Three Burgundian Towns

Vezelay was the launching point of the second crusade in the 12th century. It is not large but it is scenic and tourists will be drawn to the Basilique Ste-Madeleine. In Auxerre, most of which has a 19th century feel, tourists will be drawn to the Cathedrale St-Etienne.

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The hotel is family-run and, with our bit of bad luck, we couldn't have been in a better place. The chain-smoking owner and his son both spoke English and were most helpful to my wife and myself. They phoned ahead to cancel our on-going reservations and were amenable to every need. I did convalesce at the hotel for the last two of the five nights and personally found it comfortable but certainly not luxurious.

As a typical two-star outside a major center, the dimly-lit room had a full bath and an eccentric (and somewhat dour) colour scheme. Its location is excellent, just outside the Beaune wall--the town and its sites were all within 10 minutes. The hospital in which I ended up was about 40 minutes away through the town, so my wife was able to walk over. Normally, I wouldn't mention such a place, but in a time of need, it served us well at a reasonable price.

The hotel had its own parking (in a rather cramped little lot) but this was a case of location, location, location. The room was dimly-lit but large, with a full bath; no complaints except a vague, dank, smell that permeated the place. I am never surprised in a two-star; I only ask that the facilities be clean.

Once again, I was bemused at the decorating. The choice of colours and motifs is always interesting, particularly when one has become used to the sameness of American hotel/motel chains. Stairs were involved in the room access, but over-all, we were pleased with the place.

There was a restaurant on site but we chose to walk the town and unfortunately settled on one of those vaguely American-Irish pubby chain places where they serve a really bad steak. (Every once in a while, in France, I am tempted to order steak. It is usually a mistake)

Fair accommodation, good price, great location.

In brief, it was built as a hospital for the poor in 1443 by Nicolas Rolin, chancellor to Phillipe-le-Bon, The Duke of Burgundy. Thoughtfully, it was provided with an income from vineyards and saltworks. The Hospices of Beaune still derive an income from an annual wine auction.

As you look at the building, it is hard to realize that it was used as a general hospital until 1971, after which, it became a geriatric hospital. Having gained entrance to the courtyard, the visitor is struck by the beauty of the tiled roofs. The roofs have been restored and the colours are extremely vivid, but the best is yet to come.

The first room is breathtaking: the Hall of the Poor. It is a magnificent room, 151 feet long and 52 feet high. The vaulted ceiling resembles a ship's hull and is beautifully decorated. Along each of the long walls are beds, which are joined to each other and separated by wood panels. The richness of the dark wood contrasts with the white and red bed linens and the red hangings, which could be drawn across each bed for privacy. The great hall culminates in a chapel. Every patient in the great hall had a view of the figure of Christ at the end of the space and could watch the service without leaving bed.

The visitor then passes through a series of rooms. The Sainte-Anne Room, which is not accessible, is followed by the Saint-Hughes Room, which has been somewhat restored but not back to the original. A museum of the hospital is found in the Salle St-Nicolas, after which one enters the kitchen... restored to the 19th century. Notable here is the huge dual-hearth Gothic fireplace which has been preserved with its original accessories.

After a brief return to the courtyard, one passes into the pharmacy and then to the Salle du Polyptyque. The polyptych was originally in the chapel. It is an extrordinary work of nine panels by Rogier van der Weyden and was commissioned by Rolin in 1443. Its subject is predictable: a central figure of Christ sitting in judgement, welcoming the righteous and dismissing those who have sinned.

The final room is the Salle St-Louis in which are displayed seven splendid 16th century tapestries.

France is filled with dozens of wonderful chateaux, palaces, fortresses, cathedrals, abbeys, and cloisters. This site ranks with the best of them. The Great Hall of the Poor is an extraordinary place. Having done that... did you know that within a couple of hundred feet there are two caves, the Marche aux Vins and the Caves de Cordeliers? Just keep your visits in the right order; Hotel Dieu first.

Nothing was stirring, not even a mouse. Of course, it was late March and the weather was grey, but we had the place to ourselves. The walk through the town was interesting if uneventful, but the town is not the draw, it is the Basilica.

Arriving at the Place de la Basilique, we weren't struck by the beauty of the building; it blended into the stark grey of the day. One faces a church with a combination of Gothic and Romanesque features and one tower, the second tower never having been completed. It appears a disappointing start.

I start to remind myself that it was here that St. Bernard preached the second crusade in 1146. It was here in 1190 that Richard the Lionheart met Phillippe-Auguste of France to begin the third crusade. Can there be a place more steeped in romance?

As one enters, one is struck by the size of the narthex or pre-nave. It has three bays itself. . . And the church has yet to be entered. There are three doors into the nave. The tympanum of the central doorway is a site of its own. Depicting Christ sending out his apostles into the world, it is a huge composition in stone.

Having spent a little time examining the doorways, move into the nave. As the day we visited, it was grey and stark--and extremely long at 203 feet. The apex of the nave is not the beauty of stained glass or fine wood, it is the carving of the capitals. The soaring columns lend a feeling of height and space that is totally missing from the exterior front of the church. Proceding through the nave one arrives at a later, Gothic chancel, bright with natural light as opposed to the gloom through which one has passed.

The last sight on the interior lies in the crypt. The church drew the medieval world to it because the remains of Mary Magdalene were interred here. Although most of the body was removed, a reliquary in the crypt contains her relics.

As you leave, two things might tempt you... it is possible to scale the tower and do make a point of walking around the basilica on the exterior. It is there that you will come to appreciate the length of the building and to the rear is the Chateau Terrace which provides fine views of the surrounding countryside.

As the visitor approaches, he is struck by a sense of imbalance. The tower on the left, the south tower, was never completed. Had it been, the approach would have been reminiscent of Paris' Notre Dame. Above the central doorway is a rose window buried in the facade.

This is a cathedral of beautiful stained glass. Each of the transepts features its own rose window, God the Father on the south, the Virgin Mary on the north. A series of circular windows appears between the buttresses at the highest point of the walls.

Other features of the cathedral are the tower which is scalable, the crypt and the treasury. This cathedral is a jewel. . . well worth a visit.

The object of a visit here is the crypt, which is Carolingian. The visit here is by guided tour, and I must admit, I found it painfully long, partly because it was cold, partly because there is only so much to see in a crypt, and because the body of St. Germanus entombed in his stone sarcophagus has limited drawing power. On the positive side, there are 9th century frescoes down there. . . Okay, it was worth visiting, but it could have been shorter.

Oddly, I did enjoy the self-guided tour through the old monks' quarters. It is now an archeological museum that has exhibits ranging from the Paleolithic Period to Roman times from a Burgundian perspective. It was a good collection.

Of course, then there is Paris. But Paris is busy, dirty and naturally a must-see, so it's full of tourists, and it is in my experience that many large cities in many countries are not particularly easy for tourists. . . So I think that any negativity or shortness may simply be atypical of large cities. (Although, I must say, I never experienced anything bad in Paris, other than the cabbie who ripped me off once when I arrived; but that was back in the seventies and I've learned a lot since then.)

I would just like to recount a couple of experiences, which may fortify, if not prove my thesis, but first, please understand, that I may be Canadian, but my knowledge of French is abysmal--absolutely unforgivable (to me at least; the French seem to appreciate the fact that I am trying. And that is my only recommendation for getting along with the French: give the language a shot).

On the first day of a French trip, I was driving from CDG to Sarlat. I assumed I had a diesel engine--that's what I ordered. It wasn't. Fortunately I filled up with "gazoil," rather than "essence," just north of Brive, a relatively large center. In order to get to a dealership with a garage, my wife had to get out and direct traffic, as my car stuttered, roared, and shuddered in the midst of a U-turn on a busy road. The French were nice enough not to run her over. The mechanic staff in the garage was brilliant and helpful. By the way, outside Paris and outside the hospitality industry, people don't speak English any more than they speak Swahili. REMEMBER THAT! My terrible French and their willingness to help me at the end of their day got us through and into Sarlat in time for a fashionably late dinner.

Oh, again, by the way, people in the hospitality industry, particularly in small restaurants and hotels, both off the beaten track and in the towns, are wonderful and often speak reasonably good English or at least, Franglais.

I began to feel unwell in Avignon, and worse as we approached Beaune. Having toured about the town, I decided I had better get to the local hospital, the Hopital Phillipe-le-Bon. There was one person who spoke a little English, but during a battery of tests (they were wonderful), none of the technicians spoke any English at all. . . But they were very patient (is that a pun?) and it all went well. In virtually no time at all, I was in a room, being fed and medicated. I stayed there on intravenous for three nights.

On the first night, my wife and I realized that she couldn't drive a standard shift car, and that she would have to get a cab back to the hotel. I could hear her down the hall, speaking slowly in a loud voice, "CAN YOU CALL A TAXI. I NEED TO GET TO THE HOTEL." I had to assure her that speaking loudly and slowly did not aid comprehension. That lesson was brought home to me a couple of days later, when the girl from housekeeping came into my room with my dinner and was doing the same thing. I didn't understand a word she said.

The nursing staffs' English was even worse than my French but I found them invariably kind. One night, one of them asked if I wasn't afraid, being in an atmosphere in which it was so difficult to communicate. Not for a minute.

I think it was on the second full day that I began to feel a little better, and I was dying for a Coke, or anything. The nurses completely disappeared during the afternoon, but I went to the door of their staffroom--from which was issuing gales of laughter--and timidly knocked. Coke? no problem. . . From their personal supply.

After my admission, I got a visit from the dietitian. She had come to check on what I liked and disliked, and again, she spoke no English. We went through a long list of foods and I indicated whether or not they were suitable. Wasn't I surprised when they all turned up in my first meal? Portions weren't Canadian-sized, they were huge. A meal consisted of generous portions of everything plus a large piece of cheese--a half-round of Brie or whatever. Only breakfast was a little too continental for my taste.

Finally, I was released, my trip to the Loire valley cancelled. It was time to pay the piper. I had travel insurance through my group plan and did manage to call the company in Toronto (or wherever). The lady in the hospital's accounting department took a leap of faith with me, and took my word that everything would be taken care of. The last instance of kindness.

Meanwhile, my wife had been treated equally kindly by the staff at the Hotel au Saint-Jean. (See seperate journal entry). We left Beaune with regrets over what had happened but with no negative memories.

Everything is not always perfect when you are travelling through France, but it has always been darn close.