Fly Fishing in Burgundy

We concluded the afternoon with a visit to the Basilique de Vézelay, a Roman basilica dating from the 11th century which crowns a hilltop village of the same name. Grand Dame. Enduring. Imposing. Provocative. Makes the mind wander. Of course, it'd been wandering all weekend... I made my way around to the backside of the church, compelled by a weakness for flying buttresses. Her best side? I'm always drawn to churches’ posteriors. Less self-conscious. Often more elegant. And always more sensuous. The views out over the agricultural hills and valleys from the rear of the basilica aren’t bad either.

Then it was time to head back to Paris. We made our way downhill and out of Vezelay. I noticed a car parked on the side of the road. A small white sedan. It had pulled off the road through a break in the hedge and sat at the corner of a recently harvested wheat field, the cut wheat raked into a corduroy pattern that ran back and forth across the field. As we approached, I saw a folding table covered in a white tablecloth behind the sedan. Two elderly men, dressed in cream-colored suits and straw hats were sitting at the table enjoying a picnic supper. A harvester moved slowly in an adjoining field. A small bird badgered a crow overhead. And these men dined.

Then we were past, zipping along the narrow two lane road that wandered from town to town in the gentle hills, field after field hemmed in between hedgerows. I looked back at Vezelay, and the basilica—looking down upon farmland—was rendered almost quaint amid the undulating fields. It was already late afternoon but it was the beginning of July and the sun was still high, bathing this scene in ochre a shade more dramatic than longing.

But we were on our way back to Paris. Along sinuous country roads until the inevitable auto route and the traffic thronged City of Lights. It seemed premature for nostalgia since the weekend was only then expiring, but the feeling was palpable. Michel Winthrop, our eccentric fly fishing guide, doubling as a charming and knowledgeable cultural docent, had concocted the most magical of weekends for our two day escape from the hurly-burly of Paris.

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