When In Reims
We pack our bag, our single, solo, individual, bag because Air France has yet to deliver our second bag as promised after a week of having it somewhere in Paris. Once on the sidewalk to the train station for the final time we grab a farewell croissant, take the metro to Paris Nord station and await our steel chariot to Reims. This station is huge and beautiful, it is essentially a mall with tracks. We arrive hella early because we don’t know what to expect and if we will succinctly navigate what, in our native tongue, would be a breeze.
We checked the flap display, grab a portable charger, checked the flap display, were begged for change several times, checked the flap display, got some coffee, checked the flap display, stared at birds, checked the flap display, I think you get the idea. We arrived earlier than we should have and incessantly checked the ticker to see when and where our train would be leaving from. On an unexpected bright note, we did get to experience one of the best restrooms I’ve had the pleasure of using.
Frank went first, and after a while I didn’t quite start to panic but, was on alert. I am not trying to put my darling dear on blast, I’m just trying to set the stage. I stayed put sitting on our #1 luggage, in case I didn't mention we only have one, until he returned, gave me the change from him using the services and sauntered my way down. My cousin and I encountered pay by use toilets in Berlin, this was somewhat similar. You walk up, wait in line to pay, get change if you don’t have the exact amount, pay the “meter”, walk through the turn style, and then choose door number 1, 2, or 3. I will tell you here and now that I wish we had this pay for option in the U.S. of A. I encountered a clean, sparkling setting with a perfume of sorts in the air. There was toilet paper, and dry seats galore, soap in the dispensers and working hand dryers. Ladies and gentlemen, it was a dream to use these facilities as well as a bargain.
We perused some shops and eventually the flap display gave us our platform number. In moments past when this has happened, there is a train at said platform that has a corresponding number to our reservation, people exiting our train, and staff ushering us on. This was not the case today. We arrived at the announced platform, along with a gaggle of other people to a lack of metal chariot. The couple next to us was discussing the absent locomotive and their perfect English caught our attention. We approached, asked if they were under the same understanding as us and were given a direct education of French train lines. In other areas trains may arrive on time and on displayed platforms, it is nothing to be expected in France!! We smiled, giggled to ourselves and were very glad we were not on a schedule.
The train did arrive where we were standing, but the car numbers were backwards, so we had to walk to the other end of the platform to board our car and were happily whisked away to Champagne country.
A funny interaction between Frank and I occurred while we were on the train. We are both used to flying places, so when the arrival of your destination is announced, you promptly finish any beverage you have. In this instance, I had an individual wine bottle that was about half way finished when the conductor declared we were minutes away from our stop. With zero conversation between he picks up my empty cup, then my half full wine bottle, takes the lid off of the wine bottle and dumps its entire contents into my empty cup. I honestly stared at the entire show without saying a word because I was too enrapt in what he could possibly be doing to stop him. I thought maybe he had an intense desire to chug acidic white wine, or maybe he just wanted to make sure the glass was going to be recycled properly. It was none of these options fam, he went into "plane is landing soon" mode and dumped it into my cup for me to chug before the stewardess could take it away. This man of mine is a miracle to me. I balk, I make him help me dispose of the wine, and we both laugh hard at the situation. It brings to light so many differences about where we currently are and where we have been.
Once in Reims we walked directly from the train station to our Airbnb, passing by another Notre Dame, expecting a difficult entry. PTSD anyone?!?!? Much to our delight our host promptly responded, meet us with in minutes and reminded us our previous experience was likely a fluke. Turns out it is much easier to Airbnb with a working telephone. Who knew?!?! The little studio we entered was not sprawling by any means, nor was it lavishly furnished. Instead it had a comfortable bed, a bathroom we didn’t have to share that featured a shower curtain that reached to the bottom of the shower, and a restroom that wasn’t open to a courtyard. It’s the little things folks, that’s what life is about. We rejoice, unpack the essentials, and head to get food. We walk all of 3 blocks to the cathedral mentioned earlier, and find the first café serving food.
Again, we are reminded we have enough language to get by and should expect every region to be slightly different. We order what we think is going to be steak with potatoes and instead are handed perfectly cooked burger patties with what are essentially latkes as a top and bottom “bun”. Don’t worry Reims, I ain’t mad at ya. We were pleasantly satisfied. After feeding we looked up the closest wine slinger and walked the 30 feet to Cave des Sacres I feel the saying “When in Rome” was fully transitioned to “When in Reims” for us about 35 seconds after we enter this shop. There was champagne from floor to ceiling and not in the metaphorical sense. We literally mean bottles of wine laying on the floor to bottles being hung from the ceiling. It is every oenophiles paradise. Local sparkling wines from Champagne France in every sub-region you can imagine ready to be plucked off the shelf, have their corks gently removed and their effervescent spirit swallowed.
So, what else was there to do but dive into the local libations and procure the most intimate quaffable scintillation of beverages. Alright, fair enough, I’ll knock off the pretty words and get to the meat of the sandwich. We bought the smallest produced labels of Champagne we could, within our budget constraints. Remember, as much as we want to ball out, we aren’t on a solo trip to one amazing part of Europe to dive into what they alone offer. This is a multi-country/city/month extravaganza and we have to pick and choose. Thank kittens it’s any easy choice today, I aim for smaller producers, ones I have never seen and proceed to procure 4 half bottles of what I hope will be liquid gold. Being a somm I rarely ask for recommendations, for more on why, I should probably update the other post about my passion for wine which I swear “I’m right on top of that Rose!”
We end up striking titanium and have dinner and most of our half bottles in a room we can’t stop rejoicing over. The wines are crisp, not just fizzy pop crisp, or unripe green apple crisp they are perfectly grown and plucked limes and lemons, gala apples with hints of white raspberry coupled with white plums. Bright like sunshine while remembering moments of eating biscuits. They are a fresh bottle of new poetry. I wish nothing more than to be able to list off each individual producer. Sadly, due to my own personal error, the exact details of these wines and others have been lost. C’est la Vie. Such is life and I relish the thought that there is more wine to be regarded in full detail another day.
