On a cold November night, the eyes of the world are upon us. No kidding. The
chap on the outdoor stage has announced as much — and he’s very excited.
It’s unclear how all these eyes are catching us (I’ve seen only one regional
French TV cameraman), but it’s probably a complex, high-tech thing.
So, if the world is watching, what is it seeing? Well, France by night — and,
more specifically, a church square and surrounds packed with warmly wrapped,
smiling people. “Fifteen thousand!” exults our on-stage MC, a shade
optimistically; 10,000 seems nearer. It’s still an awful lot for a French
village at 11.50pm.
Hundreds hold burning torches, suggesting the Ku Klux Klan is stronger in
rural France than suspected. But there are also flaming wheelbarrows, bands
and dancing youth of all colours. So not a Klan gathering, then.
Besides, everyone is too damned cheery. They’ve got a significant amount of
wine under their belts, and will soon have a lot more. From the stage, the
PA pumps out techno drinking songs. “The entire world..!” cries our MC
again.
Then, at 11.59 and 50 seconds, he begins counting down, followed
enthusiastically by the crowd. On the explosive “Zero!”, fireworks sparkle,
lasers tease the church stones, the music pumps up and a streak of lightning
pierces a barrel, producing a fountain of wine. And, as at midnight on the
third Thursday of every November, our man cries: “Le Beaujolais nouveau est
arrivé!” Here in Beaujeu — historic capital of the Beaujolais region —
glasses are filled in a flash from trestles around the square, and nation
sups gleefully with nation. I clink with a teacher from Thailand. “Global
phenomenon” (pace the MC) may be a bit of a stretch, but this is as near as
wine gets. In a French village square at 12.30am, it is extraordinary.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. Beaujolais nouveau? Bah! you are thinking.
What’s all the fuss? Tastes like liquefied boiled sweets, and was always
more marketing ploy than genuine wine. It was fun for a bit, but we all grow
up. That’s the current wisdom. Allow me to suggest that it is wrong.
First, they’ve been selling nouveau from Beaujolais for centuries. It’s long
been popular locally. When supplies failed in 1788, nearby townsfolk staged
“thirst riots” — a dress rehearsal for proper revolution the following year.
So scarcely a modern marketing device. Second, you’re right: some nouveau
used to be awful, but it’s improved immeasurably since you last drank it.
And third, even decent Beaujolais nouveau isn’t to be sipped, spat and
analysed. It’s fermented fast to fuel conviviality. Take it by the
throatful, smile and talk of something else. It works splendidly after
midnight in Beaujeu, where middle-aged French professionals and smartly
swathed ladies chat with large Swedes, smaller Japanese and midsized
Macedonians. That’s it, you see. With their 60m nouveau bottles a year, the
Beaujolais are simply expressing their taste for having a (relatively)
civilised good time.
If Britain doesn’t appreciate this, Japan certainly does (it swallows upwards
of 12m bottles; we take 175,000). So do Americans, Germans, Dutch and just
about everybody else, including the Chinese, who hold some sort of festivity
every year.
So I say it’s time to ditch the misgivings and (re)join the party. I further
recommend we travel to Beaujolais to do so. November is a dismal month that
could use some festive brightening. And even in autumn, the Beaujolais is a
delight, France’s most famous unknown region. It’s famous, of course, for
the wine — and unknown because nobody goes there. A serious error.
Rising to the west of the Saône River, between Burgundy and Lyons, it’s a
place long bypassed, once by boat, now on the A6 motorway. It’s had no role
in French history since the 15th century, when it was run by Anne de Beaujeu
(“the least stupid woman in France”, according to her dad, Louis XI).
Subsequently, its identity has crystallised around wine and bonhomie. The
relish locals bring to the table is matched only by their enthusiasm for
sharing it with all-comers. On a previous visit I went from a four-course
lunch to a five-course dinner by way of a midafternoon black-pudding
festival. “Normal procedure,” said my host. Visit Bordeaux, and you’re made
to feel damned lucky to be there. In Beaujolais, they feel lucky to have
you.
Yet they’ve little to be modest about. Their landscape rolls up to ridges in a
series of plump hills with vines cloaking every slope and valley. Some
fields are all but perpendicular. As autumn light floods ochre stones and
vineyards turn gold-orange, the world glows.
Just like Tuscany, then, Beaujolais is a region of hills, colours and
villages. The comparison is not extravagant, especially to the south. In
hilltop settlements such as Ternand and Theizé, you follow the hazards of
history through the sinuous streetlets, take in lovely views and — here’s
how it differs from Tuscany — meet no other tourist. Or anyone who has ever
met one. In Bois- d’Oingt’s Café du Commerce, the lady is so startled to
have an English customer that she gives me wine for free.
Up and down several hilly plunges, the mayor of Vaux-en-Beaujolais, Raymond
Philibert, is equally welcoming. Mind you, he’s slightly more used to
tourists. Clinging to its sunny slope, Vaux inspired Clochemerle, the 1930s
comic classic of village squabbling over the siting of a pissotière.
People show up to see where writer Gabriel Chevallier set the action. Vaux is
now going big on tourism — new Clochemerle museum and so on — because the
wine trade has become so dicey. Despite Beaujolais’s celebrity, times are
tough, with French consumption plunging. Philibert blames the police’s
unhealthy obsession with drink-driving and a quite incomprehensible growing
Puritanism. We go into the local cellar bar — near France’s most famous
urinal — for a glass or two. I suggest you do the same. It’s as warm as you
like and these people need the custom.
Then you might meander round Beaujolais cru villages — Brouilly, Morgon,
Chiroubles — to Romanèche-Thorins, where Hameau-en-Beaujolais is France’s
best wine visitor centre. From there, head west towards Monsols and the Haut
Beaujolais. Here, the hills grow grander, Douglas pines replace vines, and
pastures are heavy with cattle. It’s lovely, lonely walking country, but
ensure you’re back in Beaujeu for about 7pm on November 15, the Wednesday
before the third Thursday — the kick-off for nouveau festivities.
Buy a glass for £2.85 and you may taste as much non-nouveau Beaujolais (it’s
not yet midnight) as you can manage, pick up some saucisson and bump into
more foreigners. “It’s my third time,” says a chap from London. “Can’t
remember the other two, so I’ve come back to remind myself. Then forget all
over again.”
They ram home the international dimension at the subsequent banquet. In the
huge marquee, representatives of all the foreign groups present — 18 of them
— are urged onto the stage, waving flags. The Moldovans, even the Taiwanese,
get a bigger cheer than the Americans. Ah well. Then the scene is stolen by
Tahitian performers who, in truth, go on a tad too long. After the midnight
barrel ritual, there is dancing till dawn. I’m told I enjoyed it.
Next day, all the decent Beaujolais producers open their doors to present
their versions of nouveau. Don’t miss Gérard and Sylvette Texier’s place in
Salles-Arbuissonas. Not only is their wine admirable, they also hand round
bread and bacon to accompany it. It is startling how your resolution never —
but never ever — to touch another drop may evaporate by, well, 10 in the
morning.
TRAVEL BRIEF
Getting there: the Beaujolais region is a six-hour drive from
Calais. Cross from Dover to Calais with P&O Ferries (0870 598 0333,
www.poferries.com) or SeaFrance (0870 443 1653, www.seafrance.com), with
return fares from £60 for car and passengers. Or fly to Lyons with British
Airways (0870 850 9850, www.ba.com) from Birmingham, Edinburgh, Heathrow and
Manchester; EasyJet (www.easyjet.com) from Stansted; or Aer Lingus (0818
365000, www.aerlingus.com) from Dublin.
Where to stay: the best in Beaujolais, and one of the
loveliest in France, is the Château de Bagnols (00 33-4 74 71 40 00,
www.bagnols.com; doubles from £314; check website for Beaujolais nouveau
specials). Modernity has been woven into a fabulously restored castle fusing
the 12th century and the Renaissance. More homely is the wine-growing
Domaine Pouilly-le-Châtel at Denicé (04 74 67 41 01,
www.pouillylechatel.com; doubles from £57).
Details: entry to the Beaujeu fête is free. Banquet and show,
£52pp. Contact: 04 74 69 22 88, www.beaujeu.com. Entry to
Hameau-en-Beaujolais is £9.30 (03 85 35 22 22, www.hameauenbeaujolais.com).
For more general information, visit www.beaujolais.com.
