The Western European Blitz: Day 10 - Reims and the Champagne Region
September 30, 2019
Paris - Reims and the Champagne region
Pronouncing Reims will be a challenge all day. In fact, we find the further out of Paris you get the harder things become to pronounce.
It’s a 1 pm train from Gard de l’est so we hop on some Limes and make the 30 minute trip across the Siene and up into the 10th arrondissement. We are early so there is time to explore the area and have a bite, but first we will straighten out the tickets. “Where are the tickets?” Damn it. Sac le bleu!!
It’s the final confirmation for the EuRail ticket purchase. We need those suckers. I’m on it. Hour round trip. It will be cutting it tight. Drama.
I grab a Lime outside of the train station and find St Michael Blvd. It’s a straight shot. The Lime in Pinned. A quick glance down at the speedometer, I’m cooking at 20.5 kmh. I’m one with the road. In an out of traffic. Red lights are mere flashes in my rearview. I can see three moves ahead and I’m back in 45 minutes. People have said it’s a Parisian record. Take a bow.
Tickets in hand we tour the 10th with nothing great to report back. Lets grab the train.
There may have been a mistake made, scratch that there most certainly was a mistake made when the tickets we booked for the next day resulting in another mad scramble to buy tickets for today and make the train, but it all worked itself out so why dwell on the past or point fingers. (Ingrid) On to Reims! Or hhheremmnns.
A young French girl greets us out side the station and introduces herself as Suzanne. She will be the guide today, she introduces us to the group. A couple Aussies, a couple Canadians, and a couple Swedes. We round it out as the Americans and Suzanne is our Frenchie. It’s the UN of Champagne tasting.
A lively conversation strikes up with Murph on the bus. She’s an older woman from Australia. She will be a catalyst for the group with her Aussie quips and lack of filter. “Ridgidigi!”
The fist stop is Champagne Guy Mea. A family run Champagne House in the village of Louvois. We are taught the art and process of champagne making. It’s complicated. There are grades of juice, double fermenting, grades of finished product, what qualifies as vintage, reserve wine, freezing sentiment in the neck of the bottle then popping it with natural pressure and quickly replenishing liquid lost and a pinch of sugar then capping it, clean the bottle package and drink! I have certainly missed and left out several details but at the brewery the main concern is “quality control” so I’m out of my element. Guess what? It tastes pretty good.
Murph and her traveling companion Robbie are actually not that into it though. Murph slides hers over to Diane, one of the Canadian woman. (O’ve made up Diane’s name) She has her own personality that is beginning to shine. Eloisa and Love (Pronounced Luve) are the Swedish couple. They are on their honeymoon. It’s a short trip as their 1 1/2 year old is at home. Murph does the math and gives us an Aussie, “Alright then Love.”
And a fun series of cheers ensues.
Fact attack!:
There are 325 villages in the Champagne region of France; 285 are allowed to make Champagne. These are the only producers of Champagne allowed to call it Champagne in the world.
Next we roll down Champagne Blvd in Champagne, France. It’s a quintessential French village. The blvd itself is lined with the largest Champagne houses in France and the world. Suzanne points them out one by one as we wonder at the history and beauty of scenery. We all wine that we want to get out and walk around. Suzanne reflects back to her childhood when she says there is nothing to do in this town. Her grandmother lives here. Suzanne has been visiting since she was a kid.
We are on our way to Don Perrione’s grave. It’s in a, you guessed, cute little French Hamlet. The church that he is buried in was built in 650 AD! The numbers just make me laugh. Don Perrigon, a monk, did not invent Champagne. Nobody did. It was an accident through recipe experiments. He was a leader in blends and taxes though. The village would pay their taxes to the monks in grapes because they were so poor. The grapes turned in to wine, through the fermentation experiments wine turned into bubbles, Ole Don did a little splash splash in the bath we now have Champagne. That’s how I understood it.
On the way out Suzanne gives a reprieve at her favorite spot. It’s on top of a hill overlooking the beautiful country side. We eat some fresh grapes we call juice bombs and take it in.
Salmon is another family owned champagne house. We meet the grandson who runs it now. He lets us in and Suzanne gives us the speed run and rehash of her earlier lessons from the day. What we learned has been washed away by yummy suds.
The tasting is a nice way to cap the day. The group is pretty aquatinted now so conversations switch from small talk to more lively discussions. We laugh at the Aussie’s knowledge of pop culture. It’s extensive. The Canadians are fairly loose and giving us some back handed divorce comments. Murph makes a move on the 85 year old great grandfather who is now pouring his champagne into our glasses. He’s been married 65 years. “Happily?” She asks.
The bus ride back to the train is through the country side. We all sing old American tunes like Pretty Women and Stand by Me. Aurvoir Champagne UN! All aboard the train back to Paris!
We are undecided how to end the night so we do what we’ve done for days. We walk. Rue St. Denis is where the Ladies dance. These establishments are loud and proud butted up against cafés and pizza shops. It’s a hearty 35 min walk down the blvd taking in the sights through a light mist.
The stroll takes us all the way back to St Michael. We have the urge for a night cap. The local Brasserie will do. It’s heated seating out side and we’re forced to de robe several layers. Aprol spritz and a Rouge is our go to order at this point. Crème Brulèe is on the menu. Finally we check off this box. It’s clearly not the quality of our Creme de Catalan and it suffers. Catalan wins this round. (We still finished it.)
The apartment is a mere 3 blocks away. We do that in our sleep. But tonight we decide to double ride a Lime and through all of our self esteem to the Freaking Birds!
Look, we see cute little French couples doing it all over town. Ingrid tucks close to the handle bars and I grab hold of the throttle. The problem, we are not a cute little French couple. We are American Bull dogs and this little scooter ‘aint having it. It takes triple the runway just to get her fired up. The engine is wining. The Puttering is pathetic. It’s not what she was built for. What’s the weight limit? Do we have insurance for when the engine burns down to ash? We are crying in laughter. Old women are passing us with their canes carrying loafs of bread. The last stretch up the hill to the hotel is where we have to give in and a blame it on the crepes.
Self esteem is low, but joy is high. Tomorrow Versailles