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...
