French People Really Like Dachshunds

It's a scientific fact.

There is a wildly disproportionate number of dachshunds here in Paris. I think I’ve seen something like forty dachshunds since the first of October, and because I’m noting my anecdotal observations on the internet, I believe that makes them scientifically true. Also greyhounds. Therefore, it’s a scientific fact (or maybe I mean theory? I don’t know, this is my first time being a scientist): this is a city of weirdly shaped dogs. Also I have no photographic proof of this because I think taking pictures of other peoples’ dogs is creepy. So you’ll just have to trust me. Maybe that’s what makes it a scientific theory.

In other news, we have been busy—we went to Beaune, in Burgundy, this week and drank lots of wine. We learned that it is not enough to book travel on the train and then book assistance; you also have to make sure that you’ve booked first-class seats, which are the only wheelchair seats, but don’t worry you won’t get charged extra for first-class because you get a discount for being disabled. I think? It was confusing and we were grateful to have the assistance person wheeling me around and cutting people off in French. And once we were on the train, things were fine.

We got into Beaune in the afternoon, so went to the Les Hospices des Beaune, which is a 15th-century hospital-for-the-poor that two rich Catholics built after the 100 Years’ War, to ensure that their wealth wouldn’t prevent them from getting into heaven. They spared no expense on the multi-colored enameled tile roofs or the clock tower or the sculptures over the dormers in the courtyard, and seem to have furnished the long rooms for sick people pretty comfortably too. I mean, it’s definitely preferable to spending your ungodly wealth building rockets to take other rich people into space. Just sayin’.

Scenes from a hospital

I have to say, I was pretty sure I’d have been happy here if I was sick in the 1500s. I mean, aside from the leeches and blood-letting and humors and all that. If you were really sick, you got one of those neat curtained beds! And they even had wheelchairs (from the 19th century but still). The pharmacy was enough to give any wellness influencer happy dreams, though I personally do like a good antibiotic every now and then. It was a very cool space and the woman at the entrance was fantastic about showing us the little lift to get to the raised floor and the accessible entrance. And after, we had dinner at a wonderful little bistro that very clearly stated (on the front door) that while the restaurant accommodated wheelchairs, there was no accessible restroom. So, y’know, I held it.

We only were in Burgundy (wine country part deux!) for the one night, so we had to do one of our wine tastings at 10:30 the next morning. If you are twenty-five years out of college, like I am, that’s a tiny bit early for drinking, but I rallied and got it done. I was reminded (as I have been throughout this trip) that when traveling in a country that is 1,000+ years old, accessible always has an asterisk (Asterix? We are in France after all…). And medieval wineries are particularly asterisked. Because I guess disabled people didn’t drink back then, at least not down in the cave/cellars? Or maybe just didn’t survive. Hmm.

ANYWAY. We went to two wineries, one at 10:30 in the morning, and both were difficult to maneuver but had staff who were wonderful about it. The first, Bouchard Ainé et fils, had a few stairs up and down the various cellars, but the guide insisted on helping Super Spouse lug the chair up and down while I lurched my way around, and then we were drinking Burgundy wines and maybe ordered a case to send home and all was right with the world.

La Patriarche winery

After a spectacular lunch at a Michelin-starred bistro (more about that in a minute), we went to Le Patriarche winery, in a former convent (former meaning it was taken over by the winery in the 18th century, because this country is old). Michael had researched and found that it had many many steps down to the cellars, and we’d decided that we would just do a tour of the convent and a tasting on the ground floor. BUT. The amazing man who welcomed us in was so apologetic because his wife uses a wheelchair too! And he determined to help us do the tour, and I cannot tell you how, it’s top secret, but suffice to say I got to tour the cellars, which only sort of had really creepy Edgar Allan Poe vibes. We did not get bricked into any walls, thankfully, but we did get a free bottle of wine because we had bought the tour for me and disabled people are supposed to get in free. So all in all, it too was a win.

I do want to double-back to the restaurant we went to for lunch, Soul Kitchen, which has a Michelin star. We have thought we should go to some Michelin restaurants, but the one in Paris that was recommended to us, which has three stars, is 600 euros per person. Which is insane. But this little one-star? Totally normal! Also, it’s one dude. Like, really. One guy, who seats you, takes your order, cooks all the food, and then serves you. His name is Mathieu, and I am so freaking impressed by him—the food was amazing—and his tiny restaurant still managed to be totally fine for me (even having an accessible bathroom on the ground floor!). And after the meal, he came up and told me that I was his first wheelchair customer and asked how the space was for me. And so I love him and will go back there if we are ever in Beaune again, and you should definitely go, too. Not least because every bite is so damned delicious. Mathieu can cook!

A final word about getting back from Beaune: I think it’s important to remember the asterisk when traveling in a different country while disabled, and to really plan hard. It was an adventure—the elevators weren’t working in the Beaune train station, so we had to take a taxi to Dijon; the traffic was intense enough that we nearly missed our train; we were once again reminded of having booked incorrectly; and then when we got to Paris, the nearest elevator to the street level where you catch buses wasn’t working. By the time we got out to the buses, I was wiped and nearly burst into tears of gratitude when Super Spouse asked, “Do you just want to take a taxi back?” Yes. Yes I did.

Back in Paris we ended the week with a couple more museums (including MEP, the Maison de Européen Photographie, and a small gallery called IDEM), and visited Gertrude Stein’s apartment (outside, you can’t go in because somebody lives there and apparently it’s bad form to barge in) and the cafe Le Select, where Hemingway and Fitzgerald and James Baldwin and Richard Wright all hung out (though not all together because they were there at different decades). I had a wildly French meal of frisée salad with lardons and poached egg (my favorite salad that’s barely a salad) and French onion soup, which they just call onion soup here. I will say, the only bathroom is down a flight of stairs, but I mustered all my semi-ambulatory strength and managed. We are relaxing today, probably going to the gym (it will be our 8th time!) and going out to dinner tonight. It’s been a week, but a pretty damn good one, no asterisk needed.