Vergisson & Vergécosse

This little French break had been in the books for a while: it had been planned by JP, and was to be nothing but Vineyards, food, and doggos (Dougal!). However, it so happened that it crossed-over with another group holiday taking place in Florida, so our French holiday began as a 4-hour lay-over post 8-hour flight in Gatwick. We'd booked a Yotelair pod (because I am not sleeping on an airport floor with 4 suitcases) and the experience blew my mind. It's a pod-hotel in Gatwick Ariport, and for £60 for a 4-hour slot you get a decently sized fancy pod room with a bathroom, unlimited complimentary drinks, and a 5 minute walk to the boarding gates. It was a dream, and after a hot shower to wash away the flight-grime, and four hours of good, horizontal sleep, we were ready for our French adventure.

Allons-y!

Exhaustion, Wine and Dougal

Day 1

After 4 hours sleep and some healthy breakfast to a) quell the incoming hanger and b) start fixing the absolute cholesterol and cardiac-arrest life that had been food in Florida, we got on the plane to Lyon, and my earlier sense of dread at landing back in London was replaced by happiness at immediately leaving for another part of Europe.

Having landed we began our 2-hour drive in our little rental. The sky was gorgeous, the temperature was perfectly warm with that Mediterranean feel to it, and I felt at home. With the Moana Soundtrack blasting, windows fully open, sunglasses on, and looking fly, we made our way through the little winding roads toward our final destination: Vergisson.

Casa JP (he'd booked it for us after all) was a place called Vergécosse, in Vergisson. An 8-person house with the most gorgeous terrace-lounge-eating area, with a swimming pool overlooking endless fields of vineyards. Around it ample little towns with wine-tastings, cheese-tastings, and castles to explore: I really cannot recommend this place enough. It was in the middle of nowhere, it was secluded, and it was perfect.

As soon as we pulled up though, only one thing mattered: Dougal. As he bounded over, shaggy black hair and silver-tipped beard flowing in the wind, I reached peak happiness: he stumbled into me, oversized paws stepping on my feet, his almost-too-long-for-him legs getting tangled together, his tail reaching light-speed wagging levels. It was great to see him. And, of course, it was great to see JP too.

Chillside

Day 2

As much as I am usually the kind of traveller the needs to fill the day with things to do, Vergécosse inspired a sense of calm in me. I suppose the full-on trip we’d just come from over in Florida had taken its toll. Add jet-lag to that (which we were in denial about) and it’s no surprise that a full day reading by the pool seemed like absolute perfection. I have to give a shout-out to JP’s entourage here, which we'd met last night: nobody made excessive contact with each other - there were plenty of short, congenial conversations, but when they reached their natural end, every single one of us was happy to lapse into a companionable silence. Add Dougal to the mix as he trotted alongside me wherever I went, and I was the happiest person ever.

So I sat pool-side, and read, and read, and read. I did swim, once. The water glistened, invitingly, a beautiful blue which reflected the glistening sun above us, the clear blue skies. And once I was swimming it was refreshing, a nice cooling sensation in a sea of diamond lights. Don’t be fooled though: the water was very, very cold. Soon the hypothermia kicked in, and I shivered myself into a towel and napped in the sun, recovering the energy I’d lost to the antarctic waters of the pool.

That evening JP made us a lamb-roast, slow-cooked on the BBQ over six hours, with perfectly perfect potatoes crisp not he outside and pure fluff on the inside, green beans covered in garlic, fresh salad, and the best of wines naturellement. All this on the terrace overlooking rolling fields of vineyards, a slowly setting sun, and a pastel-pink sky. A gentle walk around the town rounded this all off, and peace settled over Maçon. It was such a perfect day that I almost feel like I’m making this holiday up, because it’s the type of thing you see in feel-good indie movies that don’t really have a narrative or a point other than showing people having a good time on a week-long holiday with potentially some sort of subtext about life or the meaning of or some such.

Peace is a fickle friend, however, and war was declared on our return to the house. Names in a Hat was the battle, and after a sassy, competitive (yet appropriately friendly) round we were all ready for bed. Who won is unimportant. Definitely, and absolutely, redundant.

Oversleeping & Underachieving

Day 3

After a cocky alarm set for 9am, alongside the phrase “we'll probably be up earlier than that anyway”, Sam and I found ourselves asleep up until the ripe old time of 13:00. We had lapsed firmly into the jet-lagged life, but thankfully the universe was in our favour: A’s flight (our last party member) was running three-hours late, and since JP&co. were picking her up Sam and I had little to do other than wait until they got back. With the place to ourselves, I once again braved the glacial waters of the beautiful pool, and buried myself into a book.

On JP's return and with a complete party, we all decided on a game of competitive ping-pong where we all showed the good, the bad, and the ugly of ourselves. Sam and I then went for a little wander along the labyrinthian vineyards, a happy Dougal bounding alongside us. Have I mentioned how absolutely gorgeous everything is here? The light was spectacular, the blue skies restored my soul, and the sun recharged batteries I’d forgotten I had.

The evening was perfectly rounded by dinner at the local restaurant: Auberge des Deux Roches. An exhausted couple who had been working back-to-back on a bank holiday weekend greeted us, smiley but clearly not thrilled at the idea of a big group of loud Britons bumbling in at close to closing. JP, however, broke through their apprehension with a few friendly words in french, and we all smiled a reassuring smile which said “we’re not that bad, we promise”. It seems the lovely hostess believed us, and throughout dinner she flashed us a few humorous grins.

We ate frog-legs, we drank wine, and definitely and absolutely overate. The short walk back to the villa, with the cool night and the hilly roads, was perfect to help our over-filled belies, and back home everybody sleepily wandered over to a welcoming bed, and settled into a peaceful sleep.

I say everyone. Sam and I tried. We got into bed, and still fully awake decided to watch an episode of Castle to wind down. Still wide awake, we watched another. Again, we tried to sleep. Couldn’t. It was 2am… Could we watch a third…?

Let it be said it was close to 5am when we finally forced our eyes shut, and that when the next morning the alarm went off at the reasonable time of 9am, a little WW3 erupted in the bedroom, as two very anti-morning people silently hated each other across the bedroom. Knowing, full well, the unreasonableness of it all; but hating nevertheless.

Goddamnit jet-lag.

Wine Tasting Galore

Day 4

We arose bright and early (read 9am) for a wonderful, beautiful, perfect walk to La Roche de Solutré. I'll let the picture do the talking for this, because I think my words will fall short.

When we got back to the villa, we were met with a downpour of rain, at which point JP cheerfully suggested we head over to a neighbouring Château and take a tour: concluding, of course, with a wine-tasting. The place was about half hour drive from Vergecosse, and it was small enough to feel like a Château that had been lived in - it was pretty cool. It was now used as a winery, its cellars lined with wine barrels, and although I was definitely distracted by the whisperings of ghost stories within the ancient stone walls, I left those icy cellars with a little more of an understanding of why I liked the wines that I did, and with a back-back two wine-bottles heavier.

Homeward Bound

Day 5

As is my usual MO, I am not one to say much about departures. My heart is always heavy, feeling that I haven't learnt enough, seen enough, done enough: and so, that final day always feels a little bittersweet.

We were heading to Beaune (the only mature way to pronounce that is “Bone”) for our final lunch, and what a sweet little town it was. Artisan markets, a museum of local art, a building that used to be a "flamboyant medieval hospital" (Google's words, not mine). Sam and I didn't have much time, but it's definitely a town worth spending an afternoon in. I wandered off by myself to mourn my impending return to London, and I came across an absolutely delightful old gentleman, who was playing the Spanish guitar with beautiful dexterity. I settled on a bench nearby, and gazed absent-mindedly into space as I spent the last few precious moments I had in France letting the music waft around me.

Finally it was time: airport, plane, muggy rain, train, home. I had missed our cosy flat, I won’t lie, but looking out the window and being faced with, well, other people’s windows, I couldn’t help but miss France, its rolling hills covered in lush vineyards, and the gorgeous sun, glinting off the vibrant green leaves.

Repeat visit? I certainly think so.