As I had some time, and as my route took me within viewing distance of Reims cathedral, on a whim I made a diversion. Easy enough to find, just follow the towers. Managed to find a parking spot nearby, having found out from passers by that the ominous towing away signs were for the national holiday yesterday. I then had to find my way round a recalcitrant parking meter. Now, those who know me will know I have an ongoing battle with a parking company. So I wanted to get it right. Fortunately the kindness of strangers came to my aid, showing me which buttons to press. But it didn’t like my foreign bank card, three times – a chauvinist parking meter. Then I remembered I had some loose change, so my new French guides helped me through that part of the process too. One euro was supposed to take me up to midday, when it was free. Except when the ticket came, it gave me 20 minutes!

I did get back in time, but it was something of a flying visit; another cathedral to tick off the list

This being a road trip, I head off going south, but using the N88. As it happens it’s a fast piece of road, but once I came off, I had to pass through some small villages to catch the next road over. Several times. Including having to slow down while half a dozen chickens crossed back to their farmyard. Oh yes, this was France Profond. Lunch was at a rather nice service station: Bavette d’aloyau and chips. I felt very French. I also felt the need for meat. During the course of the afternoon, as the wheels hummed on the tarmac, I felt a new sensation – that of being privileged to be on a solo trip. It’s stayed with me a while too.

I was met by Mme.Mutin, who arranged for a tasting at 5:30. This consisted of her opening a bottle or two of their finest, because the others on the table were empty. I got the impression they didn’t do this often – she said “Not many people live round here. We sell most of it at Beaune market”. So I came away with six of their “Prestige” and six of their Rosé. Then had to repack the van to make room. Also bought a kilo of his organic, home milled wheat flour. Rude not to.

A quiet if cold night; I’m on the road again, past wooded valleys to the autoroute this time, heading for Lyon. Had to refuel for the first time; then got there too early so had a serious wander round a hypermarket. This is one of my delights on a French holiday, seeing what gizmos and food are available – the quotidian, the everyday, but made strange by being abroad. The cafeteria for lunch, at ‘Flunch’ – salad, followed by mixed fruits with yogurt. Getting the veggies in. Checkin was easy – complimented on my French – Mme Mutin had agreed with my assessment, I think -“French is very difficult!”

Tomorrow, into Lyon. It transpires he bouchons, workers cafes, dont open on Sunday or Monday. Once again, managed to mess up my schedule!