I had a few days in Munich before my next trip, believe it or not, so I managed to squeeze in a few drinks with the Kloster crew on the Monday night, a lunch date on the roof of an Augustiner brewery with Bénédicte and Tobias from the EPO, a dinner date in Augsburg with my friends Matthias & Stefan, an afternoon visit to my nephews for a spot of Wii-ing, elevensies in a cute café in town with my friend Jürgen, and a cheese & wine party at my place with Bénédicte, Christian & Karin.

And then it was time to jump on ANOTHER plane! France, here I come!

From Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris, I had to take a train to Champagne. It's a good job I had plenty of time before the train set off though, because I had a classic piece of Frenchness to experience before I could get on. It goes like this:

I'd pre-booked my train ticket on the SNCF website, where I had been informed that some non-French credit cards don't immediately work in the French ticket dispensing machines. The answer to this problem was, apparently, to type in the booking reference number into the machine, and all would go well. So, on arrival, I queued at the nearest ticket machine, and some 10 minutes later got to the front. I swiped my card, typed in the reference, and was then told that I couldn't proceed! Argh!

So I had to find a human. I headed for the ticket office, where I was greeted by an enormous queue that snaked all the way back out of the office and into the station plaza. Even though there were twelve ticket desks, only TWO of them were actually manned. Argh! Some half an hour later, I finally reached an employee, gave him my card and my reference number, and all was well.

In passing, I mentioned to him that it was a pity the ticket machines don't accept non-French credit cards even though they're supposed to. His response was gold: with a world-weary shrug of the shoulders, he blew out a puff of air, tilted his head in fraternal sympathy and said, "c'est la France"!

But, as I said, luckily I had a couple of hours before the train left. So I even still had time to find a sandwich and a bottle of Orangina before my TGV pulled in. I jumped on, sat down, and watched France whoosh past my window at an extraordinary rate of knots. Sunsets at high speed are somehow even more restful on the eye.

I was met at Champagne-Ardenne station by Sébastien, who I hadn't seen in years & years! The last time I saw his wife Aurélie, he had been stationed in Côte d'Ivoire with the French army. Now he's back, in charge of a unit of dog-handling soldiers that do bomb sniffing and perform other tasks where dogs are advantageous. He drove us to Châlons, where he is now living (and stationed, it being a big garrison town). He & Aurélie and their son Mayeul have a flat slap bang in the middle of town, a stone's throw from the town hall and directly opposite a UNESCO World Heritage church, the Eglise de Notre Dame-en-Vaux. Not bad!

We spent the rest of the weekend eating, drinking and being merry. I ate my own bodyweight in cheese - again! - and tasted many regional specialities, including champagne (duh!) and tarte aux mirabelles. Because it was mirabelle season, and everyone knows that the best mirabelles (small yellow plums) grow in eastern France. In fact, I was so taken with Aurélie's mirabelle tart that I begged her to show me how to make it. Which she did. So I did. And it was good!

It just so happened that my visit coincided with the Foire de Châlons, France's biggest agricultural show. Séb took me there on Saturday, after we had been round town buying cheese and looking at the lovely old buildings of Châlons. At the Foire we tasted Quebecois beers, Austrian ice wine, and Dutch ale, as well as marvelling at the hugeness of modern farm equipment.

There was just time on Sunday to go and have a look in the UNESCO church before I had to catch a train to Paris, to join up with the rest of the members of my Munich church choir - because we were ON TOUR for a week!! More about that in my next instalment...

I don't think I was even properly dry from the huge thunderstorm yet, but already I had to jump into an aeroplane for my next exciting adventure: Denmark!

I flew via Amsterdam Schiphol, which gave me a chance to pick up important Dutch items like stroopwafels and delicious goat's cheese. And then suddenly I was at Billund airport, being met off the plane by Rasmus' parents Josef & Ingrid as well as his kids, Johan & Marie. I really wasn't expecting such an enormous welcoming party! We caught up on years'-worth of gossip and sang songs all the way to Guldenmuld, just outside Skanderborg, which is the name of the commune where Rasmus & Lene live.

Now, when you say "commune" to me, it conjures up images of long-haired hippies, tie-dye clothes, marijuana and lice. But in fact Danish communes are altogether different. It's more like a housing estate without garden fences, with an added community centre. It just so happens that the community centre is the dining room for everyone in the commune: each grown-up has to cook for everyone two evenings a month, which gives you around 28 evenings a month where you don't have to worry about sorting out dinner for you or your kids.

Dinner on my arrival day, however, was cancelled so we could get on with setting the room up for the following day's wedding reception. I put myself at Rasmus & Lene's disposal and spent the rest of the evening on a variety of jobs, including moving furniture, lugging crates of drinks about, and setting up long trestle tables. It was thirsty work, but luckily Rasmus had already plumbed in the beer kegs (complete with compressor and chiller unit), so we could carry out periodic tastings!

Saturday was not the best weather-wise - but hey, we were in Denmark, not on the Côte d'Azur. Thankfully the rain stayed away for most of the time we were still setting up (laying tables, getting marquees up, inflating the bouncy castle, fetching extra cutlery from a neighbouring commune) and for the actual wedding itself, which took place in a delightful little old church up the road. And then, back at Guldenmuld, the fun began! Lots and lots and LOTS to eat & drink, and lots of people I hadn't seen for years to catch up with: Jesper, Bjarne, Erik, Rolf. And lots of new people to talk to too!

Things hotted up in the evening, as the dancing began and the beer & wine flowed freer than ever. I was amused by the Danish tradition of cutting the ends of the groom's socks off after the first dance. It was a group participation event, with all the guys having to hold him up in the air while the girls did the deed on his feet. I just love Danes!

Sunday was altogether a quieter day - especially as we had to get up really early to roll up the bouncy castle and bring it back to the hire place in the next village. About all I could manage was to watch kids' videos with Johan & Marie. It's surprising how much I could understand, although of course it helps that I've seen Lilo & Stitch and Kung Fu Panda before. Great films, both of them!

And then, just as I was getting acclimatised to the damp windy weather, it was time for me to pack my bags. Rasmus, Lene & the kids took me back to Billund airport (which was a very kind thing for a newlywed couple to do, I thought!) and then I flew back through Amsterdam to Munich. I felt pleasantly calm after the excitement of the weekend and the chance to talk with Rasmus about life, the universe & everything.