you've got to carry that weight (Champagne to Paris)

yes, it's from a song. All Gen Y will need to utilise Google. The title of this blog is dedicated to the fact that we had to lug our numerous, heavy bags through the metro. My muscles are still sore. Perhaps if I hadn't tucked away almost a dozen bottles of the finest produce of Bordeaux and Champagne they may have been more manageable. The train trip from Charles de Gaulle is going to rate as one the most memorable I've had - it runs second only to an experience at World Youth Day last year.

The day began perfectly ... that should have been a warning. Pour a glass dear reader, this is going to be a long one.

Larmandier-Bernier

After some re-packing of bags we left for Vertus and the Champagne House of Larmandier-Bernier, our choice of bubbles back in Oz. It was a beautiful morning and the drive was pleasant. We arrived on time and were met by Sophie Larmandier. A few minutes later another couple arrived. That was it for the winery tour, very intimate.

Oak bariques.

The first thing I noticed in the room where the wine was aged were oak barrels. Yesterday at Mumm we were told that they no longer use oak barriques because the oak flavours the wine, therefore it was not natural. The look on Sophie's face was priceless when I told her that.

Experimental barrels.

Although they are only a small concern, they manage to export to a number of countries. All their wine is bio and they have several parcels of land totalling only 16 acres. Christian Autreau said to us yesterday that his holding was too small for his daughter to take on and he had 25 acres!

We tasted their full range of 5 wines on the verandah in the sunshine. Jayne found a Rose she liked and my favourite was Vieux Vignes (old vine). If it wasn't so difficult and expensive to send wine back home I would have ordered a few cases. Yummm, not Mumm.

This was such a different experience from the previous day at Mumm. We purchased a few bottles for Paris and pointed the car in that direction.

Charles de Gaulle and the train

That's a good title for a children's story, but it'll never work because there are no pictures. 

In a continuation of the excellent day, we found the airport with minimal effort and even found where to leave the car. Oh YAY! After returning the key, we caught the train to Terminal 3 and changed to get on the circuit to Paris. All good so far.

Jayne joined the queue to buy tickets and we waited. There were two non-French speakers being served and they obviously wanted to have their whole itinerary organised for them. After about 10 minutes Jayne scored our tickets and we trundled over to the escalator. Half way down the the platform our train departed. Not much we could do with the number of bags we had and the train system is pretty good over here. Except for today.

Once on the platform I started paying attention to the announcements. Due to track problems there would be no express services to Paris. All trains were all stations. They were running every 15 minutes and it would take about 35 minutes to get into the city.

30 minutes later the train arrived to a crowded platform. We moved into the closest carriage which was already full, but the stupid 'tourist' in front of me just stopped in the doorway. Once the first of my bags began to crush her leg she thought it a good idea to move into the carriage. I was helped to other side of the carriage by the pram being projected into the carriage behind me. When the doors closed it looked like no-one else could get in and we certainly couldn't move.

We had about 10 stations till our change of line and we were stopping at everyone of them. And at everyone of them more people pushed, squeezed, forced their way in. Some even had the temerity to complain about all the bags. Imagine, people with luggage on a train from the airport! It became so crowded that I couldn't move. I was being pushed over by the people that had forced their way in behind me.

The air was getting very thin because the pushiest people were also the smelliest. Then this delinquent in a tracksuit (it was 30°, what the ... ?) decided it was a good idea to raise his arm to hold onto the door frame. OMG, the stink! I thought the girl next to him was going to die.

And so the journey continued. I began to get worried about how we were going to get out. While I could pick up the bags I wouldn't be able to move if I had to cross to other side of the carriage. Then, one station out, we stopped, started, stopped again. I could see the Tower and Sacre Coeur. So tantalisingly close.

We grated our way into Gare du Nord and the platform was ... nothing was going well now ... on the other side of the train. I had bags and people one side and a pram and people the other. Fortunately, this is a major stop so a few people got out of my way and I was able to start edging forward. With victory in sight, the same ignorant, pushy crowd from the first stop started moving out from the seated area. He didn't care that one of my bags was partially blocking the way as I moved forward. He and his pig friend just pushed my bag  aside. I held as much ground as I could, but with a pack back and camera bag and two very heavy suitcases it was a struggle. Jayne was already off the train and I had visions of being left on.

So, as the last of their group went to push me back I lifted the large suitcase that little bit higher and locked them in the seated area. Thankfully, someone trying to get on saw my struggle and lifted one of the cases off for me and placed it on the platform. I was exhausted by the battle.

Once on the platform, Jayne began to look for the lift or the escalator. Too funny. We wheeled the bags to the stairs and lumbered up them, one by one, in search of line 5 on the metro. Two flights of stairs. Oh yeah. Then at least we had some wheely time. We found the line we needed and once again searched for an escalator. We found two, both coming up from the platform. So, we lugged the bags down two flights. At the bottom there was a professional beggar. I was tempted to offer him money to carry the bags for me.

The train arrived. Not so crowded. Ahhh. Only 5 stops to home and we are within 400 metres of the Metro. Off the train. No escalators. You forget sometimes how deep the Metro is in Paris. Three flights of stairs. By the last, I was no longer walking up them, carrying the bags. I was lifting each bag to the step. It was pathetic. I was dripping with sweat. My arms were aching and I even began to wonder whether we should have kept the car and driven in. That thought didn't last long.

Rue du Crussol

I sent a text message and dragged myself and the bags the 400 metres to the door and it was magically opened by Arnaud. You can view the apartment online at http://www.waytostay.com/paris-apartments/oberkampf-terrasse-3263/reviews It looks exactly like the pictures, although I wasn't ready to attack the stairs down to the bedroom straight away.

After unpacking, we went for a walk around the local area. It's an interesting mix of old and new, sort of like Redfern/Surry Hills. We found a local cafe and settled in for a meal and a drink and watched the world go by. Then we walked home and sat in our courtyard sipping our welcome bottle of wine. Peace at last.

Sunday

I am getting used to this concept of late nights and late mornings. Well, late by my standards. I set out in search of croissant for breakfast. Nothing. Just about everything was closed. Back home for coffee and a Skype call into family dinner. We then set off for the markets. They are one the oldest in Paris, dating back to Henry IV, but they were very small and pretty average compared to the provincial markets we were used to. SO, croissant and tonight's dinner in the pack, we went home for a very late breakfast.

The weather forecast was for showers, yesterday's beautiful sunshine had gone. We decided to walk down to the Place de la Bastille to find the Tourist Bureau so that we can purchase tickets for the Louvre for tomorrow and Versailles for Tuesday. As we neared the Bastille we could see tents and crowds. It was the Bastille Markets, reputedly the biggest and best in Paris, but it didn't figure in the local information we had. No problems. We walked around and purchased the things we couldn't get this morning. On the other side of the markets there was some other activity, we're still not sure what, but, there were police everywhere and roads closed. I assume it was kind of charity walk or run.

The search continued for the Tourist Bureau. They are tricky and not always easy to locate. This one proved to be impossible. We were heading to Mass at Notre Dame tonight and there is a Tourist office near the Cathedral, so we decided to head there prior to Mass and hopefully get our passes organised.

Notre Dame round 1

The first sighting across the Seine.

We found the Tourist Bureau. It was cleverly disguised as a modern day toilet block. In retrospect, we probably walked past the one in Bastille. Ah well. We booked our tickets for the Louvre (tomorrow, excited) and Versailles (date flexible depending on weather) and headed back towards the packed Cathedral forecourt. We walked towards the door and noticed this monstrous line snaking across the plaza. Queuing to get into Mass? That's a first (WYD aside). So, we back-tracked and joined the line. It was no drama because it was moving quickly. When we got closer to the door we noticed a tiny little sign that directed tourists one way (the line we were in) and Mass attendees another. We changed lines and were inside the cathedral immediately.

Jayne and I agree that the outside of the Cathedral at Reims is more impressive than its Paris cousin, but, oh, the inside, it is just beautiful. We chose our seats as the place filled up. The crowds were still milling around the perimeter. We'd thought they'd stop them for Mass. Nuh. Mass commenced, all pomp and ceremony, more incense than I've seen since my last high church Anglican Mass. The choir was beautiful, the acoustics in those old Gothic cathedrals are amazing. But, the constant sound of the shuffling unbelievers and their camera flashes (sorry, no photography allowed) was quite distracting. OK, the service was in French and I only understood about six words.

It really is a beautiful Cathedral and we are both looking forward to a tour.

And now it's time for me to go to bed and for you to get ready for work.