la rentrée

As I leave France and re-enter my daily life at the farmette, I have the idea that I am going to bring something fresh to the year ahead. Why travel far and wide if you dont come home determined to preserve something from your trip -- an idea, a new habit maybe, an acceleration in your language studies. Maybe all the above. But when I get off the plane in Madison, especially one that gets in as late as mine did, when I see all that needs to be done at home, and especially outside in the gardens, where rain once again has tripled the weed population and quadrupled the mosquitoes out there, when in my dazed stupor I finally have my fill (for now) of being next to Ed and go up to bed (at around1a.m.) and wake up by the once again rebelling circadian clock at 5 a.m., I am so dragged down that it's all I can do to work for a while outside, do a few laundry loads, bake some granola and then plump down on the couch, ignoring that earlier call to seize the moment and surge forth in some gallant attempt to retain the spirit of travel at home. I feel right now that I've retained nothing at all except a fuzzy head and a limp body that does not want to bike to Stoneman's for corn, or even bike to the mailbox, if truth be told.

Every year, a long flight leaves me more depleted the next day. I read a friend's post how after a long cruise, she developed something called mal de debarquement syndrome (a sickness and dizziness after disembarking from a long time on a boat). It. rang true to me. When I get off a plane, after even an 8 hour flight, I swear that the airport is moving underneath my feet. I imagine if I was in flight for longer I'd totally wack myself off balance even more! (Though I do practice balancing with eyes closed every time there is a wait of a few minutes, like for instance when there's a wait for luggage to be unloaded. People may stare as I sway and eventually topple to both feet, but I can't tell -- my eyes are, after all, closed! I'm getting very good at standing on one foot in this way for at least a minute, even while supporting a heavy backpack!)

Because being tired is not a state I'm used to, I always then test for Covid and almost always (like this morning) it's just a wasted test. It's not Covid. It's being 72 and having had a very full day yesterday.

But, after doing some minor weed pulling and cleaning up the two lily plants that are still flowering, albeit at reduced levels... 

... and of course, after walking over to the barn to feed those American-French Bresse girls,

 

 

 

 

 

 

... I do put out a fresh tablecloth and scrounge up some bits and pieces of a breakfast (a must do for today: replenish supplies in the fridge!) and Ed comes down, and we have a wonderful handful of minutes once again enjoying the peace that comes with being on the porch on a beautiful day in late August.

(large jar of honey from Bee made it across the ocean!)

By the afternoon, I feel enough refreshed to go run errands. Get gas, drop off something at UPS, then Fed Ex (there to drop off a broken suitcase!),  and yes, go to Stoneman's for corn for tonight's soup, though not by bike. 

(Rosie the goat is back helping sell corn...)

 

 

And each time I pass a flower field, I pause and pull some weeds.

Amazing how quickly chores and routines can suck us in, so that a seemingly open ended day suddenly hasn't very many spaces left to give up. But then, I have always liked keeping busy. Today, tired but happily, I kept very very busy.

With so much love... 

after Champagne

The train arrives five minutes ahead of schedule on purpose, I think. Many get on at the Champagne-Ardenne station since it's the TGV (rapid train) that services both Epernay and Reims and the first stop will be CDG -- the Paris airport. Two hours away by car, 30 minutes by this bullet of a train. (I watched one speed by: incredible what you can engineer with the will to do it!)

Seats are reserved, so there is no angst, no pushing or elbowing your way on. Promptly at 11:29, we leave Champagne.

I'm taking off in such fine weather! A perfect blend of sunshine and clouds, with a cool breeze. I look outside and smile. It's just such a pretty sight: the forest to the right, the ubiquitous white vans that in France bring workers and equipment to the vineyards. And well they might! This year, the harvest of champagne grapes officially starts today. Earlier than usual. It'll be finished in the first week of September. I almost wish I had come later to witness it. I attended one such harvest in Languedoc and it was such thrill to see the effort and enthusiasm that go into harvesting this most precious crop. 

This year the yield is supposed to be good. The grapes ripened quickly (it being the second warmest year of the century here), with a "historically rapid increase in alcohol content," according to the co-president of the Comité Champagne. Everything is in a "good balance" and they expect it to be a very good vintage. Not that they are without worry. US tariffs are a threat: we buy 10% of all champagne produced here. Too, there is a heated discussion about working conditions for the seasonal workers (all 120 000 of them) that come here for the harvest. And finally, I'm not the only one who has mostly cut out alcohol. Sales of champagne dropped in 2024, though they appear to have stabilized. Still, it's a tricky business. I once spoke to a wine producer before all these new sources of worry, and he told me that twice a year he considers suicide. It's that stressful for him. (It's weird that I have such a strong interest in champagne, even as I don't really drink it, before -- because of the expense, and now -- because of my new restraint.)

As I watch the clearing in the skies, I have a bit of wistfulness. But only a small bit. I've had fabulous weather (at least by my count) on this trip. Luck followed me everywhere, as never before. Well, as rarely before. Besides, if my train leaves today at 11:29, then my cab to the station can leave the hotel at 10:55, which means I have the chunk of the morning to myself still. The question is, how to best suck out every last advantage of being here. Should I take a walk? To the forest again? To the village? Or should I go to the Spa and steam myself silly, with a hot sauna and cold shower to follow suit?

It's not even close: I choose the walk. After breakfast of course. Ah, my last breakfast in France. Make it good! 

 

I look around me. French on one side, quiet and undecipherable voices to the front, and English to the other side. What interests me is the quiet and undecipherable couple. I cannot tell if they are French, though I doubt it. She looks so pensive! What is going through her head? She appears dressed not for a hike, but for an important day... doing what?

Of course, I cannot tell. 

 

It's 9:15 when I set out for my walk. I'm packed, ready to check out, so I need not rush back. At least an hour of walking. I'm thinking I should alternate: if yesterday I went to the right (the forest), then today I should go to the left (the village). With many stops along the way!

It's downhill, no matter where you go. I take a good look around me. On the hotel's property, there are bee hives...

 

 

... and meadows instead of lawns.

 

And apple trees and a vegetable garden, with herbs used in cocktails on the roof. They're trying!

But all eyes are on the vineyards. On the noble grape that'll fizz for you and make you dance. Or something.

 

The vineyard never leaves your field of vision. Or my field of vision. There's something so alluring -- the rows, the symmetry, the fastidiousness with which the vines are clipped, attached, cared for.

 

But of course, life goes on and it's not all about champagne. I noticed at breakfast that there's a very good apple juice produced locally. Maybe from this variety?

 

I reach the heart of the village. I couldn't tell what these guys were discussing. People always stop in mid sentence when I approach and make a point of telling me good morning, always with a "madame." Bonjour, madame. It feels special. Young or old, you command respect.

 

I come across this sign. Well now, while my face was being bombarded with red light, there was a market in the hamlet. Had I known...

Here's one of those white vans: the team is clipping the growth between rows. I guess this clipper just gave out.

Most every village has a monument to honor those who died in French wars of the 20th century.  Names of local residents who lost their lives on the battlefield are carved out for all to see, to read, to wonder how young they were, what was lost and what was gained.

No bakery in the village? No problem! There is a vending box with visible fresh baguettes.  (Ledistrib.fr to the rescue.)

I tend to focus on the small stuff. How about some general street scenes:

 

 

 

 

 

I look at my watch. Time to head back. 

Back at the hotel, I canvass the room, making sure that my forgetfulness wasn't at play this morning. And I glance out at the balcony. I like these comfortable private sitting spaces, but it strikes me that I have never actually sat down and relaxed in any them. Really, ever, in any hotel that offers such a balcony or terrace. Well now, time to change that! I have ten minutes. Let me sit and enjoy the view one last time, through the balcony glass.

 

 

 

In leaving my RC hotel, I think about how much effort they put into giving the absolutely best service imaginable. I'm here for two nights and everyone knows my name. Bonjour Madame Camic, at every turn. Watching others request this, ask for that, I could see that nothing was too much trouble for the staff. I don't travel with this in mind of course. And I don't need so many people jumping at my every whim. (For one thing, I seem not to have whims.) All my life I've gotten a lot of satisfaction in doing things for myself by myself. Until very recently, I'd deliberately avoid doing the easier thing. No taxis for me! I have many memories of dragging a suitcase from a bus stop to a hotel. But if you do things yourself -- scrub rust off the toilet bowl, remove cobwebs and dust balls from the walls, dig out endless weeds three seasons out of the year, scrape chicken poop off your own shoes, plan, fix and clean up after meals for yourself and others, well, for that one day of the year, it really is sublime to know that you need do nothing. You understand that this isn't healthy, year round, that it is a weird entitlement, and, yes Ed, you're right, in the long run it's both boring and extraordinarily wasteful. But rare is the person who can pass up a day of having to do nothing, because you know someone is there to do it for you. So yes, I loved being here. Someday I will come back, in the off-off-off season, when once again a rate will spring up that I can face without fainting. For one day, before I return to all the often physically challenging work that waits for me back home.

My flight is a late afternoon one. That's fine for this trip, since it gave me that extra walk in Champagne, but it does mean that I get in awfully late. Champagne to Paris to Minneapolis to Madison and Ed. Waiting for me. It is so good to be back!

with so much love... 

Champagne: staying dry

I wake up to a misty wet landscape. 

 

 

 

It's more than alright -- it's grand! If I hadn't wanted a gray day on this trip up to now, I'm in a different place today. Oh, am I in a different place! I feel a year has passed since I snipped lilies at the farmette.  (Ed tells me the garden looks great even without my care. Is that a lesson for me going forward? Eh, what does he know!)

Yes, I will take a wet walk -- it's so beautiful here and who knows if and when I will next see vineyards. But, too, staying in my room, looking out, writing -- that seems pretty dreamy to me as well. I'll do both!

And here's something I have been mulling over: what happens to Ocean when I travel? People tell me I am more reflective. True enough -- I write in spurts, all day long, all the way until midnight, sometimes longer. Is that a good thing? How do readers respond to this abundance of text, of thoughts? I had shut off comments long ago (best decision ever!), so I do not know. I have never written with the purpose of increasing readership and the reverse is true as well -- I have never written with a fear of losing readers either. I check my numbers ever few months out of curiosity. I cant really explain surges (this summer!), or plateaus and honestly, I dont much care. This is the beauty of not monetizing Ocean -- my well being doesn't depend on how many people tune in. [But, I do admit that when I hear from a reader via email, I am delighted. I feel then that I am walking alongside others on this planet, even complete strangers. It's a great feeling. Thus my connection to you, however ephemeral, is indeed important.]

I always ask myself what will happen to my writing once I return and get swallowed up by all those things that fill my day. Kids, growing plants, cleaning, cooking, reading, walking with Ed, searching endlessly for good free movies in the evening with him -- hours well spent. Writing is just a small part of my day then. I wish it weren't so, but then again aren't I more alive when I am engaged, rather than just writing about being engaged?

Such luxury to have the time and space, here, in Champagne, to think about this!

Champagne. Where everything is about the bubbly drink. They put a foot pillow by the bed at night (no kidding!) with the words "have a bubbly night." I am sure there are people here who do not come for the wine (me for example, but listening in to breakfast conversations, I know there are others), but if you want to really distance yourself from bubbles and grapes grown for wine, you'd not come to this place. Me, I love it despite my new basically alcohol free phase. This is actually quite a big surprise for me: having been a lover of wines for many decades, having done wine tours and samplings, treasured special wines in my wine cooler at home, having always looked forward to my evening wine ritual and my kir vin blanc aperitif when in France, I thought I'd miss it if I quit. Shockingly, I miss the ritual, the expectation of pleasure, but not the drink itself. Frankly, I love that with 0% alcohol wines and beers, I dont have to watch myself with how much I drink. Again, it's the psychology of the thing -- I rarely want a second one. But I know I can have it and it wont matter. Funny how our thoughts shape our well being!

 

So, breakfast: predictably, it's a high class act. I dont bother with the a la carte offerings, I just stick with the buffet. There's plenty, including my beloved Bircher Muesli! I have to start making it back home, it is so very good! 

(ate every last bit of everything; okay, with the exception of the jam!)

 

Again, I look around at my breakfast compadres. At the table next to mine, there's a couple, maybe a decade younger than me. American. I like her. Every time I catch her eye she smiles. Do you know how few people do that??

 

 

 

Back in my room now, I take stock. I'd been reading up on the hotel -- they re-imagined it about seven years ago and it exudes that freshness that comes across when you put in place new ideas on how to decorate a room. 

(the bedroom has a white wall, but then the opposite one, by the bed, has vines and flowers morphing from pale cream to the yellow color of champagne.)

 

 

Sure, I could stay and read, write, do quiet things right there in that lovely room with a view, but I am just itching to go for a walk. Through the rows of grapes, but also to the forest. Champagne has beautiful woodlands. I want to walk among trees. Maybe take a forest bath... (What is that? Roughly, it's when you pause and employ all your senses to take in the forest. In fact, today I will have done so, even tasting, ever so lightly, the dew I walked on.) 

 

("But madame, it is raining lightly!" So what? You have umbrellas.) 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(The forest is called "Foret Domaniale de Hautvillers")

 

 

 (from a hill, looking down at it)

 

 

I'm rarely (ever?) fearful here, in France, when walking through a forest. It feels safe. With or without people.  

 

(the one pair of hikers I saw - not necessarily from my hotel -- this is a GR trail that winds its way through the region) 

 

 

 

 

 

 (out in the vineyards again)

 

 

The hamlet of Champillon is just ahead of me. I walked through some of it yesterday. I'll walk through more today.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 (The French rate their towns and villages for flower content; I wonder if you get a tax break for growing more flowers so that you can help put the place on the three star list?)

 

 

(Champagne House Autreau) 

 

 

 

 

 

(The smaller scale of  Champagne Bertrand Devavry)

A care is idling on the street just a few steps further up. This kind of car -- one that I see all too often in Champagne:

 

 

Those are the buyers. The tasters. The champagne fans. But again, it's not what the region itself is like. People live here -- though the streets are empty, probably for one of two reasons: we're still in the month of vacations, and, too, this is such a small hamlet that there isn't anywhere you'd especially want to walk to. I see no stores, no Tabac, certainly no bakery, though I haven't canvassed all the streets! But people do live and work here. And maybe stay on into their retirement.

 

 

(even the mailbox is on vacation!)

 

 

(resembling a racoon: a cat that I met yesterday and today; he is not on vacation) 

(neither is he...)

 

(no kids yet on the "school path")

 

(speaking of colorful...)

 

 A somewhat impatient Frenchman gets out of the idling car and comes up to me. In French he asks -- do you live here? On the one hand, a compliment! I look French. French women present themselves well. I passed the "not a slob test!" On the other hand -- what is he thinking? I'm with my big camera. How likely that I'm just out for a stroll with it? I admit that I do not live here. He tells me -- I just stopped to buy some champagne. They're all closed. I smile with and give him what I would call a most patronizing smile: monsieur, it's one o'clock. Lunchtime of course. Geez, even I know that!

 

(I once asked Ed if maybe we should put up a rooster weather vane, like in France...that project didn't go anywhere)

 

 

(Older houses remain, waiting for some TLC)

 

 

I am back now at the hotel. I hardly used the umbrella. Deeply satisfied, I go to my room. It is indeed lunchtime, but I'm not about to go eat at the hotel bar when I have a free sweet treat leftover from yesterday's welcome, and all the coffee I want at my disposal. And there are those mirabelles... So, lunch is "at home."  

 

 

 

Yes, I could have spent the rest of the day in my room. But, included in that lofty price of that room is access to the Spa. I'm not going to pass that up! Especially since in the late afternoon, even on this gray and somewhat drizzly day, there is no one in the large and beautiful lap pool.

 

 

There was a time when I could swim without stopping. I'd quit from boredom, never from tiredness. These days? Five laps and I'm more than done! Ed tells me later that it's like anything else: use it or lose it. Well okay, but there are too many things that should be used and not lost with age. Who has the time?

I make use also of the steam room (empty!) and the sauna (also empty!). In my Norway hotel the sauna was packed. But then, that was their habit. In Champagne you're here to visit the Houses and Caves. Of champagne.

I'm asked if I want a facial. I hesitate. Last time I had one my face puffed out from all that product. But I've read that the Spa staff in this place is extraordinarily skilled and besides, they insist that I should try their "clay mask." Clay on my face? Sounds good to me!

But I clearly do not understand the new technology and the Spa vocabulary. A clay mask here is a contraption that they put on your face -- a solid mask made perhaps of clay, plugged in, so that your face is in some way irradiated, or heated, or red lighted. I can't say that I enjoyed that portion of the facial. Five minutes of piercing light (you have to keep your eyes closed throughout, but even without that directive, I would have had them shut tight out of sheer anxiety, of the kind where I'm thinking "how soon is this going to be over, and why are my eyelids the color of fire, and am I going to get cancer from this?"). The skin specialist asked me how I wanted my face to feel or look tonight before starting in on the washing, toning, masking, massaging, and creaming of it. Ha! Madame, I could not care less how it looks tonight! I'm sure the one or two women who have smiled at me at mealtime are not doing so because of the radiance (or lack thereof) of my face. I just want it to look healthy, I tell her.

To her credit, unlike with my previous facial (five years ago), it did not look worse than before she started in on it. In fact, it did have a healthy glow to it. Maybe it is why another woman smiled at me at dinner. But probably not.

 

And yes, soon after I finished with all this (and sipped some melon vitamin concoction that they swear will be good for me, and since they function under EU standards, I know at least that it wont be bad for me), and after I explained to her why I cannot possibly buy the creams that she claimed would be better for my skin than the one I'm using (not that she dissed that one, since it is also French, and they leave you samples of it each night on the bed) -- after all this, it was time for dinner.

I again eat in the Brasserie rather than the Michelin starred place that's also located on the premises. This time it was exactly the opposite of yesterday: the appetizer (fried gambas, or large shrimp) and main course (cod) were good but not exceptional, and the dessert was really yummy.

 

 

 

I looked around me. Nearly everyone is paired up, except I do see two families -- one British with three young kids and one American with two girls.

 

 

I suppose the French would not tolerate tablets or phones at the table, but how is allowing screens different from letting kids keep themselves busy otherwise? Besides, the French have this whole training program as early as in elementary school (maybe even preschool) on how you should expect to be bored at the table, and you should smile through the worst food imaginable (according to your youthful untrained taste buds). We, on the other hand, tell kids to banter with family and friends and eat whatever suits them, with ketchup on everything if that's their pleasure. Letting them read a phone at a restaurant, or listen to some video clip? I'd do it in a heartbeat if I got peace in return, especially in France. 

 

It's rare that I leave France from a place other than Paris and so it feels unreal that tomorrow I should be traveling back home. It's not a simple retreat: I have to cab over to the train station, then catch the train to CDG Airport. From there, a late afternoon flight to Minneapolis, and finally, a very late flight home.

But that's tomorrow. Tonight, after dinner, there's this:

 

with so much love...