorful and quaint as you will see from my pictures. I did wonder, however, about its authenticity, however since France was a nation of and for the wealthy in those days. The aristocrats (a very small percent of the population) had everything. Everyone else lived in abject poverty—thus the French Revolution. Where were the poor, homeless street urchins? Where were the brothels and cesspools? Oh, well, I suppose they reconstructed the village as they wish it had been in those days—a kind of Briggadoon appearing out of the hopes and dreams of those who lived in that time rather than the reality of what actually existed. 

Following the village, we visited Domaine du Bois Pothier, a vineyard that produces its own wines—one of only four remaining in the area. Beaujolais is one of the oldest French wine producing regions. It has thirty-six hundred vineyards averaging fifteen acres in size. The first vines were planted by the Romans. The vineyard owners are allowed to plant only Gamay grapes and ninety percent of their wines are red—the other ten percent are whites and rosés. 

The presentation was most delightful, primarily because of the energetic and lively young lady named Camille who told us all about her winery, her family and anything else we wanted to know. She spoke the best English we had heard on the trip; far superior to any of our traveling companions or even yours truly. She was very chatty and even included a few colloquialisms such as “yep.”

The vineyard has been in her family for eight generations, meaning that her family has been living on the same plot of land for two to three hundred years. I hardly know anyone who has lived on the same plot of land for fifteen years. Her parents, grandparents and great grandparents live there also and still work with the grapes and the wine making. Everything is done within the family, except for the picking of the grapes when the family receives help from a group of friends. While there, we also met Camille’s grandparents. 

Camille started learning English when she was five, continued her education in the public schools and then moved to the United States to work as an au pair in New York. She said that she loved America, even emphasizing, “My head is in France but my heart is in America.” While working in the US, however she became aware that she had something very special with her family back in France. After she told her dad that she wanted to come back and help him in the vineyard, he was so elated that he named a wine after her. Camille is the oldest of three girls—no boys in the family—so her father his now pleased to have two of his daughters helping him to continue the family business. 

Back on board the ship, I retired to the cabin to work on the previous blog while Judy attended a silk screening demonstration. Lyon is the capital of silk, but only two factories are left. The lecture she attended was given by an official from the oldest one. I include a few of her pictures.