…but Saint Emilion is fffffffffffffffff…formidable!!!!

After 3 days of partying or whatever that was… we all stumbled on to a tram, crossed the tracks and literally watched as the city changed from un-molesty to much-more-molesty looking, en route (French…who cares anymore…) to the rental car location, nicely hidden away in rue des Touristes DuMass. Craig and Hanlin left in their frog car (not racist, it actually looked like a frog) after Hanlin’s breath ensured all tourists in the shed would end up over the limit due to consuming his very own Angel’s share…maybe archangel’s share at least (hang on, wasn’t Michael an archangel?? Or was that a Travolta movie?). We got into our lovely, tiny Polo, let’s call it the Stewart car…or maybe the ‘S CAR‘ and it was time to GO…apologies to all, but I (hope) my Mum might have just lost her wine at that one…assuming she’s drinking wine right now…<insert many reasons for previous leap of faith>. 

It was so lovely to hit the road and to finally see some of the real Bordeaux. A 1000 year old, UNESCO listed, holiday and wine purchasing town…where 98% of the population has been pushed out to make way for rich, new world tourists.  Vive la France!  We fell in love with Saint Emilion immediately. And, after being upgraded to a room with balcony, Lea had the cheek to ask to have it for an extra night as well!  This was the second time in a day Lea had (somewhat) soberly asked for something extra or un peu plus, after having scored prime seating at a totally fancy-pants restaurant, with the reasoning: “if we’re going to be treated like Americans, we may as well act like them”. Wow…Like, so proud right now.  Right?

To get in the spirit of the town we did a tour of the catacombes. It was incredible, albiet with slightly more adrenaline than we usually care to go for on our holidays.  The tour guide spent an hour telling us about the frequent collapses of the caves, over the last few decades. (Insiders’ note: as I noted this random titbit on my iPhone, I also got an extra heart-starter as I wondered if this would be the last thing someone would read on my phone following the next collapse, only to end up on a news cycle as an “odd spot”.)

To lower our cave-tour stress levels, we ventured to more familiar caves that provided grapes in the form of their fermented juices. Where you get to hear how millions of years of limestone formation, mixed with perfect soil conditions, pruning, no watering (for..no sensible reason at all) and corrupt politics go in the terroir and make the best wines in the world. Storing them in the, current, 35 degree cellar conditions for 4 months over peak season to flog to stupid tourists (us) apparently has no effect on the quality.  Which bodes well for our cellar cupboard at home.

We had dinner on our balcony, before walking the streets with glasses plastics full of the local rouge…maybe taking some inspiration from our neighbours in Bordeaux (the prossies)…walking the streets with red…?  I give up.  Being close to the town of Bergerac, I’m sure there’s a Prossies-Roxanne-Cyrano de Bergerac three-way connection in here somewhere (which now sounds dirty, but I thought was actually quite clever and cultured when I thought of it…)

Our bonus day in St. Emilion involved Brie, Bordeaux blends, Baguette and Balcony…much like the previous day. However, we did go for a walk to a wine tour, which was amazing, and included the only chandelier we’ve ever seen on a fermentation floor (giving a certain je ne sais quoi to the terroir I’m sure), and then walked to another tasting, while sampling the purchases we had previously made along the way.  In retrospect everyone has 20/20 vision (whatever that means, I like to score things out of 100), but I probably should have called it quits after the first tour, having watched Lea walk into a parked car only to spout out, in her finest French accent, “pardon, Monsieur…desolée!”…or maybe she said “pardon, voiture…”, I’m not sure which is worse.  (Ed (Lea)’s note: that’s slight misrepresentation, I wasn’t even drunk, how come we don’t add stories of you being parapaletic (sic) in a fountain?) (Author (James)’ note: I don’t really remember Bordeaux).

We spent the night watching a storm roll in from our room, had a meal other than cheese and bread, and had the best time in Saint Emilion! Bring your loved ones some day! Or, peut-etre, your family!