The Rain in Champagne
Last weekend I went on a quick trip to Reims, a city in the Champagne region just 45 minutes outside of Paris by train.
The gray, weepy sky hung over the little town’s quiet courtyards and empty streets and weighty gothic cathedral that looks like the home of an angry god. The Reims Cathedral was the site of coronations for several hundred years — Joan of Arc attended one of them. Its regal, cavernous interior, which could have fit a multitude of celebrants for the crowning of a French king, was empty but for a tourist or two snapping pictures and a worshipper lighting a lonely candle.
As my boyfriend showed me around Reims, I felt a world apart from bustling Paris. On Sunday everything was closed and hardly a soul roamed the streets. We found an open supermarket, but they had paper signs over the wine section saying that they don’t sell alcohol on Sundays, which was surprising to both of us (Are we in Alabama?).
There’s more space here. I felt shocked to see supermarkets big enough for their own parking lots, multi-level sports complexes, and parks with rolling hills and forests you could get lost in.
Everything is condensed in Paris. The tiny supermarkets squished between boutiques and apartments. The sidewalks hardly have room for two people to walk side by side. Even the cemeteries are running out of space.
When the gray sky turned a darker gray we found our way to a little English pub, shook off the rain, and sat among a few huddles of people to watch the France vs Italy rugby match. While cognizant that I was surrounded by die-hard rugby fans, I couldn’t contain my amusement at the grown men on the screen dragging each other by the leg and yanking each other’s jerseys and pounding their fists in the ground with teary eyes, all over a ball. I probably found the match just as entertaining as the viewers around me did, just for different reasons.
After the match ended the waitress announced to the dozen or so customers scattered throughout the large pub that we’d be playing Bingo. An older woman a table over winked at us, as if inviting a challenge. I was proud of myself for understanding all of the numbers in French, especially the impossible ones like “quatre-vingt-dix” (ninety) and “soixante-treize” (seventy-three). But for all that I left without a victory. Instead of pounding our fists in the ground we tore up our unlucky Bingo cards.
I of course had to try the drink that made the region famous, so the next day we went to a champagne cellar. This too was empty, except for two or three other customers. Above ground, the grass sparkled with rain, its verdant shade contrasting the black, leafless trees. We wandered down into the earth to see where the nectar was formed. Our footsteps, the dripping of water and the squealing of mice (or where those bats?) were the only sounds echoing through the dark, endless tunnel network. There were dim lights, which were for some strange reason purple and blue and red as if the tunnel was leading us to a rave.
Subterranean sounds and bizarrely-placed statues made me jump. Each time we approached a cave I braced myself for something to jump out. I could only imagine how unsettling a home this would have been for the folks who hid in these exact caverns during World War I as the Germans rained down fury on their villages.
After emerging from the depths with an adrenaline rush, I had a glass of the best champagne I’ve ever tasted, which calmed me down.
That evening we went to the pool. I was surprised to see all of the men wearing tiny, skin-tight, speedo-like shorts. Apparently it’s a rule at the pools here? I don’t recall this being normal at pools in the U.S. unless people are serious swimmers or creepy exhibitionist old men.
All said and done, it was nice to get out of Paris for a moment. As far as cities go, Paris doesn’t feel so chaotic to me (especially compared to NYC or LA). There’s a certain quaintness to it. But you still have crowded metro cars you have to fight your way onto at rush hour, jam-packed restaurants, and the constant sound of sirens (which I’ve actually always liked for some reason). In Reims, it was just nice to have wide open sidewalks and almost-empty cafes and sleepy parks for a few days.
Omg, you had me at Uma Thurman. Also, that magnificent window with the bench In front of it!