We awoke to a beautiful blue sky with the sound of mallard on the fishing lake, by which we lay our heads last night.  One of the best things about travelling are the people that we meet, even George met a BFF in the shape of Boscar, a 13 year old Labrador, whose morning energy levels put us all to shame.

Venturing from our campsite we headed deeper into Champagne region, where the large scale, efficient agriculture transitioned into what appeared to be a cottage industry.  Gone were the massive walking irrigation systems, resembling a whole family of craneflys getting ready for a 36 legged race stretching across the field boundary waiting for the whistle to start them.

In their place, small areas of individual vinyards, belonging to one of the 150 “big houses” or one of the 300 ” small houses”, each looking to get 10000 bottles of the sparkling wine ( don’t tell them I said that) from each hectare of the Chardonnay or Pinot Noir grapes, grafted on to root stock up to 60 years old.   Difficult to believe that the revenue for an entire region is dependent on a crop that currently looks like a petrified forest that once grew in a windswept land.    Unbelieving that these” sticks” can produce anything we set out to see if we could find any “free samples” so off to le Mesnile sur Oger we went. Where quite frankly, if you couldn’t find an offer of a “degustation” within 3 minutes of arriving, you really weren’t trying !.  Several glasses later, with the expert describing the subtle differences in taste that were evident from the different root stock, grape type, climate and soil, I’m afraid I committed the cardinal error of confusing my “hint of chocolate and sage” with my ” subtle nose of peach and apricot”.  Whilst we weren’t ejected, we had the good sense that some fine food was becoming a necessity!.

Several things struck us now:

Firstly, the pride and cleanliness of even the smallest of French villages is enormous, 

  Secondly, I have no idea how French businesses remain viable, I’ve yet to find one that’s open during office hours !

They make some bloody fine food and always welcome dogs!  We arrive at La Gare restaurant, a converted railway station at the edge of the village, and welcomed like old friends, the waitress serving George with a bowl of water at the table before taking our order.  Vive la France !