Hello, friends! I apologize for the radio silence, but I've been awfully lazy as of late. I spent the beginning of the year complaining about how I hadn't been out of the city yet, and now that I have, I just can't be bothered to write about it! Well, that ends today. Or at least starts ending today, as it usually takes me days to get these posts out the door. (Update: as always, this took a week to write. Sigh.)
To Dijon, then! In April, as my cabin fever was beginning to make me get stabby, I convinced Mike that we needed a long weekend somewhere relatively nearby. And because Dijon is only about 2.5 hours away by train (well, when there's not construction...), and had things for both Mike and I (mustard! cheeses! escargot! old churches!), off we went.
Quick bit of history: Dijon has been settled since the Neolithic period, later became (naturally) a Roman settlement, and served as the seat of the Dukes of Burgundy from the 11th through 15th centuries. The Burgundian Parliament arrived there in 1480, making the town a center of power, wealth, and associated fancy buildings. Translation: it's full of awesome architecture (woo!) and museums, and, seeing as how it's in France, is packed with excellent restaurants and surrounded by wine country. In a word, ideal!
Although it was WARM and sunny when we arrived, by the time we'd walked the 10 minutes from the train station to our hotel, the wind had brought in a few clouds. Nevertheless, one had to appreciate the view from our hotel room. (In the sum total of my experience, France continues to be impossibly picturesque.)
First stop, the cathedral of Saint Benigne.* Obviously, we would have ended up there at some point in time--as we all well know, I do not go to a city with a cathedral and not see it!--but as it was immediately next door to our hotel, it was the natural progression of things.
Obligatory long shot down the nave. These shots are my favorite, as you get good views of both the ceiling vaulting and the horizontal levels of the walls, as well as a sense of the height of the place.**
The majority of the building dates to the 13th and 14th centuries, but they do have this rather lavish organ and balcony from the 18th century, the original pipes of which were saved from being melted into weaponry during the French Revolution by the owner's volunteering to use the instrument to play patriotic songs for the people. (Well played, good sir.)
As it turns out, they also have this incredible Romanesque crypt and rotunda, the lowest level of which was built between 1002 and 1026! (The upper story, naturally, was destroyed during the aforementioned Revolution.)
Columns around the (probable) 2nd-century burial site of Saint Benigne.
Back outside, we decided to roam the streets for a bit, and that's when I spotted this architectural gem. Oh, Art Nouveau, you always get me.
When Mike finally managed to pry me away, we headed towards this.
It's Notre Dame de Dijon, and yes...
...that's three rows of gargoyles. (Be still, my heart...although these guys were, oddly enough, destroyed shortly after their original completion in the 13th century--one fell on a passer-by, and everyone then assumed that they were bad luck!--and only restored again in the late 19th century. And they're not of the water-draining variety, sadly; that would be something else during a rainstorm.)
Above the entrance arches is something rather intriguing: the figures over the doors were destroyed during the Revolution (...those pesky Revolters again!), but they left intact the delicately-carved little buildings underneath.
This place was completed in about 1240, and restored (like most of the other Gothic churches in Dijon) during the 19th century.
These four little windows (under the rose window) are original, from the 13th century.
So one thing I'd seen in photos while researching the city, but hadn't really grasped: the center of Dijon is just packed with (mostly original) half-timbered buildings from the 12th through 15th centuries. Amazing.
It's also full of little side streets that you need to explore, like this one off of the Place de la Liberation (yes, little archway, we will meet again...).
As with most reasonably-sized cities in France, Dijon has a good number of Michelin-starred restaurants. However. Seeing as this trip was relatively last-minute, we couldn't get into any of them on such short notice, but we did manage to get into a fascinating place called La Dame d'Acquitaine. I'm guessing that their aim is to join the ranks of those starred restaurants in the future, so the food's on the fancy side, but what really sold me on reserving there was the setting: the place is in a 13th-century crypt. Yesssss.
It's part of the crypt from this old abbey church, a towering, Burgundian Gothic, 15th-century monster that is now used as a theater. They've left the interior as intact as possible, so there are still plenty of arches and even some frescoing to be seen.
Our view during dinner. (That little girl wanted to play the piano so badly!)
The food was all good, but the absolute standouts were the foie gras ice cream that came with my langoustine carpaccio (not pictured, and absolutely just as snooty as it sounds); Mike's escargot, which he was kind enough to share with me, and which was hands-down the best I've had (as it should be, since escargot comes from Burgundy!)...
...and the cheese selection that came at the end of the meal. There are 12 cheeses on those boards, people, and we each had our own. That is the stuff dreams are made of.
Day 2 began with a quick coffee and macaron, and then we made our way to Dijon's vaunted covered market. Past some more half-timbered buildings...
...and this cool thing, on the main shopping street...
...past this view (oh yes, my friends, there is plenty of Notre Dame in this post)...
...through the square next to my favorite Art Nouveau building, where they were having a little antiques market (so many egg cups!)...
...and finally, into Les Halles, the market. (One guess who built this.)
If you know nothing else about me, people, you know at least this: I love me a good covered market.
I'll be the first to admit that I have not always been a fan of France's cheeses--as Mike says, they can be "challenging"--but they have, over the years, seduced me with their charms. I still steer clear of the blues, but I'll try (and probably love) pretty much anything else.
Oh, France, with your crazy pâté en croûte and gelées and things...
Next, it was back out to the street, for more exploring. We didn't have so much an agenda as a strong drive to see everything interesting that there was to see. (Naturally, we missed a thing or two outside the center, but I think we hit every single place that I might have put on a formal list.)
More Notre Dame, this time from the side.
Ok, ok...just one more of the gargoyles, because honestly. Look at them.
Did I mention that this place is gorgeous and charming? Because it is.
Fun fact: Dijion is replete with mansions built by the aforementioned wealthy parliamentarians and various other notables during the 16th and 17th centuries. For example, those fancy buildings on the right here are the Hotel Milsand, built for Dijon's mayor in about 1560.
So it's not a great shot, but it's the best I could do. Milsand from the front, where at least you can see the glazed tiled roof (variations of which are traditional to, and famous throughout, Burgundy).
Place de la Liberation and the Ducal Palace, which is far more impressive and gigantic than my feeble camera abilities could capture.
Side of Notre Dame. (Yes, again. Get used to it.)
Some of the half-timbered buildings have remarkable details in the woodwork. This is La Maison Milliere, built in 1483.
Immediately next door is the Hotel de Vogue, built in 1614-ish.
Through that arched doorway is this gorgeously carved courtyard.
Back side of Notre Dame and Rue de la Chouette. Ugh...so pretty...
Rue Verrerie is an entire street of 15th-century buildings, most of which are original.
Crazy Renaissance facade of Saint Michel...
...the construction of which was begun in the 15th century, in the Gothic style, but wasn't completed until about 1667, during which time the Renaissance style had come into fashion (hence the incongruous, but fantastic, facade).
Stumbled across the incredible Musee Rude, full of casts of the work of sculptor Francois Rude, who, among other things, created the massive relief "Marsellaise" for the side of the Arc de Triomphe between 1833 and 1836. (This thing is just over 40 feet tall and seriously impressive.)
The Musee Rude is inside the 11th-century (former) St. Stephen's church...
...which, in turn, was built over the 3rd-century footings of St. Stephen's gate in the Roman city walls. Neat.
Saint Michel and the side of the former St. Stephen's, the front part of which is now another theater, La Nef. (I gotta say, the citizens of Dijon [Dijonians...? Dijonnaise...?] really get adaptive reuse. Although maybe that's just Europe. Whatever the case, it's glorious.)
Place Francois Rude, with its guy-stomping-wine-grapes fountain and historic carousel.
No trip to Dijon would be complete without a visit to the Maille store, the place that makes "Dijon" synonymous with "delicious grainy mustard." Your eyes do not deceive you: those are mustard taps. And I believe we tried every single variety they had available for sampling, both on-tap and off.***
Neat old Austin-Healey parked behind the Ducal Palace.
Always fun to check out the local real estate listings, especially when honest-to-goodness chalets are involved. (And shockingly prevalent. There were at least seven of them advertised in this window.)
Notre Dame from the other direction. Nope, just couldn't get enough of it.
Well hello, my lovelies.
Day three began with a terrific a discretion buffet at the fun and welcoming Dents de Loup, and some really pleasant conversation with a local couple (well, sorta--he was English, but disgustingly fluent in French, and she from southern France, but they'd been in Dijon for several years) who were surprisingly enthusiastic about talking to a couple of no-French-speaking Americans! And then it was off to pack in a few museums before we caught the train back. First stop: the Museum of Fine Arts in a wing of the Ducal Palace. Part of it was closed for renovations, but there was certainly plenty to see, as it was.
15th-century funerary crown of Philip the Bold, Duke of Burgundy from about 1363 through his death in 1404.
The "Saints and Martyrs" altarpiece from the Chartreuse de Champmol Carthusian monastery (just outside of Dijon proper), commissioned in the late 14th century by Philip the Bold.
The Crucifixion altarpiece, from the same. Don't kid yourself, both of these things are huge and detailed and jaw-dropping.
One of two on the back leaves of the Crucifixion altarpiece, meant to be on display when the retable is closed.
The real showpiece in this museum is the central room containing the tombs of Philip the Bold (far end) and of John the Fearless and Margaret of Bavaria (Philip's son, the Duke of Burgundy for 10 years after Philip's death, and his wife).
Around the base of each monument are these processions of carved mourners, each figure entirely unique. (More about that here; they're quite extraordinary.)
There was also a rather small, but beautifully preserved and restored, collection of art from the early Middle Ages. Here, an enameled plate showing St. Paul, enameled in Limoges around 1130 (!).
In the same room was a collection of Renaissance-era art from France and Switzerland. It was Mike who noticed that this particular Swiss artist (thankfully, unknown) wasn't really the best, so much, at painting animal faces. I noticed something different, however: someone in this painting is looking Right. At. The. Camera.
Utterly ignoring the goings-on around him.
With mischief--or maybe just extreme creepiness--in his heart. ("I WILL HAUNT YOUR DREAMS," is what this face says to me.)
Ahem. Returning to slightly more dignified matters, they also had a small, but impressive, collection of arms. I would not mess with whomever wielded that nasty thing on the far right.
Genuinely astounding, though, was this 22-ft-long tapestry from the 16th century depicting the Swiss/French/German siege of the city in 1513. This thing has provided to historians huge amounts of information about the city: among other things, its structure, architecture, and fortifications at the time; dress, economic status, and local customs of its inhabitants (note especially the procession with Madonna statue in the middle); weaponry, tactics, and defenses; specific armies and commanders in both the invading and defending forces; and, for good measure, local garden plants, both edible and decorative. Seriously, all of this is in there.****
Next, after a quick swing past the Palace of Justice (which, it turns out, was the thing calling to me through that arch on the Place de la Liberation, and which is open for viewing during business hours when the court isn't in session!)...
...check out that bonkers facade!
And this bonkers door!
...we headed to the archaeological museum--in the former Benedictine abbey of St. Benigne, and attached to the cathedral--to burn another hour or so before we had to head to the train station.
This underground portion, the chapter house and scriptorium (i.e., manuscript-writing and -copying room), was built in the 11th century. Currently, it's filled with bits of Roman funerary monuments and votive carvings found in the area.
Case full of weaponry from the sixth and seventh centuries.
Sixth-century belt buckle showing two guys driving a chariot over a monster.
There were a lot of other goodies in that museum, even though it's rather small, but I'm relatively sure that none of you can possibly be as fascinated by (for example) ancient belt buckles and fragmented Roman statuary as I am, and so I'll spare you more photos. You're welcome.
Post-museum, we gathered our things from our hotel, hopped onto a train, and headed back to Zürich. It's mortifying to me that we went to the heart of Burgundy and somehow managed not to eat any beef bourguignon, coq au vin, or oeufs en meurette, but for now, I'll console myself with the escargot, the cheeses, and, of course, the mustards.✧ And, as I feel there's a bit more exploring to be done in Dijon and environs (lovely Beaune, how I long to roam your streets someday!), and Mike is always up for going to anyplace with a high concentration of antique shops, I am positive we'll return in the not-too-distant future. And promptly stuff ourselves with all the local delicacies we can handle.
Next up: Mike's surprise birthday trip. I feel like it was a decent one, but you'll have to ask him for the real verdict.
*Or "Saint Beignet," as Mike decided to call him.
**WARNING: MAJOR NERDERY AHEAD. In case you're wondering, those wall levels have names. In Gothic and later Romanesque cathedral construction, the lowest (floor) level is the arcade; the center is the triforium (so-called because this level was, chronologically speaking, the last to be added into Gothic cathedral construction!); and the uppermost is the clerestory. I learned all of that in high school when I did a presentation on cathedrals (yes, my obsession extends back that far, even before I'd actually ever left the country and seen a genuine cathedral for myself, thank you very much!) and still have the index cards and overhead transparencies to prove it. (For my younger readers, transparencies are what we used before PowerPoint came along. I know...that level of technological antiquity is inconceivable.)
***Apparently, it's nearly infinite, what one can put into mustard. Also, true fact: if you buy a little pot of mustard from the aforementioned taps, you can take it to any Maille location and get it refilled for a third of the original price. For some reason, I find that hilarious, but also...it's a good excuse for us to return to Burgundy, should we actually ever open said mustard. (Yes, we are absolute suckers and ponied up.) Mmmmmm, mustard refill...
****And also, BEST DISCOVERY EVER, MADE BY ME, JUST NOW: according to page 10 of this brochure, near the lower left corner of the tapestry, the figure on horseback outside the city walls (wearing the orange skirty-thing) is presumed to be the captain of the invading contingent from Zürich ... AND HIS NAME WAS HENRI WINKLER. I can't even deal. THIS is why I love nonfiction so much: you can't make this stuff up.
✧Showing great restraint, I came home merely with tomato-and-piment d'espelette and basil mustards. Mike, on the other hand, came home with ten different kinds. (Oh, sure, seven of them are basically sample-sized, but ten different mustards. Take a moment and let the ridiculosity✧✧ of that sink in.)
✧✧I believe you all know that my position on the fabrication of words is unambiguously pro. If any confusion remains, however, just know that I agree here with Bucky Katt.
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