So apparently, a bunch of French profs in the staff room don’t understand when a bold English lass (hello) decides to explain her weekend plan of a trip to ‘Reeeeeeeeeeeems’ (and it has nothing to do with TOWIE, fyi). Last week, after copious blank faces and repetition, it was finally established that the place of which I attempted to speak is in fact pronounced more like ‘Ranz’, something which to me is more reminiscent of a phelgmy cough than a beautiful city in the famous Champagne region of France. Why the Frenchies insist upon such grotesque-sounding names is beyond me, with other examples including Grenoble (‘Grrrruhhhhhhnoble’) and the hilarious town of ‘Kodo’ which is in actual fact spelt ‘Condom’, I kid you not.
Dubious pronunciation aside, Reims is a lovely place, and the first time I’ve properly felt that holiday feeling whilst on my year abroad. It is surprisingly easy to get to as well; only 48 minutes from Paris on the TGV from Gare de l’Est. The one drawback of this is the treacherous walk between stations from Gare du Nord, which I’m sure you’ve already gathered is perhaps my least favourite area in the whole of France. Last weekend for instance, we witnessed someone get hit by a taxi (albeit at around 5mph...his body still moved from the impact), a full-on fist fight (standard), and the red neon sign of ‘Hotel Kuntz’, which I can only hope is the surname of a German family. However, somehow, we arrived in Reims in one piece, and the rest of the weekend passed without incident, unless of course you count the tram-obsessed weirdo who kept gesturing the exact time the doors would open at each stop and for how long....To be fair though, there is a strong possibility that would’ve been me in Le Havre if the tram had already been built, as this weekend did make me realise just how ridiculously happy every ride made me....TRAMS ARE JUST TOO COOL!
Moving on before I start to have excitement-induced spasms....We certainly ‘profited bien’, and crammed an insane amount of touristy activities into one weekend. Reims cathedral was truly spectacular; big enough inside to fit a rugby pitch, and definitely rivalling Notre Dame in Paris in terms of grandeur and magnificence. The ancient artefacts displayed next door in the Palais de Tau provided us with a further splash of culture, although admittedly we did get a little side-tracked by the feel and describe 3D tapestry models which were there to mark some form of disability awareness day. Of course (according to a Telegraph article my Granny posted me), no trip to Reims would be complete without a champagne tour, so a large proportion of Saturday afternoon was spent trawling the streets in search of a particular cellar which had been highly recommended by my wine-lovin’ Uncle. Sadly, all we managed to find instead was a suspiciously new-looking apartment block, and a somewhat embarrassing Q&A session with the receptionist woman in a different cellar led us to discover that what had apparently been ‘the best introduction to a champagne tour’ had in fact been demolished five years ago in favour of pillared modern housing. However, trying to ignore the awkwardness, we swallowed our pride and instead bought tickets for her champagne cellar...Champagne Pommery, in case anyone out there is wine-buff enough to be interested (Andy). Besides, 12 euros for a half an hour tour plus a free glass of champers (‘Brut Royale’) ain’t ‘alf a bad deal, especially seeing as Verve Cliquot next door were charging 39 euros, although perhaps the price is automatically put up for a man wearing a Mario t-shirt (as one of our group was) instead of cords and a cardigan draped around the shoulders.
The ‘caves’ themselves were far more interesting than I anticipated. Every country which exports Pommery Champagne had its own cavern, and there were bottles there dating back as far as 1929. Despite the tour being led in French by a man who openly admitted he was only going to give us ‘the basic facts and nothing more’ and who became visibly irritated at the over-talkative guide in front of him who clearly didn’t share this philosophy, I did pick up a few facts. Did you know, for instance, that every five seconds, somewhere in the world a bottle of Pommery is opened? Crazy. And ‘Pommery’ comes from ‘Madame Pommery’, a lady who, originally named ‘Madame Banane’, changed her name in admiration for her favourite fruit? (pomme=apple). Okay, so that second one was made up, but when you’re the only three English people in a cellar full of incessantly nodding Frenchies, whatcha gonna do....gotta stay amused somehow.
Swapping the champers for ‘sex on the beach’ (cocktails), our evening was spent in a slightly less cultural manner. After a dinner of undoubtedly the best moules I’ve ever tasted, we strolled along the main restaurant strip, soaking up the atmosphere and relishing not just the fact that people were eating outside, but also the very presence OF people, as the emptiness of Le Havre after around 7pm often makes me feel as if there is a town curfew. By sheer pot luck (climbing into a taxi and asking the driver to take us to the best place there was), we also found an incredibly cool nightclub. Smoke, lasers, strobe lighting and even a giant bubble cannon all provided us with a fab night out. Fab, that is, once we’d managed to establish to a large group of Frenchies giving us odd looks in the queue that YES, we were English, YES, we did use a different language to them, and YES, we could also speak French, so they better watch it alrighttttttt? (Okay, so that last bit was more thought than speech).
All in all, an amazing weekend was had, and not one of us wanted to return to the real world of roadworks and stroppy children. But here we are, and there is still so much I want to do before I leave. I haven’t even been in the sea yet, something which as a Kentish girl used to Easter holiday sea temperatures, I feel is an absolute must. For now though, it’s back to teaching, and I’m attempting to make the last few weeks as animated as possible. With songs, Simon Says, and French-subtitled Fawlty Towers, I should be able to stay sane. Besides, we brought back a bottle of Pommery to toast the end with...if that’s not an incentive, I don’t know what is!
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