Like a hurricane

We are back at the Doubs and got a nice spot by the river, just before it flows into the Saône.
The discovery tour through the Côte-d'Or took us to Flavigny-sur-Ozerain. It deserves the title “Most Beautiful Village in France” - it is located on a steep hill!

Scenes from the film Chocolat were filmed here and you can feel the atmosphere that defines the film in the alleys. However, the smell is not of the inimitable chocolate that Juliette Binoche seductively prepares with magical ingredients in her chocolaterie, but rather of the aniseed sweets that are made here and sold to the large number of tourists, even in September.

In the parking lot, a nice Swabian woman tells us that a recently fallen tree is blocking our planned route from continuing our journey. We would have to get through it, they could just about manage it with their car, but our château would fail at this hurdle. She can't know that we have Bibas on board who would solve the problem in no time. However, I'm not sure whether the wood-gnawing pests aren't the ones causing the traffic chaos.

We simply choose a different destination and are surprised that the little town of Semur-en-Auxois, with its crumbling Burgundian charm, captivates us far more than the excellent village, whose romance here and there seems a bit staged and artificial. In Semur we walk through narrow streets, admire the many typical chimneys and can hardly get enough of the old walls.

But the ex-Hurricane Lee is rolling towards us with thick clouds and from our siesta spot in the rapeseed field we have the best view of the approaching storm. A black wall looms threateningly and the first plumes of rain indicate considerable wetness.

When the storm comes to us and shakes the caravan, all the loose boards rattle, the walls and windows shake with a noise, the whole little castle hops and rattles so much that I get dizzy and have to hold the coffee cups so that the hot drink doesn't spill over .

Less than a hundred meters in front of us, a bright, white, wildly jagged lightning bolt crashed into an old, gnarled oak tree with a deafening bang, splintering wood crashed into our ears and an acrid, sulphurous stench burned our noses. I quickly hide together with the shitty Bibas in Zappa's strong arms - or better yet, under the warm blanket!

Zappa confesses to me afterwards that this time he wasn't so sure whether the breeze could blow over our vehicle. I feel a bit like the three little piglets at whose house the wolf coughs and puffs and coughs and puffs - but in the end the chateau doesn't fall over, even if it's already standing with a tire in the air! Phew, lucky you!

That was just a hurricane and its path from the Atlantic to our rapeseed field wasn't that long.
As quickly and violently as the storm came, it subsides somewhat, but the rain remains for the rest of the day, albeit in a weaker form and no longer as lashing and with giant drops the size of golf balls. On the dirt road that we are currently calling our address, attractive lakes have accumulated and the yellow earth forms thick mud. Dirty mush that immediately sticks to the slippers, settles in the smallest grooves like dog mud and spreads picturesquely everywhere in the car and caravan. We'd better postpone our onward journey to the source of the Seine until tomorrow.

By the way, you can save yourself this detour. The water bubbles out of a total of seven little holes and they tried to create a mini park based on the Parisian model with sculptures and a larger-than-life Marianne or Joan of Arc or mermaid or I don't know, but for my taste the whole thing seems somehow out of place. We snapped a few photos for you, just take a look.

Now we have a flea market weekend around Dijon ahead of us and we are very excited about the treasures of Burgundy.
Vineyards? Generally overrated...