There is simply nothing as beautiful as France in springtime. The sun warms your bones after the chill of a long winter and brightens the sky, turning it from grey to a brillant blue. Flowers abound, spilling out of windowboxes. Beautiful young men and women bicycle maniacly through traffic. Parisian women retire their shorts - it is after all above freezing now - and out come the jeans and the cleavage. Springtime here is also replete with another french favorite, the 3 day bank holiday. It's a perfect opportunity to jump on a train, or in my case ride shotgun with a friend out of Paris and into a more peaceful world. It doesn't take long for the tension of the city to dissipate as the traffic lessens and the congestion of housing and industry gives way to a more suburban setting. Each ville has a distinct ambience. Some feel like Anytown, others have ghosts from centuries past to welcome you, screaming for attention, refusing to be ignored. Sunday morning dawned bright with not a cloud in the sky. We had spent the night in Troyes, a place that at first appeared nondescript but upon further inspection proved to have a historic old town district whose architecture spanned 1000 years. Our hotel was a charming and busy place complete with hookers on the corner and the most popular disco since Studio 54 located on the floor below - or was it in the walls? Those who know me well will be suprised to hear I passed on dancing at obviously the hottest (and possibly the only) club in Troyes on a saturday night - but I digress. After the usual breakfast of croissant, café and three cigarettes we jumped in the car and attempted to head out of town. After making several O turns, cruising the interior peripherique twice, and learning a few new words in french, we stopped for a café and a cigarette (hey it's France after all). Serving the café was the most beautiful man/boy imaginable. Tanned, dark hair, beautiful smile and eager to be our human Mapquest, soon (but not too) we were on our way and settled into enjoying the drive. As we left Troyes and it's scintillating nightlife behind, we entered the peaceful and labour intensive agricultural region of Champagne. In the distance were gently rolling hills, the foreground a sea of wheat and leeks and wild mustard just beginning to bloom, splashing yellow droplets of paint on the green patchwork quilt blanketing the valley. It was not unlike the American Midwest with it's flatlands of agriculture as far as the eye can see and the lone white house, isolated. Then, suddenly a cluster of ancient homes! Constructed centuries before the automobile, their front doors opening literally onto the street, you must take care not to run over the cat lazily crossing your path, in fact it is best to pull over and park at the first opporunity and enjoy a walk around. Being sunday in the country it is calm. Most of the local shops, cafés, and caves (wine cellars) are closed - but you should have known that, it is sunday of course! Children chase each other on their bikes through the labyrinth of alleyways. The sounds of lunch being prepared drift out of windows opened to let in the warmth of the afternoon sun. Bees search flower pots with a single minded purpose, and men gather in front garden to have a beer before lunch and exchange the news of the day. The ancient heart of the village is compact and like spokes on a wagonwheel, long flat roads lead you in every direction past new modern luxury homes and through acres of the crop that built them - the grape. Back in the car, and thirsty, and in Champagne, our next required stop was obvious. Did I mention it was sunday? Now I can't blame the french, after all when in Rome......and I have been here long enough to know the routine. But there must be someone who will sell us a case on a sunday in the middle of wine country, I happen to know for a fact there is a small pocket of french who embrace capitalism! After two strikes, we hit a home run. We were welcomed by two friendly shitzu's and the smiling and deeply tanned proprietaire who explained they were just sitting down to lunch, but they were happy to offer us a glass of their best. Mother in law was there, an easy going and humourous lady with a love of travel and an innate curiosity. Madame rushed about finding clean glasses and poured the wine. Monsieur pulled up two chairs for us at the table and continued grilling blood sausage and fresh vegetables. We were seated in a room constructed of cinderblock, which looked rather like a garage with no garage door. Along the back wall was a long kitchen counter which had a large grill, an undercounter fridge and a sink. It was cool and smelled of oak and and good living. When they discovered I was from California, we swapped stories of San Fransisco, Las Vegas, and the Grand Canyon, popular vacation destinations for every french citizen I have ever met. They talked about their children and grandchildren, and the wedding reception they hosted for their son. They served over 500 bottles of champagne that day! After a pleasant conversation, two or three glasses of champers and a case in hand for the road we were on our way. I will always have fond memories of the friendly famille of Luc Bourmault of Saudoy......santé! It was mid afternoon and time to get a jump on the rush hour traffic sure to clog all arteries into Paris. With a nice glow envied by the designated driver, I cranked the seat back as far as it would go and settled in for a nap in the sun. The hypnotising hum of the wheels and the wine combined to lull me into dreamland, and I slept soundly until we reached the outskirts of town. All in all it had been a perfect weekend. Medievel towns and rose petal confitures. Sunshine and wine and a divey hotel. Some of life's simple pleasures!
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