Betsa Marsh A gargoyle looms over the rooftops of Dijon from the Tour Philippe le Bon. The tower was built in 1450 as symbol of the power of the Dukes of Burgundy.

DIJON, France -- You haven't Segwayed until you've jolted over century-scuffed cobblestones, each bump bouncing you deeper into the medieval heart of Dijon, France.

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If you go: Dijon, France

• Getting there: Dijon is an easy day trip by train from Paris: 100 minutes on the TGV. Rail Europe: www.raileurope.com; 1-888-382-7245. Travelers need to buy their rail passes before they leave the United States.
• More information: Dijon: www.dijon-tourism.com; France: 1-514-288-1904; www.francetourism.com.

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Like the gingerbread that's baked everywhere in this Burgundian capital, the old town is a true melange: a millennium-old crypt here, a 15th-century half-timbered house there, elegant neoclassical townhouses just two doors down.

The Segway is just one of the new ways Dijon tourism is showing off its treasures. Each route shuffles the centuries so a roll through town quickly feels like a scavenger hunt. Let's find the worn stone owl on the corner of Notre Dame Cathedral and touch it for good luck. Here's the 1483 Maison Millière where Gerard Depardieu starred in "Cyrano de Bergerac." Let's go see how the other half lived in the Ducal Palace.

From the visitor centers, travelers join walking tours, rent bikes, try new PDA Visioguides and even launch out over the rooftops and vineyards in hot air balloons.

Since its earliest days as a Celtic settlement and then the Roman city of Divio, Dijon has been a player. It came into its own in 1364 when Philip the Bold, one branch of France's royal Valois family, received the duchy as a privilege, added Belgium and the Netherlands through marriage, and set up a court to rival King Charles V's in Paris.

Within a century, his descendants bolstered Burgundy into sprawling sovereignty until Duke Charles the Bold died in battle in 1477 and King Louis XI quickly snatched wine-rich Burgundy back into the French fold.

The dukes' legacy is everywhere in this city of 150,000: in the 1450 Tour Philippe le Bon, a climb up 316 steps for the city's best views short of a hot air balloon; and in their palace, now the Beaux Arts Museum. The exquisitely carved tombs of John the Fearless and Philip the Bold hint at their earthly wealth.

The city fans out from this core, in the demi-lune Place de la Liberation that is one of France's most elegant plazas. Recent renovations put playful fountains in front of the 17th-century stone facades. This is the spot to relax with a coffee and watch children splash in the irresistible jets.

History hounds zoom to the archaeological museum, a two-for-one hit with excavated artifacts spotlighted within the 1,000-year-old St. Benigne Abbey -- high marks, especially, to the scriptorium. Next door, crypt connoisseurs -- we know who we are -- find the perfect storm under the Cathedral: dozens of columns, cobwebs, dripping water, stalactites and not one, but two, sarcophagi. Don't miss the columns where the poor stone mason tried seven times before he successfully chiseled a man raising his arms in prayer.

Back up on street level, it's definitely time to check out some of the local delicacies. Maybe a nice Kir aperitif, created by a Dijon mayor around 50 years ago: crème de cassis, a black currant liqueur, blended with Burgundy's own dry, white Aligote wine.

And to accompany? How about escargot, Burgundy's famous snail symbol? It seems that the snails liked to munch on grape leaves so the Burgundians started munching on snails. This could be followed perhaps by beef a la Bourguignonne, with local Charolais beef simmered in the region's red wine. And don't forget a dollop of Dijon's own mustard.

Afterward, every restaurant, patisserie and home kitchen has its own version of pain d'epices, the honey-spice bread that's been baking in Dijon for generations. It's not the gingerbread most Americans know, but rather a dense-textured cake that leaves a cinnamon/ginger memory. It's paired with local Cremant dessert wine, of course.

Food and wine are inextricably linked in a region where vines were first plunked into the gravelly limestone soil about 330 B.C. Monks carried on the tradition, and Burgundy has thrived ever since on the strength of such labels as Gevrey-Chambertin, Nuits-St. Georges and Chassagne-Montrachet. The vines, tasting rooms and chateaux are as close as a day trip south along the Route des Grand Crus -- the "Champs-Élysses of Burgundy."

Oenophiles at Chateau Andre Ziltener pour local vintages in the cellars, ripe with must, where Cistercian monks once labored. Hold your glass of grand cru Charmes-Chambertin 2005, at $165 a bottle, above a jumble of stained-glass shards as the monks used to do. When the reds matched the ruby of cathedral windows, they knew the wine was ready.

A good view of early monastic life remains at Fontenay Abbey, saved from revolutionary destruction by a quick-thinking entrepreneur who snapped up the vast stone buildings for his paper factory. He set his machines under the Gothic arches of the church, cloister and 12th-century forge, often cited as the first metallurgical factory in Europe.

Privately owned, Fontenay Abbey is a rare UNESCO World Heritage site with the owner living on site.

Sunday is the perfect time for this jaunt into the countryside, past miles of wheat fields, spools of hay and herds of Charolais -- and very few cars. Burgundy has one of France's lowest population densities, a breath of fresh air after frenetic Paris, 100 minutes away by TGV.

By American standards, vineyards and farms can be minuscule. There are dozens of wine estates -- domains -- in the 25 winding miles between Dijon and photogenic Beaune, Burgundy's wine center. As famous as Burgundian wines are, they make up just 10 percent of Bordeaux's output, and one percent of France's total production.

Like her famous grapevines, every Burgundian icon spreads its roots deep into a culture unchanged, in many ways, for centuries. Romans, medieval monks and Great Dukes may be long gone, but their legacies echo every time a bottle of Burgundy clinks against a waiting wine glass in age-old invitation.