Excerpt Forty Nine

“Anyone can drink good wines, and anyone wealthy enough can drink super-expensive wines. But without knowledge, the soulful, satisfying part of the experience is lost.”
— Karen MacNeil

We walked a few minutes in silence, and I unexpectedly got a whiff of baked bread. We had come upon the only bakery in town. Once again I was reminded of the importance of freshly baked goods. They were not only supremely valued in Paris; it was a French custom. These people ate bread with every meal. I was starting to be convinced it was some form of law in France. The term “breaking bread” was taken to literal standings, and no meal would be complete without it. Catherine purchased a selection of lovely pastries including a delicious almond crumble cake with nougatine on top. I had never seen this dessert in a patisserie, and it not only looked beautiful, but Catherine mentioned it would pair perfectly with coffee in the morning. She handed me the fresh baguettes as if they were fragile babies, and I held them as such. The baguettes were warm in my hands, and I had to seriously talk myself out of ripping a hunk off and digging in. Geez, the French have such discipline.

Next, we were en route to my living quarters, where I would finally see the main vineyard of Château Gaillard. Despite the light drizzle of rain, the sun was setting over the grapevines, and I felt a twinge of emotion. The sheer beauty and rarity of my experience in that moment was priceless: grasping warm baguettes tightly, staring over hundreds of grapevines, witnessing the sun set over the vineyard hills, in a foreign, sought-after destination—the wine country of France. Chills ran up my spine, and I had to swallow the lump in my throat.

We pulled up to a massive chateau with cypress trees surrounding the entrance. Château Gaillard was painted above the doors in large, red lettering. I stared out to the rows of grapevines surrounding the chateau with no other homes, chateaus, or outbuildings for miles around. Catherine explained to me that this would be my home for the two weeks—not just a bedroom within the chateau, but I would actually have this entire place to myself, complete with a kitchen, bedroom, main living area, office, wine cellar, barrel room holding aging wine, and a large, open area with the commercial storage tanks of wine. I glanced up at the arched windows, stucco walls, and terracotta roof tiles, and felt a little bit like I was living in a movie. Just a small-town California girl, you know, with a chateau in Bordeaux for two weeks; no big deal. Surreal was a good word to describe it.