Bertrand Gautherot - our Champagne Hero
Emily, Rebecca and I visit Bertrand Gautherot in Champagne and taste phenomenal wines from his biodynamic vineyards. By Kate
There is a quiet revolution going on in Champagne, arguably the most iconic wine region in the world. Here, change was bound to come more slowly given that there is such an awful lot of money to be made - If things are ticking along very nicely indeed, why on earth rock the boat? Well, for an awful lot of reasons actually, but more on those later.Emily, Rebecca and I very nearly did not go as there was a French rail strike on the exact days we were due to travel – 22nd and 23rd May. On arrival at St Pancras very early morning on the 22nd, I was met by the portent of doom in the shape of a Eurostar assistant.
“There are no trains in France”, he boomed dramatically. “NONE”.
It is probably a very good thing that I was only person who had gone to ask him and was therefore the only recipient of this news or a stampede of panicked commuters may have ensued. Happily, I decided to seek a second opinion and after standing in a long queue, spoke to an incredibly helpful gentlemen who was not aware that there was a strike on at all and assured me that our trains were ‘probably’ running.
Probably may be a considerably slimmer premise on which to travel than ‘definitely’ but we all agreed that it was worth a shot.Thank God we did as we encountered absolutely no problems what so ever. The Metro in Paris was running as was our train to Reims and in no time at all, we were in our little hire car and whizzing off to the Aube for our first visit.
Although I had been amazingly selective about who we were visiting and knew that we were in for incredibly lovely champagne all round, I also suspected that our first visit would be our best and, for my personal taste, I was completely right.Bertrand Gautherot is precisely the sort of wine maker we worship and adore – someone who can turn the fruits of a piece of land into a wine that stops one completely dead in your tracks because it is so multi layered in flavour and so alive. Describing exactly what I mean by that is very difficult but some wine, and in my experience these are always biodynamic, just taste vital and alive. Which of course they very much are – biochemically speaking.
Bertrand, his wife and their children live in a tiny village called Buxieres sur Arce , in a beautiful house right next to the expanding cellar and at the foot of a small hill on which lie some of his vines. His family holding is so small that Bertrand was forced to go and earn money in the cosmetics industry until his father retired, there simply not being room for another full time worker. Under the old regime, all the fruit was sold to a co-op or was kept to make a very light, low alcohol red.
Bertrand returned home 15 years ago and immediately began questioning the use of chemicals in viticulture, stopping herbicide use soon after that. Over the years, his interest in the growing of grapes naturally progressed, particularly after he was introduced to the concept of biodynamics. He immediately fell in love (his own words) with the principles and started doing the same and in 2001, he produced his first vintage from grapes he was no longer selling to the co-op.
He had known for a long time that he wanted to make wine, he just hadn’t really known what type and it must be said that for someone who claims to have been unsure as to exactly what he wanted to achieve a mere 7 years ago (a relatively short time in the world of wine making), he has come a very long way remarkably quickly. Something he always knew though was that first and foremost, he wanted to discover for himself what the true taste of wine from his village was, so he wanted real purity of fruit and mineral complexity, unhindered by any of the other flavours which can interfere with the taste of what finally ends up in the glass.
2001 was a very difficult vintage with three weeks of rain, so he only made 30% of what is usually possible. He also had to, for the first and last time, add sugar to the juice in order to get the alcohol up to acceptable levels. He was not displeased with the results, but again only made a relatively tiny amount in 2002 as he still had no idea of whether or not anyone would like his wines. I think these fears were well founded (although happily turned out to be of no consequence) as his champagnes are, well, really very unlike most for all the best possible reasons.
2003 was also a small harvest because of the heat wave so again, not much was made and then finally in 2004, his first vintage was released and, he says with a shrug, “from there, it just went”.
I am entirely unsurprised that it did.
We stood in Bertrand’s gorgeous little garden while he explained his philosophy and Chops the dog pleaded with each of us in turn to toss an increasingly soggy ball. He had always wanted to make something very light and by that, I think he means almost ethereal – because that is indeed what these wines are. “When you drink it, it is like you have always drunk it, something in you responds instantly to something in the wine”. That certainly happened for me and while it is easy to respond instantly to a wine when you have just tramped up a small hill bearing the vines it came from while contented, glossy chickens cluck in the undergrowth and the view of a ridiculously beautifully bucolic valley lies before you, it should be noted that I first tasted his Rose at The Grove and was completely smitten then and there.
Once at the top of the hill with the valley below us, he told us how the bigger houses had encouraged the planting of Pinot Noir here as if used in the blend, the wines can be drunk earlier. This was a remarkably stupid thing to do as the soils in this region are not best suited to this variety, being almost exactly what is found in Chablis – Kimmeridigian clay; one of Chardonnay’s perfect matches. There are small patches more suitable to Pinot and it is on one of these that the Pinot for his Rosé Saignée de Sorbée Extra Brut comes from. It is the flavour of ‘Sorbée’ that he is most trying to capture in this wine hence the naming of it after this local name for the mixture of Kimmeridigian clay and Portlandia, the most prevalent here.
He grew his initial holding of 2 hectares to 5 and has been planting recently, all Chardonnay. This growth extends to the cellar which is currently expanding – although it will remain a very, very small operation indeed – and which will house a traditional wooden press. We stood and looked down on the bare, roofless walls of this building while the chickens dotted themselves around decoratively outside the cow shed. He has fairly recently acquired two cows, generally seen as essential beasts in biodynamic farming for their manure. He explained that they feed on the tiny white flowers that dot the grass here and that properties of those will be transferred to the soil eventually. Strangely, the first aroma I got, incredibly strongly, from his chardonnay when we were tasting was indeed white flowers.
His new morning routine is now to commune with the cows. He says that they let him know what the atmosphere of the day is going to be and calm him down – a bit like meditation I suppose. He spoke so eloquently of this that I am now hankering after a cow myself. Apart from the obvious logistical difficulties of keeping it in a tiny London flat, I can’t help thinking it would enrich my life enormously.
We climbed still slightly higher to the Pinot Vineyard planted 28 years ago which is the source of the Rose. This is perfectly oriented to get the morning sun on one side of the vine and the evening sun on the other which means very good ripening conditions. It is imperative that his fruit from here is utterly pristine and healthy – even more so than with his others as he works without Sulphur and can only really do this if the skins are in perfect condition. This vineyard lies literally next door to one owned by his cousin and he gave us an impromptu demonstration of biodynamic versus chemically farmed soils, digging his pitchfork into both vineyards for samples of each.
The soil from his cousins looked much more claylike, sticking together in very regular clumps – “lego” he said dismissively. It was cool and sticky to the touch and did not have much aroma. The soil from his vineyard was completely different – a deeper shade of brown, it was completely loose and friable (“cous cous”)with a rich, earthy smell. It also felt warmer in the hand. He explained that good soils will have good yeasts in them while bad soils will be full of pathogens which interfere with fermentation and mean that sulphur is imperative. The exact type of yeasts in good soil will also depend very much on the climate of the year in question and this is of course an incredibly important aspect of any particular vintage. As far as vintages go, he mentioned that he has a lot less variation now than would happen with conventional farming which is something I have heard from other biodynamic producers and which is a very happy glimmer of hope in the dreadfully pessimistic picture future weather predictions usually paint.
Soil lecture over, we tramped back down the hill for a tasting in the tiny cellar. This is truly a completely ‘by hand’ operation. Although it is tiny, it has been designed so that everything is gravity fed and pumping is completely unnecessary. After pressing, he leaves the wine to settle for 12 – 18 hours and it is then transferred to barrels where it goes through both alcoholic and malolactic fermentations. The doors of the cellar are opened in the winter in order to precipitate tartrate crystals and the wine will remain in the same barrels till June or July of the following year, quietly resting on the fine lees which are a very effective anti oxidant.
We tasted some of the base wines at this point which was a complete revelation. I have done this quite a few times in Champage at various big, grand houses and it is not a happy experience on the whole. Vin Clair (the base wine before the second fermentation) generally tastes of nothing (perceived wisdom being that the flavours will come later, from the second fermentation) and has shriekingly high acidity. I have often been told that the acidity should be out of balance at this stage and yet Bertrand’s wines were a world away from these. Floral, fruit and mineral aromas were all detectable on both the nose and the palate and while they were certainly crisp, the acidity was perfectly balanced by great complexity and length. Of course, with most champagnes, any remaining imbalance in the wine right at the end of the process will be ‘corrected’ by the dosage.
Dosage is the final slug of wine mixed with sugar which is added back into bottles just before the cork goes in. Almost all champagnes, unless the label stipulates ‘extra brut’ will have had this treatment and while in well made champagne, I have never thought to question this in the past, tasting Bertrand’s wines make a mockery of the process in many ways. His are all bottled with zero dosage, meaning that the fruit and flavours of the soil shine through unhindered. The acidity is certainly crisp and clean but in no way out of balance or uncomfortably high. The overall effect is one of zesty vitality and a bracing freshness with great complexity that seems to evolve constantly in the glass. I have always really loved good champagne but I feel in many ways that these wines have ruined me for the others for ever. After tasting something so unaffected, vital and delicious, why would I ever want to drink anything else?
We tasted a few of the other barrels, all of them delicious in their own right but the Chardonnay was especially extraordinary. I have never picked up such distinctly floral notes on this variety before and now won’t rest easy until we are able to stock some of the resulting champagne. We finished the tasting with a bottle of this and it was every bit as sublime as the base wine had suggested it might be. At least as good if not better than my beloved Rose.
This was truly a magical visit and Bertrand is indeed an incredibly clever man as well as being a very charming host. As busy as he is, he took the time to book us a table at a small wine bar that had previously been recommended to me for dinner that evening and when they said that they had no more of his wine (not at all surprising), he insisted we take a bottle with us.
The long drive back to Reims happened quickly and smoothly again and with Rebecca navigating like a complete super star, I was starting to feel like things were going scarily smoothly. That was a stupid thing to think as, on cue, they unravelled.
The three of us got to our hotel after having dropped Laura and Scott from The Grove off at theirs, looking forward to a quick shower before dinner and were feeling very smug at the fact that while they were in the Holiday Inn, we had a charming little place on a narrow back street. That was a mistake.
The receptionist looked visibly dismayed when we walked through the door and this grew as I confidently gave her my name. Apparently, there was nothing there. I took a deep breath and gave her my married name. Her eyes widened further and still nothing. She asked me to write these down, which I did, and as an afterthought, added ‘Green & Blue’.
"Aaah – Green & Blue!” she exclaimed when I handed her the list, leading to 3 hearts soaring again. She paused and sighed. “Non.”
Our hearts sank.
In broken (mine) and colourful and dramatic (hers) French we tried to piece together the mystery. I had phoned and booked about two months before and had given a card number in order to secure the booking. I unfortunately had no booking number or reference and although it was a very small hotel, she assured me that they would have sent a confirmation email. I had been told at the time that they were very busy but not that they were full and myself and the young lady on the phone had endured a very long, arduous spelling out of names process together. None of that really mattered though as they were definitely full and to make matters worse, she seemed convinced that we would probably have to drive back to Paris to find a room for the night. Apparently there was an important academic conference in town and so no rooms at any of the inns.
Perhaps it was the magical effect of Bertrand’s wines, but I managed to remain completely calm through all of this. I couldn’t really see how getting furious in bad French was going to help matters anyway but she certainly did not make that easy by insisting that we would never find rooms. There was much gallic shrugging, throwing of hands in the air and rolling of eyes to accompany the account of just how much of a spot we were in. I asked her to point out, on the map, where we might be able to have more luck but everywhere I pointed just led to another round of sighing, shrugging and negative exclamations. Apparently, Epernay was very small with only 3, maybe 4 hotels, so that was out of the question. We were baffled the next day on lunching in Epernay to see evidence of at least 3 times that number but perhaps she was just getting caught up in the drama of the situation and didn’t want to spoil it with a relatively pain free outcome.
Very wearily (we had all been up stupidly early) and with much less spring in our step, we returned to the car and headed out of town, hoping for the best. We were going to try our luck in the Parc de Champagne which apparently had some large chain hotels. Although we were all starving as well by then and feeling a bit gloomy, I reminded Emily and Rebecca that at least we had the bottle of champagne that Bertrand had given us for dinner, even if Laura and Scott had beds for the night.
We finally came to another hotel, parked and went in, only to be greeted with much the same reaction (albeit without the amateur dramatics) when we asked for a room. There were two young ladies here and they very kindly called up a few other hotels only to be given the same answer for each – definitely no rooms. Trying to focus on the fact that we had the champagne, we were just about to turn around to go when one of them had an idea. A rapid conversation in French followed and we were told that there was a room left, only the situation was ‘complicated’. There had been a flood and they were not sure whether or not it had been rectified but if it had, they could move a camp bed in and the 3 of us could share it. They had a deal.
The younger of the two went to check whether or not the room had been fixed and the relief when she returned to say that it was, was palpable. We were now very late for dinner though so there was only time to drop off our bags and apply lipstick before racing back out again. Our taxi driver added to what was starting to feel like a ‘how much can you get visitors to hate Reims’ campaign by dropping us a good 25 minute walk from where we were going (he assured us it was ‘just over there’ as he did so, gesticulating vaguely at a group of bars and restaurants) but we still, in spite of starvation and weariness, remained pretty cheerful. The walk was made more tolerable by discussing which particular combination of people who work for Green & Blue would have been the most awkward to have to share a room with in the circumstances and how much we were going to enjoy the champagne, which we really felt we deserved.
The wine bar, Le Verre de L’Ange at 10 Av Jean Jaures was worth walking miles for as it too had a host of delicious organic and biodynamic wines and food that was good and simple. The Champagne was indeed quite unbelievably wonderful and so the evening ended very well after all. Also, sharing a room really was absolutely fine, particularly as we were all so tired that even if it had been the number one worst possible combination, I don’t think we would have had a problem.
There is a quiet revolution going on in Champagne, arguably the most iconic wine region in the world. Here, change was bound to come more slowly given that there is such an awful lot of money to be made - If things are ticking along very nicely indeed, why on earth rock the boat? Well, for an awful lot of reasons actually, but more on those later.Emily, Rebecca and I very nearly did not go as there was a French rail strike on the exact days we were due to travel – 22nd and 23rd May. On arrival at St Pancras very early morning on the 22nd, I was met by the portent of doom in the shape of a Eurostar assistant.
“There are no trains in France”, he boomed dramatically. “NONE”.
It is probably a very good thing that I was only person who had gone to ask him and was therefore the only recipient of this news or a stampede of panicked commuters may have ensued. Happily, I decided to seek a second opinion and after standing in a long queue, spoke to an incredibly helpful gentlemen who was not aware that there was a strike on at all and assured me that our trains were ‘probably’ running.
Probably may be a considerably slimmer premise on which to travel than ‘definitely’ but we all agreed that it was worth a shot.Thank God we did as we encountered absolutely no problems what so ever. The Metro in Paris was running as was our train to Reims and in no time at all, we were in our little hire car and whizzing off to the Aube for our first visit.
Although I had been amazingly selective about who we were visiting and knew that we were in for incredibly lovely champagne all round, I also suspected that our first visit would be our best and, for my personal taste, I was completely right.Bertrand Gautherot is precisely the sort of wine maker we worship and adore – someone who can turn the fruits of a piece of land into a wine that stops one completely dead in your tracks because it is so multi layered in flavour and so alive. Describing exactly what I mean by that is very difficult but some wine, and in my experience these are always biodynamic, just taste vital and alive. Which of course they very much are – biochemically speaking.
Bertrand, his wife and their children live in a tiny village called Buxieres sur Arce , in a beautiful house right next to the expanding cellar and at the foot of a small hill on which lie some of his vines. His family holding is so small that Bertrand was forced to go and earn money in the cosmetics industry until his father retired, there simply not being room for another full time worker. Under the old regime, all the fruit was sold to a co-op or was kept to make a very light, low alcohol red.
Bertrand returned home 15 years ago and immediately began questioning the use of chemicals in viticulture, stopping herbicide use soon after that. Over the years, his interest in the growing of grapes naturally progressed, particularly after he was introduced to the concept of biodynamics. He immediately fell in love (his own words) with the principles and started doing the same and in 2001, he produced his first vintage from grapes he was no longer selling to the co-op.
He had known for a long time that he wanted to make wine, he just hadn’t really known what type and it must be said that for someone who claims to have been unsure as to exactly what he wanted to achieve a mere 7 years ago (a relatively short time in the world of wine making), he has come a very long way remarkably quickly. Something he always knew though was that first and foremost, he wanted to discover for himself what the true taste of wine from his village was, so he wanted real purity of fruit and mineral complexity, unhindered by any of the other flavours which can interfere with the taste of what finally ends up in the glass.
2001 was a very difficult vintage with three weeks of rain, so he only made 30% of what is usually possible. He also had to, for the first and last time, add sugar to the juice in order to get the alcohol up to acceptable levels. He was not displeased with the results, but again only made a relatively tiny amount in 2002 as he still had no idea of whether or not anyone would like his wines. I think these fears were well founded (although happily turned out to be of no consequence) as his champagnes are, well, really very unlike most for all the best possible reasons.
2003 was also a small harvest because of the heat wave so again, not much was made and then finally in 2004, his first vintage was released and, he says with a shrug, “from there, it just went”.
I am entirely unsurprised that it did.
We stood in Bertrand’s gorgeous little garden while he explained his philosophy and Chops the dog pleaded with each of us in turn to toss an increasingly soggy ball. He had always wanted to make something very light and by that, I think he means almost ethereal – because that is indeed what these wines are. “When you drink it, it is like you have always drunk it, something in you responds instantly to something in the wine”. That certainly happened for me and while it is easy to respond instantly to a wine when you have just tramped up a small hill bearing the vines it came from while contented, glossy chickens cluck in the undergrowth and the view of a ridiculously beautifully bucolic valley lies before you, it should be noted that I first tasted his Rose at The Grove and was completely smitten then and there.
Once at the top of the hill with the valley below us, he told us how the bigger houses had encouraged the planting of Pinot Noir here as if used in the blend, the wines can be drunk earlier. This was a remarkably stupid thing to do as the soils in this region are not best suited to this variety, being almost exactly what is found in Chablis – Kimmeridigian clay; one of Chardonnay’s perfect matches. There are small patches more suitable to Pinot and it is on one of these that the Pinot for his Rosé Saignée de Sorbée Extra Brut comes from. It is the flavour of ‘Sorbée’ that he is most trying to capture in this wine hence the naming of it after this local name for the mixture of Kimmeridigian clay and Portlandia, the most prevalent here.
He grew his initial holding of 2 hectares to 5 and has been planting recently, all Chardonnay. This growth extends to the cellar which is currently expanding – although it will remain a very, very small operation indeed – and which will house a traditional wooden press. We stood and looked down on the bare, roofless walls of this building while the chickens dotted themselves around decoratively outside the cow shed. He has fairly recently acquired two cows, generally seen as essential beasts in biodynamic farming for their manure. He explained that they feed on the tiny white flowers that dot the grass here and that properties of those will be transferred to the soil eventually. Strangely, the first aroma I got, incredibly strongly, from his chardonnay when we were tasting was indeed white flowers.
His new morning routine is now to commune with the cows. He says that they let him know what the atmosphere of the day is going to be and calm him down – a bit like meditation I suppose. He spoke so eloquently of this that I am now hankering after a cow myself. Apart from the obvious logistical difficulties of keeping it in a tiny London flat, I can’t help thinking it would enrich my life enormously.
We climbed still slightly higher to the Pinot Vineyard planted 28 years ago which is the source of the Rose. This is perfectly oriented to get the morning sun on one side of the vine and the evening sun on the other which means very good ripening conditions. It is imperative that his fruit from here is utterly pristine and healthy – even more so than with his others as he works without Sulphur and can only really do this if the skins are in perfect condition. This vineyard lies literally next door to one owned by his cousin and he gave us an impromptu demonstration of biodynamic versus chemically farmed soils, digging his pitchfork into both vineyards for samples of each.
The soil from his cousins looked much more claylike, sticking together in very regular clumps – “lego” he said dismissively. It was cool and sticky to the touch and did not have much aroma. The soil from his vineyard was completely different – a deeper shade of brown, it was completely loose and friable (“cous cous”)with a rich, earthy smell. It also felt warmer in the hand. He explained that good soils will have good yeasts in them while bad soils will be full of pathogens which interfere with fermentation and mean that sulphur is imperative. The exact type of yeasts in good soil will also depend very much on the climate of the year in question and this is of course an incredibly important aspect of any particular vintage. As far as vintages go, he mentioned that he has a lot less variation now than would happen with conventional farming which is something I have heard from other biodynamic producers and which is a very happy glimmer of hope in the dreadfully pessimistic picture future weather predictions usually paint.
Soil lecture over, we tramped back down the hill for a tasting in the tiny cellar. This is truly a completely ‘by hand’ operation. Although it is tiny, it has been designed so that everything is gravity fed and pumping is completely unnecessary. After pressing, he leaves the wine to settle for 12 – 18 hours and it is then transferred to barrels where it goes through both alcoholic and malolactic fermentations. The doors of the cellar are opened in the winter in order to precipitate tartrate crystals and the wine will remain in the same barrels till June or July of the following year, quietly resting on the fine lees which are a very effective anti oxidant.
We tasted some of the base wines at this point which was a complete revelation. I have done this quite a few times in Champage at various big, grand houses and it is not a happy experience on the whole. Vin Clair (the base wine before the second fermentation) generally tastes of nothing (perceived wisdom being that the flavours will come later, from the second fermentation) and has shriekingly high acidity. I have often been told that the acidity should be out of balance at this stage and yet Bertrand’s wines were a world away from these. Floral, fruit and mineral aromas were all detectable on both the nose and the palate and while they were certainly crisp, the acidity was perfectly balanced by great complexity and length. Of course, with most champagnes, any remaining imbalance in the wine right at the end of the process will be ‘corrected’ by the dosage.
Dosage is the final slug of wine mixed with sugar which is added back into bottles just before the cork goes in. Almost all champagnes, unless the label stipulates ‘extra brut’ will have had this treatment and while in well made champagne, I have never thought to question this in the past, tasting Bertrand’s wines make a mockery of the process in many ways. His are all bottled with zero dosage, meaning that the fruit and flavours of the soil shine through unhindered. The acidity is certainly crisp and clean but in no way out of balance or uncomfortably high. The overall effect is one of zesty vitality and a bracing freshness with great complexity that seems to evolve constantly in the glass. I have always really loved good champagne but I feel in many ways that these wines have ruined me for the others for ever. After tasting something so unaffected, vital and delicious, why would I ever want to drink anything else?
We tasted a few of the other barrels, all of them delicious in their own right but the Chardonnay was especially extraordinary. I have never picked up such distinctly floral notes on this variety before and now won’t rest easy until we are able to stock some of the resulting champagne. We finished the tasting with a bottle of this and it was every bit as sublime as the base wine had suggested it might be. At least as good if not better than my beloved Rose.
This was truly a magical visit and Bertrand is indeed an incredibly clever man as well as being a very charming host. As busy as he is, he took the time to book us a table at a small wine bar that had previously been recommended to me for dinner that evening and when they said that they had no more of his wine (not at all surprising), he insisted we take a bottle with us.
The long drive back to Reims happened quickly and smoothly again and with Rebecca navigating like a complete super star, I was starting to feel like things were going scarily smoothly. That was a stupid thing to think as, on cue, they unravelled.
The three of us got to our hotel after having dropped Laura and Scott from The Grove off at theirs, looking forward to a quick shower before dinner and were feeling very smug at the fact that while they were in the Holiday Inn, we had a charming little place on a narrow back street. That was a mistake.
The receptionist looked visibly dismayed when we walked through the door and this grew as I confidently gave her my name. Apparently, there was nothing there. I took a deep breath and gave her my married name. Her eyes widened further and still nothing. She asked me to write these down, which I did, and as an afterthought, added ‘Green & Blue’.
"Aaah – Green & Blue!” she exclaimed when I handed her the list, leading to 3 hearts soaring again. She paused and sighed. “Non.”
Our hearts sank.
In broken (mine) and colourful and dramatic (hers) French we tried to piece together the mystery. I had phoned and booked about two months before and had given a card number in order to secure the booking. I unfortunately had no booking number or reference and although it was a very small hotel, she assured me that they would have sent a confirmation email. I had been told at the time that they were very busy but not that they were full and myself and the young lady on the phone had endured a very long, arduous spelling out of names process together. None of that really mattered though as they were definitely full and to make matters worse, she seemed convinced that we would probably have to drive back to Paris to find a room for the night. Apparently there was an important academic conference in town and so no rooms at any of the inns.
Perhaps it was the magical effect of Bertrand’s wines, but I managed to remain completely calm through all of this. I couldn’t really see how getting furious in bad French was going to help matters anyway but she certainly did not make that easy by insisting that we would never find rooms. There was much gallic shrugging, throwing of hands in the air and rolling of eyes to accompany the account of just how much of a spot we were in. I asked her to point out, on the map, where we might be able to have more luck but everywhere I pointed just led to another round of sighing, shrugging and negative exclamations. Apparently, Epernay was very small with only 3, maybe 4 hotels, so that was out of the question. We were baffled the next day on lunching in Epernay to see evidence of at least 3 times that number but perhaps she was just getting caught up in the drama of the situation and didn’t want to spoil it with a relatively pain free outcome.
Very wearily (we had all been up stupidly early) and with much less spring in our step, we returned to the car and headed out of town, hoping for the best. We were going to try our luck in the Parc de Champagne which apparently had some large chain hotels. Although we were all starving as well by then and feeling a bit gloomy, I reminded Emily and Rebecca that at least we had the bottle of champagne that Bertrand had given us for dinner, even if Laura and Scott had beds for the night.
We finally came to another hotel, parked and went in, only to be greeted with much the same reaction (albeit without the amateur dramatics) when we asked for a room. There were two young ladies here and they very kindly called up a few other hotels only to be given the same answer for each – definitely no rooms. Trying to focus on the fact that we had the champagne, we were just about to turn around to go when one of them had an idea. A rapid conversation in French followed and we were told that there was a room left, only the situation was ‘complicated’. There had been a flood and they were not sure whether or not it had been rectified but if it had, they could move a camp bed in and the 3 of us could share it. They had a deal.
The younger of the two went to check whether or not the room had been fixed and the relief when she returned to say that it was, was palpable. We were now very late for dinner though so there was only time to drop off our bags and apply lipstick before racing back out again. Our taxi driver added to what was starting to feel like a ‘how much can you get visitors to hate Reims’ campaign by dropping us a good 25 minute walk from where we were going (he assured us it was ‘just over there’ as he did so, gesticulating vaguely at a group of bars and restaurants) but we still, in spite of starvation and weariness, remained pretty cheerful. The walk was made more tolerable by discussing which particular combination of people who work for Green & Blue would have been the most awkward to have to share a room with in the circumstances and how much we were going to enjoy the champagne, which we really felt we deserved.
The wine bar, Le Verre de L’Ange at 10 Av Jean Jaures was worth walking miles for as it too had a host of delicious organic and biodynamic wines and food that was good and simple. The Champagne was indeed quite unbelievably wonderful and so the evening ended very well after all. Also, sharing a room really was absolutely fine, particularly as we were all so tired that even if it had been the number one worst possible combination, I don’t think we would have had a problem.
