Voila Vincent: Artifacts and atrocities

My equal favourite night time stops, on a par with our wonderful ferme du agricole or vinyard sites, are the historic river banks where we can watch flotillas of river traffic out one window; or out the other, ancient cathedrals lofting high, lit up as if for a festival. Tonight is just so. We are parked on the banks of the Yonne River hugging Auxerre, one of the prettiest villages in the Burgundy region of France and the lights in the centre ville are twinkling around church spires, romantically.

We are moving south to our destination in the Pyrennees, but not quickly. I think we’ve covered barely 80 kilometres today. And we’ve walked our feet limp, and, now, have them up while we await the sautéing of the chicken breasts, mushrooms, lardoons and onions which are to be tossed in crème fraiche, then served with fluffy steamed rice. Light and lovely.

No big beefy Burgundian feasting tonight, as we’ve already eaten our entrée, gougere, which is a cheese puff speciality (a savoury version of sweet chou) famous locally, and on every menu we have passed this evening. Along with the famous local Chablis. For over eighteen hundred years, (imagine it!) hills around Auxerre have provided France, and the rest of world, with some of the finest Chablis ever produced. So, of course we partake.

We bought the gougere, ready baked, at a boulangerie on our walking tour, along with a sinful raspberry dessert. Which looks nowhere near as decadent as our lunchtime treat: wicked rum-drenched-bitter-chocolate cooled into a thick crust over sweet layers of caramelised apples on pastry. This should have been a sickening combination, but, truly, it was divine. In our pastry rating competition, this one takes number one spot to date.

Not only are the pastries here irresistible, but the artisan bakery assistants take the time to package all our bakery buys as gorgeous little gift wrapped treats, each time. With trim. So each meal tends to feel like a party, opening a present at treat time. Ah, the food, Surely one of the best reasons to travel.

We came to Auxerre via Pontigny. There we sipped our double espresso in a Bar Tabac where the seasoned locals were already hitting their blood pumping early morning hard liquor shots. We then found, in a tiny roadside village, a massive Abbey open to the public. Many fine artefacts from various stages in its past still survive, but one of the most interesting was a massive circular lavabo, or shallow stone sink, over 3.5 metres in diameter, which was originally used in the refectory in the 12th century, so the monks could purify their hands before repast.

The Abbey itself had a mixed history. Before and after the first war a wealthy French intellectual, Paul Desjardins, owned it, and each summer ran international discussions, each scheduled to last for precisely 10 days. These, then, were called Decades. They were a little like our current global think-tank sessions, and he invited great thinkers from all walks of life to reflect upon topics of literary, political, social and economic interest with a leaning towards peace.

During the war, the Abbey was run as a military hospital and must have been quite sumptuous, as one of the 1916 convalescents wrote: “ We live in dream surroundings, lodged on the first floor in a luminous Roman hall whose origins are unknown. We eat on the ground floor in a former monastic refectory; under ogival arches – we drink the cider of the yard.” Even in wartime, some things in France remained so very civilised.

Auxerre, too, has holy buildings numerous enough and large enough to fill a small city. Tonight, we expected peals of chuch bells from all corners of this tiny town, for there are so many. More war drama we found at the beautiful Cathedrale St-Etienne in the old town. Sadly, when Auxerre was sacked by the Huguenots in 1567 a small army of frenzied invaders set about decapitating many of the tiny statues in the external arch at the cathedral’s entrance. Cleanly beheaded, these little figurines still sit there today. Imperfect in stone. Another reminder of the atrocities of war.