Burgundy wine shock
Last fall, I set out alone for Burgundy, France, expecting a peaceful escape among rolling vineyards and charming villages. But the reality was far from the romantic dream. The first shock came when I tried to book a tasting at the famed Pierre-Yves Colin-Morey estate. I was met with cold indifference—no walk-ins, no exceptions, and a waiting list so long it felt like a joke. The exclusivity was suffocating.
Determined, I turned to local tour companies, only to discover most cater to wealthy groups, not solo travelers. One guide even scoffed at my request, suggesting I "join a proper group or come back with friends." The air of elitism was everywhere, making me feel like an outsider in a world obsessed with status and connections.
Yet, as I wandered through the misty vineyards at sunrise, the beauty was undeniable. The golden light on ancient vines, the earthy scent of the soil, and the distant echo of laughter from private tastings I couldn’t join—it was both breathtaking and bittersweet. Burgundy’s wine culture is as intoxicating as its scenery, but beneath the surface, there’s a world of closed doors and whispered secrets.
I left with a deeper appreciation for the land, but also a lingering frustration at the barriers that keep so many from experiencing its magic. Burgundy isn’t just about wine—it’s about who you know, and how much you’re willing to fight for a taste of the real thing.
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