Reflections on Champagne and Being Gay

I'll admit to never having developed a love of Champagne. There's a part of me that somehow feels inadequate in not having done so. After all, EVERYBODY loves Champagne, right? The marketers in the big houses in Épernay and Reims have been working diligently for over 200 years to convince the world that it cannot live without the bubbly wine, and they have been hugely successful. 

I thought, maybe I just haven't met the right bottle of champagne.

Frankly, as I write this sitting in Charles de Gaulle Airport waiting on a flight to Berlin, this situation reminds me of how I felt about being "attracted to men" during the 10+ years between going through puberty and joining the Mormon Church, when I felt that my lack of attraction to women could be explained - indeed MUST be - by the fact that I just hadn't yet met the right woman.

Both situations required me to grin and bear it if I wanted to be like everyone else. Surely the problem was/is with me and not with the product - in one case champagne, and in the other case heterosexuality. It took me approximately 40 years after suddenly discovering that men turned me on to come out of the closet and embrace the fact that I am gay. And it took me about the same amount of time to discover that, while champagne doesn't (as my dad used to say) "honk my trigger," ratafia does. 

Ratafia?

Let me explain.

I joined another small-group tour in Paris yesterday morning. When the driver/guide, the cute Victor, picked me up - mercifully at the reasonable hour of 7:45 instead of 6:30 - there were already three youngish Americans in the back seat. Young Asian-Americans, Michael, his wife and a friend (whose names, alas, I have forgotten), they were in Paris for a week before attending the destination wedding of a friend in Angers in the Loire Valley.

Paris was uncharacteristically foggy as we headed out of the city, east toward Champagne. As we drove, visibility got worse instead of better, and by the time we arrived in the heartland of bubble-land, we could see hardly anything. We chatted along the way, however, getting to know each other a bit. Turns out Michael, who is of Japanese descent, collects Japanese whiskey (who knew?), and had researched just how much alcohol one is allowed to bring back into the United States. Victor gave him the name of a couple of stores in Paris he should visit. I found myself wishing that I had a bit more time so as to visit these stores to look for a particular single-malt Scotch (as if I'd have room in my luggage for one more bottle of booze/wine).

Our first stop was L'abbaye Saint-Pierre d'Hautvillers, a Benedictine abbey that was the home and is the final resting of Dom Pérignon, effectively the patron saint of the Champagne industry.

The tombstone of Dom Perignon in the abbey of Hautvillers

If Dom Pérignon is the patron saint of the champagne industry, then surely the house of Moët & Chandon is one of its most important pilgrimage sites. This was our next destination, where we joined a tour of the house and their famous cellars, carved out of the chalk below the city of Épernay. I desperately wanted to enjoy - really enjoy - the champagne we tasted at the end of the tour, but I found it didn't really turn me on - much like my high school and college (female) dates.

From there, we drove to the village of Monthelon, where we had lunch and enjoyed more tastings at the house of a small producer, Julien Chopin. 

I admit to finding the various types of champagne that they served with lunch more enjoyable. Perhaps it was because they were served with food.

But the epiphany came when the cheese course was served. This is when we were all treated to a small glass of ratafia made from Meunier grapes.

Ratafia? I had never heard of it, and I felt somewhat better when our guides said that, even in a Paris wine shop, it would be unlikely that people would be familiar with it. 

Ratafia, it turns out, is a fortified wine of about 18% ABV that is produce only in Champagne from the same grapes - Pinot Noir, Pinot Meunier and Chardonnay - that are used to produce champagne. I was entirely hooked after one sip. FINALLY! I had found a champagne product that suited me. The producer at whose house we were eating - Julien Chopin - has a passion for ratafia, and I was so enamored of the drink that I asked if I could sample the Pinot Noir product with our cherry/raspberry tarts that were served as dessert.

I wish I'd had room to bring home a large bottle, but I did make room for three small ones. After all, I had finally "come out" and embraced my true attraction to ratafia. ;)

We rounded out our afternoon by visiting a cooperative in another village across the Marne River, then it was back to Paris. Frankly, by the time I arrived back at my flat, I was day-tripped-out. It's been a wonderful four days, but it's now time to head to Berlin for my birthday weekend, then home.

A Lively Lunch in Mont-Saint-Michel

In a sense, I had waited 35 years for the opportunity of seeing Mont-Saint-Michel - a desire fulfilled yesterday. But at the end of the day, it wasn't seeing the Mont that made the day special; rather, it was the lunch I had with two strangers, an experience I'll long remember.

It was another early start as I left my flat in the Marais around 6:00 and walked to the meeting point in central Paris. The driver was waiting for me, and we then left to pick up a couple who were staying near the Arc de Triomphe. They climbed into the back seat of the car, and we set off for Normandy. We all dozed and didn't talk much - except for the driver/guide. He launched into a monologue after picking up the couple, giving us some basic information about the Paris region and about Mont-Saint-Michel, and I immediately thought how much he sounded like Peter Sellers' Inspector Clouseau.

After a 3-1/2 hour drive, we arrived at our destination. I have to say it was thrilling to see when the Mont first came into sight.

I say I had waited 35 years to see this iconic location because I made my first trip to France in the spring of 1982, when I came to Paris to see a college friend who was studying there his senior year. I then returned 2-1/2 years later on a Mormon mission. Though I lived in and visited many parts of France while a missionary, I never made it to Mont-Saint-Michel because of its relatively remote location. And though Mark and I visited France twice during our years together, we were in other areas of the country.

Our tour included lunch at the (apparently) famous restaurant, La Mère Poulard, and by the time we arrived after having crossed the causeway from the mainland, we had about 25 minutes to walk around the village at the base of the Mont before meeting up for our lunch reservation.

It was only after sitting down to lunch that I got to really talk to and get to know my tour-mates, Miesha and Paul. I had assumed they were a couple, but found out that they are merely friends who were spending a few days in Paris. They had decided on a lark the previous day to take the tour, and I'm certainly glad they did; otherwise it would have been just me, and they day would have been far less interesting.

Paul is from a small village north of Manchester, England, and Miesha had met him while going to university some years ago. She is from Malaysia and was back in England on holiday visiting friends. They were quite the crack up. She was relentless in teasing Paul and was downright funny in her irreverence and exuberance. 

Paul was more reserved, but frankly is one of the most interesting, remarkable people I have ever met. During the course of the conversation, I learned that he is a firefighter in a city in central England, though he is looking to possibly move into another field of work in the future. He described how he had been extremely lucky to obtain his position right out of school, as firefighting jobs used to be highly coveted because of job security and pension benefits. He hadn't expected to get the job when he applied, especially when he found out he was up against a decorated war veteran; but he did.

It became apparent as Paul talked that he is an extraordinarily hard-working young man who currently, in addition to his main job, takes on extra shifts in London in connection with the aftermath of the recent Grenville Tower fire. He also works other part-time jobs - and the principal motivation for doing so is to provide financial support to his parents, who apparently recently went through a bankruptcy.

It was this desire to help his parents that led to his current living accommodations: an old camper van. He had made plans to take a nine-month sabbatical from his work, having saved enough money through his frugality to do so, and had sublet his apartment during his time away. Just as he was getting ready to leave, however, he discovered the extent of his parents' financial problems and cancelled his trip.

He went on to describe -- with much prodding and laughter from Miesha -- the troubles he had had with the travel van - how he discovered shortly after buying it that it leaked like a sieve; how he had planned to park it on fire station property but ended up having to park it on a vacant piece of land; how his back-up plan for power was solar panels, but how the place he had managed to find to park the van was completed in the shade; how he therefore had to cart a portable generator to work at the fire station every day to charge it up so that he'd have power in his van. It went on and on, a sort of comedy of errors that made for a fascinating story and would, I told him, make for an interesting reality TV series.

But one of the things that made Paul seem even more remarkable to me was that, as he told his stories throughout the course of our lunch, he was completely self-prepossessed, unassuming, guileless and utterly charming. And authentic. During another part of the conversation, again in response to prodding from Miesha, Paul talked about how he had taken finance and accounting courses in his "spare time," thinking he might like to work in those fields. But at the end of the day, he decided he didn't want to go in that direction. He wanted to find something he truly enjoys doing and in which he can be who he is.

Throughout it all, Paul struck me as an exceptional young man (I say young because I'm easily old enough to be his father), and I could happily have sat there at that lunch table for hours talking to him and Miesha. (I'll admit, too, that the experience gave me renewed hope of finding a special someone someday with whom I can share my life.)

Another beautiful day, another beautiful experience. Grateful.

Today, off to Champagne ...

A Gay Guy from Utah and Two Texas Gals in Burgundy

"Umm, I was married for 25 years, then came out."

It wasn't a conversation I had planned on having. I had met my tour companions and my driver/tour guide at 6:40 in the morning near the Louvre in Paris. Our destination was northern Burgundy (Bourgogne). I had been up since 4:45, and we had about a three-hour drive ahead of us. 

The driver didn't appear to be "Mr. Personality," but then again, neither did I at that early hour. There were only two other people on the tour, a couple of ladies from Texas with broad accents and frosted hair who appeared to be somewhere between 60-80 years of age. It was not a particularly auspicious beginning, and I set my expectations for the day quite low.

There wasn't much conversation for at least an hour as we headed south and I dozed. After we stopped for coffee and a croissant, Olivier, our driver/guide, decided it was time for a bit of conversation. I had had the impression earlier that he'd rather drive bamboo shoots under his fingernails than take the three of us to Bourgogne, but he livened up quite a bit after some espresso.

Olivier asked if this was the first time we had been to France. I replied that I had been before and, after a moment or two of hesitation, added that I had served a Mormon mission in Paris many years ago. "I used to Mormon," I said, "but no longer am." "What are you now?" he replied. "Nothing," I responded.

Me with Bev and Pam in front of vineyards in Chablis

Bev and Pam, the Texas ladies, seemed to be quite intrigued by my statement that I am no longer Mormon. "How did that come about?" Bev inquired in her extremely broad Texas drawl. "If you don't mind me askin'?"

"Well," I replied, "that's a long story."

"Well," she retorted, "we've got lots of time." 

I laughed and shut up. I frankly wasn't sure how two Texans and a French guide would respond to learning that I'm gay.

Our first destination was the Château de Bazoches (pictured in the photo above), the home of Louis XIV's military genius, the Maréchal de Vauban. I had never heard of the guy but was fascinated to learn about him and his importance in the history of France. I was also enchanted by the location of the castle. Already on the way there, as we drove through picturesque villages and through scenic valleys, I realized I was falling in love with Bourgogne. This attraction was confirmed as I looked out upon the views from the castle's windows and overlooks.

I had spent several months in the Loire Valley on my mission and had visited numerous chateaux. I had also served in Brittany and in southwestern France while a missionary and have more recently spent time in the French Alps and Provence; but Bourgogne presented a charm to me that I had not experienced elsewhere in France.

These feelings of attraction only intensified when we moved on to visit the nearby village of Vézelay, selected as one of the prettiest villages in France, home of the Basilica of Mary-Magdalene, originally a Benedictine Abbey. Again, I had never heard of it or the basilica and was fascinated to learn that Richard the Lionhearted and King Phillipe-Augustus had met to pray here prior to the launch of the Third Crusade. 

As Wikipedia states: "Saint Bernard of Clairvaux preached there in favor of a second crusade at Easter 1146, in front of King Louis VII. Richard I of England and Philip II of France met there and spent three months at the Abbey in 1190 before leaving for the Third Crusade. Thomas Becket in exile, chose Vézelay for his Whitsunday sermon in 1166, announcing the excommunication of the main supporters of his English King, Henry II, and threatening the King with excommunication too. The nave, which had burnt once, with great loss of life, burned again in 1165, after which it was rebuilt in its present form."

Roman arches inside the basilica

I was even more affected, however, by the enchanting views of the surrounding countryside and the charm of the village. The effect was completed by a charming lunch in the middle of the village consisting of Boeuf Bourguignon and accompanied by local red wine.

After lunch, we headed to Chablis for some wine tasting. On the way there, Bev piped up at one point and said, "Soooo, Joseph ... We're still waitin' to hear about you no longer bein' a Mormon and all ..."

Deep sigh.

"Okay," I submitted. "I was married for 25 years, and then I came out. So, like, I'm gay. My wife and I divorced, I left the Church, and I met an amazing man with whom I spent 4-1/2 wonderful years before he died of prostate cancer."

Silence. Olivier looked over at me but managed to keep the car on the road.

Chablis

I can't recall exactly what was said, but both ladies made it clear very quickly that they were totally "okay with it." "Well," Bev said, or maybe it was Pam, "we knew you were handsome and all, and seemed real nice. So I guess we're not too surprised cuz seems like gay men often are so sweet and handsome and all."

I smiled.

There was more back and forth. Discussion of how open and accepting they are. Then Bev asked, "How old are you? If you don't mind me askin'" Sweet, direct, Bev. 

Of course, I responded with my usual response to this question: "How old do you think I am?" They looked at each other. Pam went first: "Oh, 44, 45?" Bev chimed in: "Well, I was gonna say 45, too." I laughed, thanked them, then told them I'll be turning 59 in a few days. They exchanged expressions of astonishment. I just soaked it all in.

Then it was Pam's turn to "take the floor." She conferred briefly with her life-long friend, Bev, then decided to take the plunge.

"Well, my younger son is gay, so of course I am open and accepting."

There followed a discussion about me and my family, Pam and her son and numerous other topics. Lots of laughter. It was amazing to observe and feel the change that came over all of us as we shared things with total strangers as we drove down a road in northern Burgundy. 

We went on to enjoy a wine tasting in Chablis and an uneventful drive back to Paris. I felt that Olivier was totally sincere when, upon dropping me off near the Louvre, he shook my hand, smiled and said that he had really enjoyed the day. Bev and Pam, from their perches in the back seat, offered lots of goodbyes, bon voyages and good wishes.

It was a good day.

Me, Burgundy and a Glass of Chardonnay

I stared at the glass, surprised. I brought it back to my nose and inhaled, then set the glass back down on the table and swished the wine about before bringing the glass back to my nose for another whiff, then to my mouth for another taste. I set the glass back down on the table and stared at it again. What I was experiencing, I knew even then, was life-changing. I would never again think about Chardonnay, or any kind of wine, quite the same way again.

As a traveler, it was one of those experiences that one seeks - something that changes one's wiring, one's way of looking at the world, one's way of experiencing the world. You can't go into a souvenir shop and purchase an experience like this; they often come (in my experience) when one least expects them. And such was the case today.

I was in the cellars of the Chateau du Clos de Vougeot (pictured above). I had taken the high-speed train from Paris to Dijon in order to join a small-group tour of the heart of Burgundy (Bourgogne) wine country - the Côte-d'Or, stretching from south of Dijon to past the town of Beaune. As we emerged from the suburbs of Dijon, I started to see vineyards and the names that I had read about and studied in my French Wine Scholar course. 

As we drove south and then pulled up in front of the Chateau du Clos de Vougeot - the inner sanctum of the world of the wines of Bourgogne - I was reminded of an experience I had in September 2012 at the summit of Mont Ventoux, one of the iconic rides of the Tour de France that ascends the "Giant of Provence." It was near the beginning of the first cycling trip that Mark and I took together. As we congratulated ourselves for making it to the top, he turned to me and said, "I've been cycling for almost 40 years, and it took me that long to make it here. You've been cycling four months." 

Atop Mont Ventoux in 2012

Mark left unsaid what was obvious: that I was fortunate enough to experience something that amazing after having been cycling only a short time. Subtext: I hadn't paid my dues, so I should damn well appreciate it. I did.

I was reminded of this experience this morning because here I was, only a year after beginning my study of wine, experiencing one of the most iconic wine areas in the world. I hadn't/haven't "paid my dues," but there I was, and I appreciate it. I'm grateful I was able to see what I saw and experience what I did.

Detail of the roof inside part of the Chateau du Clos de Vougeot

Our tour gave us a couple of hours of free time in Beaune, where I had lunch with two couples on the tour before taking a quick tour of the Hospice de Beaune. We then headed to another iconic "grand cru" for more wine tasting at the Chateau de Corton. 

The Hospice de Beaune

I haven't had time and/or the WiFi access to blog over the last ten days. It's late, here in Paris, and I have another big day tomorrow, but I've been prodded to write, so I'm writing. There is SO much I could write about my days in Rome and on the cruise I was on last week - but that likely won't happen. So I'll try to move forward from this point. I will say, however, that I had some "Chardonnay experiences" on the cruise as well - experiences that changed me, that changed the way I look at the world, that caused me to grow.

BTW - that glass of Chardonnay? From a bottle from, of all places, Nuits-Saint-Georges, which is known for red (Pinot Noir) and not white. I suspect there's a moral in there somewhere ...

Tomorrow: another small-group day trip to Chablis and northern Burgundy ...

A Trip to the Amalfi Coast

Positano. Amalfi Coast. Sorrento. Magical, seemingly mythical places I had heard about but thought I would perhaps never see. Until yesterday.

I left Rome on a high-speed train around 7:45 with a group of 14 other people on a small-group day tour, bound for Naples. At speeds often approaching 200 mph, we made the trip in a little over an hour, passing by the famed Abbey of Montecassino and other sights along the way. 

As we approached Naples, I saw a mountain off to the left and was surprised when our guide pointed it out as Mount Vesuvius. From the angle at which I saw the famous volcano, it seemed a lot smaller than I had imagined. It was only once I saw it from the south that I could get a much better sense of its size.

Mount Vesuvius as seen from our van as we passed through
Castellammare di Stabia (see map below)

Upon arrival at the Naples train station, we transferred to a 16-passenger van for the drive to Positano. I had heard about the immense traffic jams that are sometimes encountered on the busy road to the Amalfi Coast, but it wasn't bad at all. The weather, after the storms that had passed through the area over the weekend, was picture-postcard perfect - blue skies with temperatures in the low 70's.

Our first stop for photos was at Vico Equense. At the time, I thought we were actually on the Amalfi Coast, but these pictures were actually of Sorrento and the Bay of Naples (I think).

From there, we continued our drive along the breathtakingly beautiful coast to Positano, a town that is crammed onto slopes than plunge down toward the water. It was also crammed with tourists. 

Positano

We had a couple of hours of free time here. I was tempted by many shops, including some men's clothing stores (thinking of my still-missing main suitcase), but in the end only purchased a couple of bottles of rosé (rosato) - one from the Amalfi Coast and the other from Puglia, a bottle of "Five Roses." I had learned about this wine in my Italian Wine Scholar course. It was the first Italian rosato to be commercially produced and sold in Italy and exported to the United States, discovered by an American general during World War II.

At lunch in Positano

From Positano, we boarded a ferry that took us to the town of Amalfi, providing us an opportunity to see the famed coast from the water instead of the busy road cut into the sides of mountains:

Once in Amalfi, we walked past the beaches and then up, up, up the side of a steep hill to visit a lemon farm built onto the terraced hillside. The area is famous for its lemons and limoncello, and we sampled both at the farm we visited.

The beaches in Amalfi

Climbing up the lemon farm terraces

Members of our group sampling lemons, lemon cake and limoncello

After visiting the lemon farm and taking in the views of Amalfi it offered, we descended to the town square - dominated by the beautiful Cathedral of St. Andrew - and again had some free time to walk around, browse in shops and take pictures.

From Amalfi, we took another ferry to Salerno - the site where (I learned following my visit) Allied armies launched their invasion of mainland Italy in September of 1943. It was immediately apparent that the city's buildings looked fairly new, so I assumed that Salerno must have been flattened during World War II. I've got some reading to do when I get home. 

From Salerno, we took another high-speed train back to Rome. It was a long but enjoyable day. Today's itinerary includes a foodie tour in the Trastevere neighborhood of Rome and a wine dinner tonight. Hopefully, my suitcase will turn up today!

Wine, Men and Memories

Two years ago, Mark and I went on our first and only gay cruise together, on a beautiful ship - the Royal Clipper - in a beautiful place: the coast of Croatia. We made wonderful memories together and met guys who became good friends. It was a life-changing experience.

One of those friends was/is Dan Karslake, pictured above in the green shorts with Mark, me and another friend. Dan and I hit it off instantly and have became very close friends. I affectionately refer to him as my BFF. He is an independent film maker whose award-winning documentary, "For the Bible Tells Me So" (dealing with the intersection of homosexuality and conservative Christianity), had a profound effect upon me as I was coming out. 

A few months after Mark died, I became involved in the production of one of Dan's current film projects, "For They Know Not What They Do," Last year, I went on a cruise in Tahiti with Dan and other friends where we raised over $25,000 to help finance the production of "For They Know." 

Dan and me with new German friends after whale watching in Tahiti 

Tomorrow, I will leave for Rome to join another gay cruise on the same ship Mark and I were on - the Royal Clipper - where I will see many of the friends Mark and I met in Croatia as well as a few more I met last year. We will also be raising funds on board for "For They Know," and will hopefully meet or exceed the amount we raised last year.

Last year's cruise was far more triggering than I had anticipated, there being a number of guys on board who had met Mark the previous year. It was a bittersweet experience that was in some ways emotionally very draining. This year, more time has passed, and I look forward to seeing those friends, being with Dan, meeting new people, having fun and seeing amazing places.

Now for the wine part. After the cruise, I will spend a few days in the Paris area, taking day trips to wine regions in Burgundy and Champagne that I learned about in my recently completed French Wine Scholar course. Though I served my Mormon mission in Paris many years ago and have visited the city a couple of times in the last five years, I will be seeing and experiencing new things on this trip. I'm looking forward to those experiences as well as celebrating my birthday later in the month with Dan and his husband, Russ, in their new home in Berlin.

Thoughts as I prepare to leave:

Change is inevitable; growth is optional. I choose to grow. It's scary sometimes; but in the end, what other choice is there? 

Sometimes, I think about experiences that Mark and I had together, and I think, "Wow, I (emphasis on  "I" - who had lived a very different sort of life prior to coming out and meeting Mark) experienced that (emphasis on "that"). Like the night we danced on the beach on Maui under the light of a super moon. 

How lucky am I? Very. I'm grateful for all the life I lived with Mark and for all the life that I have yet to live. I'm grateful for memories made and those yet to be made. I'm grateful for my children, for my friends - near and far - and for the opportunity I now have to make this trip. 

Let the adventure begin.