Un, deux, TROYES!

Before I begin, I would like to clarify that my pit for our ski day in Chamonix was NOT the fact that Mike did not catch my entire fall. (If I had to choose, it would have probably been the fact that I was traveling at 60 mph down an icy mountain with no idea (and no control) of where I was headed.) That being said, I secretly do wish we caught some of it on camera… it was, by far, my most epic fall.

It felt right in Chamonix, but we had to make our way closer to Paris (where we eventually would catch a train to Amsterdam). We decided to check out Troyes for two nights and so began our five-hour road trip with a pit stop in Annecy for breakfast. Annecy, nicknamed the “Pearl of French Alps,” is located on Lake Annecy (surprise, surprise) and surrounded by mountains. The backdrop was RIDICULOUS: lush green mountains sandwiched by shimmering turquoise water and a clear blue sky. Everyone seemed to be taking advantage of the beautiful weather by running the trails on the lake, laying in the park, or feeding the ducks. It was such a refreshing atmosphere. We walked into the old city center with every intention of finding a café to sit and eat at, but when you wander right into a farmers’ market you take full advantage. We visited a few different stands, collecting a croissant, a slice of ham, a quiche, and two coffees (and maybe another pastry and a slice of bread, because you need to feed your curiosity too) and voila! a perfect breakfast on the lake. Now, off to Troyes!

When we arrived in Troyes, it really felt like we had stepped back in time or possibly onto the set of Beauty and The Beast. It was full of colorful, half-timbered homes and buildings, which date back to the 16th century—a time when Troyes was an artistic, cultural, and architectural epicenter. (Troyes itself is much older (dating back to the Roman era), but most of the city was destroyed by a great fire in 1524 and had to be rebuilt.) I think the city felt so much older because the buildings actually showed their age—we are talking about timber that is over 450 years old. Our flat was in one of these buildings, so I can confirm that they felt as old as they appeared. The leaning spiral staircase that led to our flat was so steep and narrow there was a rope for support. And even though our flat itself was completely renovated, the floor was rocking a solid tilt.

We had less than 48 hours in this gem so we got our bearings on the city the best way we know how: a run. We dropped our stuff in our flat and hit the pavement cobblestone. The rest of our night was spent in a laundromat, at the grocery store, and in the kitchen. [On my way to the grocery store, I passed lively bars and restaurants and noticed that the square was filled with people of all ages enjoying the beautiful, warm night. At that moment I was tempted to ditch cooking and join in on the fun, but I also really loved the idea of having a normal night, mimicking a typical weeknight in Richmond. Plus, I had eyed tortillas earlier and couldn’t resist some homemade Mexican.] The normalcy of it all was rejuvenating. Who would have thought that folding laundry and cleaning dishes would be a welcomed change of pace?

The next morning, we went for another run around town, stopped at the grocery store, and then… Mike and I separated for the first time!! (It was a big moment, you guys.) Mike was really craving a bowl of cereal (his typical breakfast at home), and I wanted to sip my coffee and write at a café (I know, so European of me, right?). Well, you’ve read about the difficulties we’ve had when it comes to coffee shops and unfortunately, this was no exception. With my tiny espresso and dead laptop sans outlet, I sat with my thoughts. Until, that is, I realized it was 5AM at home, which means my mom is likely on her second cup of coffee, Amigo (our dog) is by her side, and my dad should be heading out the door for work any minute. And suddenly the empty coffee shop was filled with the whole damn fam as my mom and I sipped our coffee together via FaceTime. It was the best coffee date (no offense, Mike).

Troyes just so happens to be in the Champagne region of France (and fun fact: apparently the old town is shaped like a cork). So, it was without question that our itinerary for the afternoon included visiting a Champagne house, or two. Here’s the difference between Champagne produced in the Champagne region and the Champagne produced anywhere else in the world: it’s not Champagne. Champagne is ONLY produced in Champagne, France. While we knew this, we weren’t exactly sure why that was. Turns out, there’s a strict (and extensive) set of rules and regulations, from specific vineyard practices to the sourcing of the grapes and the production method, such as pressing regimes unique to the region. Only when a sparkling wine meets these requirements may it be labeled Champagne. Even the word Champagne is protected—apparently the Comité Champagne sued Perrier for calling one of its products the “Champagne of mineral water” and warned Apple not to release a “Champagne”-colored iPhone.

There is one loophole (there’s always a loophole) that dates allllll the way back to the end of WWI. Time for a quick history lesson: Within the Treaty of Versailles, there was an article designed to establish that only sparkling wine from Champagne could be labeled as Champagne (priorities). While the US signed the treaty, the Senate never ratified the treaty. At the time, this wasn’t an immediate concern because the US was entering into the prohibition and all wine production would die off anyway. But it became a concern when wine production in California picked up again and in 1983, the US and EU opened up trade talks on wine. TWO DECADES LATER, they came to an agreement: in exchange for easing trade restrictions on wine, the US would ban wine producers from using Champagne (or other semi-generic names) on domestic wine labels starting March 2006 unless a producer was already using one of those names (looking at you, Korbel). (This could also be why Miller High Life gets away with calling its product the “Champagne of beers.”)

^No, we didn’t learn all that from visiting two Champagne houses. But we did learn about the rules, regulations, methods, and different types… and believe me, once you know everything that goes into making Champagne, you’d understand the frustration of others stealing the name.

After the Champagne tastings, we walked through the streets and alleys of Troyes as we killed some time before dinner (which was at 7:30PM, AKA as soon as the restaurant opened). We ate at a local, traditional restaurant in the square and were able to pair some delicious food with great people watching.

We had an early morning ahead of us—a two-hour drive to drop the car off and then an hour commute into Paris for our 11AM train to Amsterdam. We woke up the next morning and double checked our train time only to discover that our train was actually not until 5PM. We could have a leisurely morning in Troyes, OR, we could spend our last afternoon in France in Paris. Paris won (Paris always wins).

Pit of Troyes: Impossible to pronounce Troyes.

Peak of Troyes: I mean, we sipped Champagne in Champagne. That’s a peak of my life.

France, you’ve been so great and full of surprises, but we need to pack a few more countries into our first month. So, in the words of Bill Belichick, we’re #ontoBelgium, then #ontoTheNetherlands, then #ontoDenmark. Stay tuned!