The ride from Lyon to Dijon was brief and uneventful, aside from a pleasant lunch in Chalon-Sur-Saône, after which John napped in the car, and I walked around and bought some really cheap clothes for warmer days to come. Given the fact that we were back in a new car and the theft was behind us, we felt like we were hitting the reset button for the next destinations.

Once again, it was a stressful entry into the city of Dijon. Our host wanted to meet us in front of the lodging entry in person, and that meant John having to navigate narrow, circuitous streets, and I having to sprint to find the host dodging people in busy street cafes and on scooters and while navigating over ankle twisting treacherous cobblestone paving. The apartment is right in the center of things, off an intimate courtyard in a typical European old city manner.

One evening when I walked in the city alone on my return I had to use this large iron skeleton key to open a huge carriage door to enter the courtyard. The landlord warned me that it closed at 8:00, but I guess I did not believe him because, after all, it is 2024, and the building looked so secure even when the carriage door was open, and I arrived at just 8.  The key worked and I got in, but it was one of the few times that I left John and felt less than in control and a bit panicked.

Dijon was a delight. The city is immaculate and medieval, and very, very French. The market was a feast for the eyes and appetite, the retail shopping elegant, and the people charming. It should be stated here that we saw motorcycles and scooters all over France and Italy. Yes, there were some bikes, but not like the bike use in the Netherlands and Denmark that take precedence over cars and pedestrians.