I left Munich in the dark and snow last Wednesday, and returned home less than a week later to warm sunshine and spring blooms. As it turns out, the World Orchid Conference was a fitting interval between this rather startling change in seasons.
I spent much of the trip to Dijon wondering (a) how I had let a travel agent talk me into taking such a circuitous route, and (b) why said travel agent booked me in a day too early. Though I spent more than a few hours of the twelve hour journey waiting in train stations and cursing missed connections, I also had reason to be grateful. If I had left on Thursday, as I intended, I would have been caught in the nation-wide strike that shut down France’s transportation systems that day. And so, while the majority of delegates were stuck wherever because of the strike, I had time to explore medieval Dijon and visit its museums.
This was to be the theme of the entire week: Frustration and disappointment one moment, followed by unexpected surprises and pleasures the next.
I finished settling into my hotel room late on the evening of my arrival, and was anxious to find a decent meal. I struck out for the oldest, quaintest part of town (according to my map), but after 40 minutes of wandering through quiet streets I had no luck finding a restaurant. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted movement along a side street. It was an older and very elegantly dressed woman, walking purposefully and probably home. I dusted off my best French and got her attention, asking her if she could point me in the right direction to some restaurants. She did one better: She turned around and walked with me. The woman was obviously well known in the town, because as we walked and chatted people waved at her from behind the wheel of their cars and even a bus. She guided me to a perfect little restaurant -- good food, relaxed and traditional atmosphere, and best of all not too expensive. Once inside the restaurant, she introduced me to the owner, instructing him to make sure that my meal left me with happy memories of Dijon. She kissed both my cheeks and warmly referred to me as “ma jeune canadienne”.
The meal was memorable. I started with oeufs en meurette, which are eggs in a red wine sauce. It’s a specialty of the region, and though it sounds very odd it is actually delicious. My next choice - some kind of snail – came about more as a result of my inexpert command of the language than intention, and although I did my best I couldn’t eat them. When I pulled the snails out of their shells, their antennaes reminded me too much of the giant slugs in the garden in Munich. I tried dunking their little heads in garlic butter to disguise the shape, but…
The wine was great, a Santerre. I drank lots of that.
The next course was Boeuf Bourguignon, a delicious stew simmered in red wine sauce. I puzzled over how to tackle the broth with just a fork, and after a few minutes I gave up and leaned over to the gentleman at the next table. I asked him if it would be inappropriate for me to ask for a spoon. His kind face broke into a wide smile and he called to the waiter to bring me one. Then he told me that if I preferred I could try the French trick of sopping up the broth with bread. Aha! All at once I understood that bread, which always seemed like just cheap filler to me, does have a certain usefulness. Grateful for the information, I struck up a conversation, and learned that the gentleman was also in town for the conference. He was Jean Koenig, vice-chairman of the French Orchid Society and an engineer with France’s Institute for Agricultural Research. We had a great conversation about his love for the native orchids of France, as well as his professional work with wheat at a seed bank.
An auspicious introduction to Dijon.
to be continued....
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