Beanstalk Amaryllis and Pewter soldiers in Dijon
As regular readers know, “Spring” in Zürich was abnormally cold and wet. On occasion, I have been accused of embellishment or even (gasp!) hyperbole as I share my memories of events. Happily, I have proof that I have not exaggerated the cold, wet, dreary, un-Springlike recent weather.
The story begins last Christmas - with an Amaryllis. This traditional holiday flower grows from a bulb the size of a basketball. After I hauled it into the apartment with a borrowed two-wheeler, hoisted it into an industrial strength pot and regularly provided water, the Amaryllis dutifully sprouted. ‘Sprouted’, might bring subtle, tender shots poking their way upward to mind when, in fact, the Amaryllis’ rapid growth resulted in a stalk that could best be visualized by thinking of a fairy tale (about Jack and an Amaryllis stalk) or a giant sequoia.
After the holiday, the Amaryllis wilted. Hard core gardeners know that the bulb remains alive and, with proper care, i.e. sequestration in a cellar, it can be coaxed into reanimation. Naturally, we didn’t do that. Nazy simply deposited the (now ugly) bulb onto the balcony.
When the weather turns cold and days become dark, the Amaryllis realizes that it is time to bloom. When the weather is cold and the day is dark, Nazy and I realize that it is not time to visit the balcony. While we were not visiting, the Amaryllis (we call her Amy) decided that it was winter. We now have a giant flower from a rejuvenated, and resuscitated bulb.
Last weekend was Father’s Day. On behalf of the kids, Nazy decided on a special weekend. in Dijon. It’s about little more than a three hour drive from Zurich. I like driving in France, the motorways are excellent with high speed limits that are (almost always) unenforced. My average speed on the péage (a French Toll road) was 142KPH.
Dijon is a small city in the Burgundy region of France. Like many European cities, it is very old. Unlike many cities, nothing was ruined during the various wars. (Although, in keeping with their traditions, the Romans built some ruins and left them in place.)
Dijon, is seat of the Burgundy Duchy so we went on a tour of the Burgundy Castle and..
“So, Nazy”, I began. “Did I understand it right?”
“Unlikely.”
“Philip the Bold killed Philip the Bald, Philip the Good and Philip the Boring before taking..”
“No Dan..”
“Of course not, my dear. From shared appearance (we are/were both glabrous) I know that in actual fact, Philip the Bald undoubtedly reigned supreme.”
“There was no Philip the Bald, Dan.”
“Can we at least agree that someone named Philip built this castle?”
“We can agree that the castle is in Dijon.”
Dijon is home to LOTS of old Gothic churches. One of the most well known is:
“Notre Dame, my dear.”
“I thought that was in Paris.”
“Really?” I replied. “I wondered why they named a church after a college football team.”
Unlike the architecturally wonderful cathedral, our hotel was...
“... chosen by you, Dan.” Nazy interrupts.
... utilitarian - but centrally located. We immediately dropped our luggage and went for a walk. The area was being renovated with the installation of tram tracks. Fortunately, nothing was being done in the old town - the entrance of which is marked by an arch that was surrounded by construction materials.
“It’s very French,” I explained. “Paris has the Arc de Triomphe and Dijon has the Arc de Debriş.”
We entered the old town with a clear objective: mustard. But, as we were looked for a local vendor, Nazy saw a giant Galeries Lafayette store (see at left). It was, naturally, impossible to bypass.
“Look at this!” Nazy exclaimed pulling me to the perfume display. Perfume is much cheaper..”
“I don’t call that cheap,” I replied. “It’s Hermes.”
“It is less than half the Zürich price.”
“Everything, everywhere is half the price of the same thing in Zürich,” I replied, accurately, but without substantive impact. I managed to engineer an escape with but one small bag of perfume. Now cautious, I steered us toward a mustard store.
“I want local mustard,” Nazy explained to the clerk. “Which ones are from Dijon?”
“There is no Dijon Appellation d'Origine Contrôlée,” the clerk explained. “But you don’t want the Mille brand, it’s owned by an American company.”
“A company that’s not too happy with your attitude,” I thought.
With the help of the clerk, Nazy selected a (heavy) collection of mustards, a collection that she handed to me to carry. Then she set off in pursuit of an..
“Antique shop that sells lead or pewter soldiers. I want to get a father’s day gift for your collection,” Nazy explained.
“I’m not up to carrying a lead soldier back to the hotel,” I thought. “You’ll never be able to find something like that,” I replied just as Nazy spotted a soldier collection in a store window.
“See?” I said.
Nazy examined all 398 soldiers on display before making a selection. She also made friends with the owner - who had recommendations for restaurants that serve the ‘best local cuisine’.
We evaluated each restaurant, made our selection and then checked out a few more churches (St. Philibert, St. Michel,Cathédrale St Bénigne) before making our way back to the hotel to prepare for dinner. (The photo is Notre Dame.) On the walk, Nazy made a predictable comment about my hair.
“It’s sticking out of the back of your hat, Dan. It looks bad and its too long.”
“I’ll be happy that there is enough to stick out,” I replied. “I’m set for a haircut on Monday.”
“I know, Dan. I made the reservation. But look at this,” she said pointing to a shop. “They do men’s haircuts for €11.”
“That is a lot cheaper than Zürich,” I thought. “Do you think they’ll do a good job?” I asked.
“I will stay and give them detailed instructions,” Nazy replied.
“The barber..”
“Hair dresser, Dan.”
“ ... has a purple Mohawk,” I whispered. “Are you sure..”
“I will make sure,” Nazy replied.
In fact, he did a great job at a wonderful price. Nevertheless, I did not wear my hat to dinner.
I’m sure you’re wondering about dinner and the fabulous Burgundy wine. You want to hear about the other sites. You’re wondering if we stopped by the alternative bistro that was buildt in 1483. Did we notice the beautiful varnished roofs. Did we climb the 316 stairs to the top of the Philippe le Bon Tower? To find out, read next week’s edition of The Weekly Letter.
You can also see photos of the trip here.
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