Saint Florentin to Flogny-la-Chappelle

A luggage no-show in Saint Florentin meant that we could get a good look at the town and experience it very well. We hadn’t gotten into any towns up to that point and this one turned out lovely. Seems that the towns in Burgundy keep all the industrial goings-on in the country side, outside the towns, meaning the towns are pretty rustic with not a lot going on. Saint Florentin was just like this. Being hilly means that almost all the towns have built a large church or cathedral overlooking the town, and have made a park area as a kind of plateau with seating and picnic areas. Goodness knows what they were thinking when they did this hundreds of years ago. Did they really picnic back then? Oh well, perhaps that Nostradamus chap made it though here at some point.

Sundays though are a little dead in these small towns. Not a lot happens at the best of times, but this was pretty empty, so a simple meal was made of practically every kind of cheese imaginable, baguettes, butter, more cheese and a jolly good bottle of bubbly.

We eventually made it to Flogny-la-Chappelle (pronounce ‘flonny’. No, really, it is…) and were in desperate need of liquid sustenance before we made dinner. Now, as I said, these towns are not renowned for being ‘happening’ places. So we resorted to O Solo Mio, the town’s pizza joint. Or at least, the town’s ONLY joint of any kind. A few locals were having drinks while the sun made it’s way westward. A few others popped their heads in to get ‘pizza emporter’, or takeaways. The smell was just too much and we succumbed. And we were so glad we did. We weren’t sure if we were just hungry, but these were among the best pizzas we’d ever had. That, together with the beer meant it was a cheery time. Very cheery. That we made it home to Allessandro that night, never mind in one piece, it testimony to man’s unfailing sense of direction to one’s bed. And luck of course…

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