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Historically, Vézelay is one of the most important religious sites in all of France. Back at the time of the inception of the Basilica it was arguably the foremost site of faith in the country. Vézelay in fact was chosen as the venue for the preaching of the second crusade in 1146 but rather fell out of favour after a certain understandable increase in scepticism surrounding the provenance of some of the relics held in the completed Basilica.
An early morning visit to the Basilica is recommended. With very few people around it is an excellent time to take in this astonishing structure – as the French visitors are heard to say continually – ‘incroyable’ architecture. It really is difficult, no, it is impossible to get your head around how these medieval craftsmen managed to build such a technically difficult, immense structure, all those many centuries ago. I said to Niamh that you could just imagine on build ‘day one’ the foreman supervising the laying of one of the large stones at the base saying:
‘Come on men – soon get this finished’.
The Basilica is a staggering feat of endurance, technical skill, and tenacity.
The cavernous interior makes excellent use of the available light with a monumental sense of space and radiance. It appears from its almost as new condition to have been built recently rather than in the1100’s. Except in the crypt that is, and Niamh wouldn’t go down there. In this enclosed subterranean space, you do get a sense of the ancient rather than the modern.
The Basilica is a quiet place, one where several people are sitting on a pew in solitude, absorbed in reflective contemplation. Occasionally a service will be prepared and if you time it correctly a small choir will gather. Always there will be a couple of nuns at the entrance to greet you, hoping for a small donation towards the upkeep of the Basilica. The square in front of the magnificent front doors is a noticeably quiet and peaceful area to sit before, or after, the tourists take over the village. Vézelay is very much a village with two distinct faces. To be there early and later in the day is a considerable contrast to the daytime when coachloads of tourists are deposited at the base of the village, leaving them to wind their way up in pilgrimage to the Basilica.
One morning just after dawn, making our way up the steep incline, we were engaged in conversation by the lady owner representing the viniculteur of a small domain who produced wine just outside the village. We promised to return later – 8 am is too early even for us for a wine tasting!
Also, on the way up to the basilica we admired a window display of pottery from an artisan in St Pere, a small village located in the valley below Vézelay. Later that morning we headed over to St Pere to take a closer look.
Going inside the young lady’s studio we could not see any pottery at all on display, just the potter working in a cramped mezzanine with all her unfinished or broken clay pots and tools scattered randomly around the room. She greeted us warmly, then took us down a rickety staircase to a lower level. It was there that she had a delightfully set out display, in and out of which her agile cat was walking perilously close to the expensive pieces! We genuinely liked what we saw and bought a green jug and small pot that would go well with our other decorative pieces back home. We said our goodbyes and headed on as we wanted to explore as much as we could of the local area today.
St Pere also has a large church given the size of village. Next to it is an even older one that was burned down many centuries ago in some religious wars, the interior then being used as a graveyard within the ruined walls. It reminded me of some similar ruined churches that we had seen in Southern Ireland. Very strange and atmospheric, not a place to have a picnic in at night, I think!
We went on via the D100 to Chatel-Censoir. Here in the town square, there was a small market in lively full swing. The roasting chicken on the spit was very tempting for lunch but we resisted and wandered down to the quiet canal side, a gentle mist still rising from the still water as the day warmed up. It was a surprise to come across a man selling wine and offering wine tasting from a small tent. He was on the opposite bank, completely on his own. It reminded me of some of those sketches in Monty Python where the most unexpected thing is for no apparent reason placed in a familiar mundane setting.
Our newfound host was very friendly and smoothly, without much resistance from ourselves, led us into trying a few whites, especially a Saint Bris, Coteaux d’Auxerre and a Lugny Macon, all very fine. We happily bought a mixed case from him.
He had observed Niamh looking at a few corkscrews on his display, but we thought them a little light in construction. We do put them to heavy usage. We had been in search of a good new one and looked at many examples particularly in the exclusive wine establishments in Beaune. Excellent quality ones were awfully expensive there. He then smiled, broke off from packing our case of wine and said he had a ‘petit cadeaux’ for Niamh. He produced a lovely corkscrew, with wooden inlay, presented in a wallet and attractively boxed. This was extraordinarily kind as it was just the quality we had been looking at in Beaune and usually at a retail price of between 30 or 40 euros. We left incredibly pleased with an excellent tasting, good wine purchases and a remarkably generous gift. This lovely corkscrew I still use (almost every day), a favourite possession.
We made our way back to Vézelay for lunch. It was rather late for the usual French two-hour affair, so we simply ate on the terrace of our hotel where they offered a basic lunchtime menu. It was extremely pleasant sitting in the sunshine with a sandwich (large one) and a croque monsieur, allied with a cold beer.
Next day we ate rather more formally but with plenty of entertainment. One of those special times when you find people who make you glad your paths have crossed. We settled on a restaurant at a period French townhouse near to the top of the incline leading to the basilica.
That Sunday we were enjoying lunch seated in the warm sunshine on the busy terrace. The food was good, not especially memorable, but the lady of a certain age waiting on the tables was unforgettable. I gathered that she was the matriarch of the family and determined to play her part. Dressed as if in a Monet painting, with an expansive straw hat adorned with paint brushes and flowers, topping a quite extraordinary ensemble, she floated around the terrace. Sorry, I meant to say she staggered. Her comments to guests were quite vocal, when she was not singing that is. Every dish she presented to the table came with an exaggerated flourish. What was unavoidably apparent was that as she went back to the kitchen via the grand hallway of the house, she clearly poured herself another glass of Chardonnay. After a while this was taking quite a toll on her capabilities. Somewhere around our dessert course she had disappeared, presumably caught by her daughter in a big net.
Memorable.
COMING SOON – A Musical memoir through the eyes of my Vinyl record collection
French Travel Books - France, Paris, Provence & French Food & Wine 