why dijon made me question my life choices (but i stayed anyway)
i don’t even know how i ended up in dijon. one minute i’m broke in lyon, next i’m on a train with a duffel bag full of instant noodles. but here’s the thing-dijon’s not just about mustard. it’s a place where the medieval streets smell like yesterday, and the air feels like a fridge that’s been left open too long.
Quick Answers
Q: Is this place worth visiting?
A: if you’re into mustard, history, and pretending you’re in a french film, yeah. but if you hate cobblestones and existential dread, maybe skip it.
Q: Is it expensive?
A: surprisingly not. i paid €12 for a sandwich in a tourist spot, but a local boulangerie charged me €3.50. budget students can survive here if they avoid the main square.
Q: Who would hate it here?
A: anyone who needs constant wifi and gluten-free options. the city’s charming but not exactly future-proofed.
Q: Best time to visit?
A: september to october. summer’s packed with tourists, winter’s freezing, but fall gives you golden leaves and zero crowds.
i heard from a local that the university students call the old town ‘the maze’ because once you get lost in those alleys, you’ll forget your own name. i tried to argue that my sense of direction isn’t that bad, but then i spent 40 minutes circling the same fountain. *the mustard shops here are basically temples-you’ll find more varieties than you thought existed, and yes, someone will offer you a free sample whether you want it or not.
the weather’s a liar. 15.27°C sounds mild, but with 72% humidity, it’s like walking through a damp towel. the cold bites harder than it should, and i swear the clouds here have a personal vendetta against sunshine. still, it’s the kind of gloom that makes you appreciate the warm glow of a café window.
someone told me the best crepes are at chez léon, but i ended up at a place called la petite bretonne that’s half the price. pro tip: ask for the ‘plat du jour’-it’s usually cheaper and tastes like your grandmother’s cooking (if your grandmother was french and lived in the 1800s).
the locals here are either aggressively friendly or completely indifferent. i chatted with a baker who insisted i try his pain aux raisins, then walked past five people without eye contact. it’s jarring, but in a way that makes you feel like you’re in a movie with no script.
i stayed at a hostel on rue de la liberté-it’s a 10-minute walk from the train station and costs €22/night. the walls are paper-thin, but the staff loaned me a bike for free, which i used to crash into a hedge behind the université de bourgogne. a local warned me not to trust the gps in the old town*, and i didn’t listen. now i have a scar shaped like a croissant.
for food, stick to the markets. marché couvert de la liberté has cheese that’ll make you cry and olives that taste like childhood. avoid the restaurants with menus in five languages-they’re traps. i ate at le bistroquet for €14 and felt like i’d robbed a bank.
MAP:
someone mentioned the palais des ducs is overrated, but i liked the garden. it’s free, and the view of the vineyards in the distance makes you forget you’re in a city that’s basically one big museum.
if you’re a student, check out the université library. it’s open 24/7, and i spent three hours there pretending to study while actually watching people take photos of stained glass. the wifi’s decent, and the chairs don’t fall apart.
for nightlife, head to rue de la monnaie. the bars here serve wine in glasses so big you’ll think you’ve time-traveled back to the 1920s. i met a guy who claimed dijon’s jazz scene is better than paris, but he was drunk, so take that with a grain of salt.
the mustard museum (musée de la moutarde) is weirdly addictive. i didn’t expect to care, but after 20 minutes, i was questioning whether i’d been consuming subpar condiments my entire life. gift shops are dangerous-i bought a €40 bottle of ‘premium’ mustard and now i eat it with everything.
links:
- tripadvisor
- yelp
- reddit
- hostelworld
- lonely planet
- viator
in the end, dijon’s not a place that gives you answers. it’s the kind of city that sits you down with a glass of wine and lets you figure your life out. i left with a jar of mustard, a bike scar, and the lingering feeling that i’d stumbled into a story i didn’t plan to write.
it’s 15.27°C outside now, and the sky’s still gray, but somehow that’s exactly what i needed.