It might not seem that way from my illustrious travels, but I actually was in school during my time in France. I spent the rest of November and beginning of December studying, which could be difficult considering my my mild distaste of various aspects of Sciences Po University.

But by virtue of living in the champagne region, this time was interrupted here and there by glasses of chilled bubbly. Sciences Po threw a James-Bond themed “Sky Ball” at a champagne house with practically unlimited champagne– a night I have to give them serious props for, even though it was regretted by many (including me) the next morning.

A couple days later, I took a train to sleepy Épernay to tour Moët et Chandon. Champagne is the lifeblood of Épernay even more than in Reims. Its impressive Avenue de Champagne is lined with austere mansions that produce millions of bottles of champagne a year. Some Europeans say this boulevard is the most expensive street in Europe– not for what is on it, but for the millions of bottles of champagne stored below. Liquid gold.

Stepping inside Moët et Chandon is pure decadence. It’s all sweeping staircases and creamy walls and gold accents. There is a chandelier made entirely of glass champagne flutes, and a shop that shines so bright and glamorous it’s like being in an aristocrat’s jewelry box.

The actual tour is impressive too– they have 28 kilometers of tunnels that stretch underneath Épernay, and interesting historical tidbits involving both world wars. It’s cool and dark in the tunnels, with damp chalk walls and dusty bottles hidden away in all sorts of crevices. Despite the detailed explanations I received on how champagne is made, being in those winding tunnels and hearing about the secret method the head champagne master uses to designate vintage harvests, I couldn’t help but feel an air of mystery that made my complimentary glass taste particularly delicious.

A champagne tour is truly an experience, so if you’re ever in Paris I highly recommend spending a day away to visit champagne country. At the very least you’ll get some job inspiration– there are several employees who spend two weeks every year tasting the wine in each bottle to make sure its quality is up to par before undergoing second fermentation. 

Sometime after Moët, myself and three of my friends spent an afternoon at Yves Couvreur with our French Mom. For context: in September we all toured Yves Couvreur, a small champagne house that has been run by the same family since the 1600s. It’s in tiny Rilly-la-Montagne, a sweet town filled with crumbly sidewalks, bright cottages, and lots and lots of champagne. So much champagne that the smell of yeasty fermentation hangs thick in the air. I could practically stick out my tongue and taste it.

Anyway, when we got to Yves Couvreur on that September afternoon, we met Yves’ wife Minda. She gave us a student discount and a neat tour of the place. When we sat down for the tasting she found out we hadn’t eaten lunch yet, so she brought out plates of cheese and traditional sausage and bread and homemade cake! She must have refilled our glasses ten times with different champagne, and we all ate and talked and laughed for a couple hours. She talked about her past and gave us all sorts of life advice. It was one of my favorite experiences during my whole four months in France.

Minda was so wonderful, my friends and I knew we had to see her again before we left France! So in December we went back one afternoon to say hello, and we all sat around her desk and drank champagne and ate baked goods and listened to her stories, just like old times. I love French Mom, and I’ll be sure to visit her next time I’m in France.

After my months in Reims, after bruts and demi-secs and rosés, Champagne will always have a fizzy place in my heart. Not just because I can lord my champagne snobbery over everyone else at parties, but because when those thousands of bubbles pop delicately on my tongue, I think of afternoons spent wandering sweet towns, clinking glasses with friends, cheers of “santé” and “ching ching” still echoing in my ears.