If this isn't the famous Rauzan-Se... all right, all right - this is the famous Rauzan-Ségla.
PS "And what's the château over there?", I pointed in the direction of an impressive building that I should have recognised right away, situated across a patch of a vineyard and a road. The helpful and attractive young woman, whom I found in one of the outbuildings and with whom I chatted for a moment about the castle she owed her loyalty to, evidently wanted to turn me on. "Palmer", she said.
I had a map or two with me, but decided - in the spirit of true adventure - not to use them and run* into the châteaux randomly, letting them take me by surprise. Apart from that, to be completely honest, owing to the excess of emotions it slipped my mind whether Palmer was in the local parish or in Saint-Julien or even Pauillac, which hopefully excuses my reaction a little.
"The famous Palmer?", I foolishly set myself up as if I'd just drunk a bottle of some cheap heady Beaujolais Nouveau on my own (as I used to in the good old days): is there anything not famous in Margaux and a whole bunch of Palmers strewn across Médoc?
"No. This is the famous Rauzan-Ségla", she said in the coolest and sexiest French way, and half-smiled.
Embarassed and confused, I had no idea what to focus on: my faux pas or her stylish half-smile, so I simply laughed awkwardly. "Of coeaursé", I wrapped up my blunder with the best French accent I could muster, and asked for the draw bridge of her château to be lowered as I trotted off towards the...well...famous British stronghold.
*not stumble, unfortunately; I continue to dry up (otherwise I'd still be blissfully knocking about the parish, reinforced by local heavenly stuff, singing psalms to the Lord and doing the most insightful meditation on the Miracle at Kana in the history of wine-drinking).
