Dear All
I’ve suddenly realised that the covering letter has been steadily increasing in size, from a simple “Here’s the next missive,” to almost another chapter in itself!!
But not this time, simply an apology to all my readers that events have become a little muddled as to time line, and hoping that this has not marred your enjoyment of the contents too much and a thank you to all those who have replied and further apologies to those who have requested to be included on the list and have slipped through the net – hopefully now rectified?
Further replies, comments, suggestions (hopefully polite!!) gratefully received!!
Ladies and Gentlemen, pray silence whilst I prepare to entertain you forthwith, with mirth, merriment and near murder, Missive 6 attached for you edification and delight – I hope!!
Love
Roger
PS Largely due to problems of communication it’s a long one!!
La Loge
07759 753892
rogerhiggs@hotmail.co.uk
Mes chers amis
Setting up home again and it’s all a bit like Christmas
Having returned with what I’m sure was a seriously overloaded van, although remarkably fuel consumption remained the same full or empty, we then started to unpack, and sort out the rooms, though thankfully, in many ways, Victoria’s visit was delayed a little giving us a little more time. So we sorted out lights, washing machine, dish washer and filled the freezer as well as to having a Christmas experience, unpacking boxes and discovering what was really in them, as the contents scrawled on the top, didn’t always correspond too closely to what was actually contained therein!!
Communication problems
This was to be by way of an introduction but, as time goes by, warrants a section all for itself, and who knows may run and run and become a whole mystery / thriller novel, with a bit of bloodshed thrown in!! I’m afraid it might also mean that as the saga continues to roll, that this may become a monster missive!
The original introduction started ...... Soon communication will be easier, as on one of our less stressful and traumatic visits to bureaucracy, we found a lovely lady working for France Telecom, who despite professing to speaking little English, actually as is often the case spoke excellent English, but also insisted that we should at least try to do some of the transaction in French and we ended up agreeing, me speaking French and she speaking English, that the problem was not so much knowing what to say but being able to understand the answer, as it was delivered “très vite – very quickly!!” ...... We left the office buoyant and confident that in a couple of weeks we would be: on line unlimited, have a French phone number and have unlimited calls to English landlines, there must have been a spring in our step as bureaucracy had been overcome!!
How deceiving can things be. The time of the rendezvous with the technician came and went and they didn’t arrive and try as we might to contact the help desk; a lack of someone who spoke English, even just a little and our limited French as well as the broken promises to phone us back, saw me late in the day returning to the France Telecom office to find out what had happened, whilst Linda waited in just in case they were running late. Thankfully, I got the same lady, but she had obviously undergone a personality change and didn’t want to know and all she could do was make a further appointment, of which the earliest available was nine days hence. Protest as I might, the lady was not for turning, claimed it was out of her hands and ALL she could do was rebook the technician, and hope he came on the new date but she couldn’t guarantee it and didn’t know what she could do if he didn’t!! Very disgruntled and with a few choice words about the poor quality of service and I left with a very curt Au revoir. Arriving home, Linda was equally dismayed and we resolved to return to the shop the next day and do battle to move things on quicker. The next day brought no softening of the iron maiden and a point blank refusal to do any more, so with further disgruntled comments, and no Au revoir, we left the shop and waited the nine days that seemed inevitable.
Come the day of the second rendezvous, a Tuesday, and we had what seemed to be the first appointment, so rose early and spent the first couple of hours of the day standing in the road, so as to get a mobile signal should they be trying to contact us to find our rather out of the way location, but also to flag them down if they turned into the road and thought there was nothing down the road, as we’re a little tucked away beside a barn and could possibly be missed. Well, the allotted two hour block came and went, with no phone call and no sign of the engineer. So, becoming more and more disgruntled we waited for a reasonable time after lunch, again in case they were running late and once more returned to France Telecom shop, to find the iron maiden tied up with another customer and when we asked another assistant if she spoke English, it was an emphatic no! However, with broken French I explained the problem and suitably horrified the new sales assistant was straight on the phone, something the other lady had told us was impossible and there followed a series of heated exchanges on our behalf, culminating in the English speaker becoming involved and seeming finally to get somewhere, but sadly that some where was only another appointment another nine days hence, much to everyone in the shop’s annoyance.
Well, I’d kept quite calm to this point and demanded to know why they hadn’t arrived for the two rendezvous, to be told that they hadn’t been able to find us and weren’t able to phone an English mobile – which was news to us as this had been the contact number that had been taken!! It was then “toys out of the pram” time and we pointedly and fairly loudly said that the service was appalling and cancelled everything, storming out of the shop to make us feel better if nothing else.
We then went on the search for an alternative supplier and realised our mistake, all the opposition, whilst able to give us a contract, relied on France Telecom for the line!! A case of over a barrel, but at least the alternative we chose dealt with France Telecom and sorted it all out for us. But when they phoned up to get the wheels in motion, they were told that our number was barred!! With a liberal amount of steam rising, I stormed back to France Telecom to ask what was going on, to be told that as we had cancelled the contract it was common practise to bar the number for three days, but as Friday was a Bank Holiday and Fontenay shuts on a Monday it would be Tuesday!! I couldn’t help to feel that we were now in the realms of childishness, and not for the first time incredulously left without then energy, or sadly sufficient suitable language to argue. However, the other providers had been very helpful, so we returned, explained and said we would be in the following week to sort it out!
We returned home, resigned to further bouts of sitting outside local tourist offices or churches and using a Vendée Wi Fi hotspot!! Imagine then our utter surprise, to receive a phone call early morning a couple of days later, in French, seeming I thought to say that the engineer would be with us at midday and ending abruptly as the language was causing a problem!! Part shock and part insufficient language again made me accept the appointment and not mention that we had cancelled the contract, deciding we could go in and reinstate it once the engineer had been. Then they didn’t arrive and I started to have doubts about whether I had properly understood the conversation! But, at one thirty a blue car skidded to a stop outside the house, out jumped a man who shook hands and introduced himself and I had to check he was in fact the engineer, to which he replied “Of course” and did have the grace to apologise for being late! What’s the odd twenty one days amongst friends!!
But the job was done and the telephone connection would become live twenty four hours later, so back to madam at the France Telecom office (incidentally a round trip of about 22 miles each time) who was at her charming most UNHELPFUL yet and told us that it was impossible that we were connected and why had we let them do it! We explained!! But no, the contract was terminated and couldn’t be reinstated or indeed a new one drawn up, she was finished with us, that’s it, final!! So what were we to do we asked, to which she said if you’re connected use it – I don’t know!! End of conversation. So pleased to be connected, but worried about not having a contract we returned home, surfed and emailed all night, and were promptly cut off in the morning, even before we had time to email France Telecom / Orange and ask them what we should do – our chosen course of action. Unfortunately, this meant a return to the iron maiden, but you may have worked it out that it was now Friday, Bank Holiday and our visit would have to wait until the following day.
On arrival, the maiden was busy so we approached another assistant, who spoke no English and said we must wait for …… yes you’ve guessed it. Well, an element of surprise seemed a good strategy, as she hadn’t seen us come into the shop and we waited conveniently out of sight behind a pillar. However, when she came with her customers, over to the till she saw us, was obviously not pleased and in the middle of serving the other couple proceeded to start an argument with us as to how our dealings together were over. But, I had decided that I wasn’t taking no for an answer, at least not from the monkey – I was going to straight to the Organ Grinder and asked to see the boss!!
Unfortunately, the boss spoke no English so the maiden had to act as interpreter, but we were able to understand enough, for her not to try and get away with anything, and after a couple of phone calls, miraculously a new contract was a possibility, but then there would be the nine days ….. well, my expression was sufficient to get that down a little to seven days and we left, displeased but thinking there was light at the end of the tunnel, and at least this would be quicker that the other provider who would have been over three weeks getting us online!
On Thursday a phone call told us that there was no-one available for Saturday, so it would have to be possibly the following Monday and they would let us know when. Friday morning the phone ran and expecting it to be the time of the new appointment, or someone trying to sell us the internet (ironically a common occurrence!) or indeed what seems to be fairly frequent calls for Orange to ask us something, but which, due to language difficulties usually fizzled out without a conclusion!! We even had one from customer relations asking if we were happy with the service we had received – not sure if they understood the English that we used, but the line went dead! This time, someone seemed to have seen sense and were hoping that they could come today – three days early to get everything sorted, and they arrived on time, had some difficulties sorting out the signal through our exceptionally thick walls, ending up selling us, at great expense, this gismo that feeds the signal through the electricity cable, to replace the wireless dongle thingy that the previously engineer had insisted that we needed and although sold us at great expense and failed to leave a receipt – so a battle remains to get the money for the first ineffective item refunded. After an age, trying all sorts of configurations, including putting the “Live Box” and associated wired in the middle of the floor just inside the front door, to save us money, we finally settled on the gismo!!
He left, we had to return to the France Telecom to check a minor thing on our contract and caused quite a stir when we arrived, tense to say the least, until I put the maiden out of her misery and said “no problem, l’internet c’est bon!!” when there was an audible sigh of relief throughout the shop floor! There was almost that same bounce in our step as there had been all those weeks previously went we had first started the process off!! But sadly, once again the euphoria was to be short lived!! Twenty four hours came and went and no Internet phone line, that was when we discovered, quite by chance that there was a English speaking helpline and no one had bothered to tell us. Nearly a week later the phone remains unconnected, despite a promise it would be done yesterday and today the internet went down and despite hours of fiddling, Linda has only managed to get it back on then main computer, not on the laptop. We now wait, the breath hardly now bothering to be baited to see if the helpline phone tomorrow, as promised, to see if all is well!!
As I said this story could run and run and once it has run it’s course, there will be a heated email or two winging their way off to complain bitterly about the atrocious service we have received – so who knows, we’ll probably be barred again!!
Madame becomes Monsieur
Well, as I mentioned in the covering letter of the last missive, quite out of the blue, and involving no surgery whatsoever, Madame has mysteriously become Monsieur, and a fine fellow he seems to be, as despite residing most of his life in Spain, he has been back and we have met on a couple of occasions, but more of that in the next section!
Throughout our discussions and negotiations with M. Pierre, the Estate Agent, he always spoke about madam: Madame, the owner spends most of her time in Spain ... It is difficult for me to contact Madame in Spain ... We must wait to see if Madame agrees to you moving in, and when it was obvious that we would be moving in before signing anything ... You will have to meet with Madame as soon as she returns from Spain.
So imagine our surprise, when having taken procession of the keys, hired the van and returned to England, to meet Monsieur, with no sign of a Madame, as we pulled into our courtyard on our return. Read on for the full version of events!!
But, how strange, I am at times baffled by the French use of gender, or should that be sex?, and le and la etc., but certainly have no problem with sex, that is when sorting the men from the Madames!! M. Pierre is himself a strange but kindly chap, with limited English, but a very strange mistake to make as he appeared to know M. Charles the owner, when we met the following week for the signing, but more about that next time, and M. Pierre will undoubtedly feature in some future missive, although our dealings with him are now over, his job complete as he doesn’t manage the property.
Our first three or so visitors!!
Hardly had we arrived, parked the caravan and unpacked the car, taken delivery of some heating oil and it was time to sit outside in the warm early April sunshine and have our first meal at La Loge Grimouard, an alfresco lunch which we hoped would be the first of many, but also a chance to recharge batteries before picking up the hire van and collecting the white goods, before an early night and then the journey back to England to pick up the next instalment. With my mind wandering to the tight schedule of the next few days, my deep reverie was broken by the sound of a vehicle fast approaching along the road. As it reached our entrance there was a screeching of brakes and flying gravel as the van stopped abruptly and out jumped, almost before the vehicle had properly stopped, a tall well-built Frenchman wearing workmen’s overalls plentifully covered in fluorescent strips to help spot him in the dark!! With what seemed to be three enormous and rapid strides he was bearing down on me, as rudely awoken from my daydream I jumped up and met him halfway across the courtyard and clasped the proffered hand, sharing a hearty handshake and equally enthusiastic welcome, which was equally energetic when Linda joined us. This was Monsieur La Poubelle, (Dustbin) or Boneur (Dustman) to give him his proper name and he was coming bearing gifts. After an initial torrent of French and him cheerfully telling me that he spoke no English at all, the mere thought of it made him chuckle, we managed a good conversation about the various dustbins we were provided with, when each of them was collected, and where we had to put them for collection on a Monday morning, but as they leave the depot at five o’clock in the morning we might like to put them out the night before. Then, with similar wholehearted Au revoirs he was, in a cloud of dust, gone but from that day on whenever we see him, and he appears to be not only a Boneur but also the local Cantonnier (or road-labourer) we get a vigorous and genial wave.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
With a great degree of relief, I turned the large hire van into the avenue of trees leading to La Loge, a cup of tea and a rest after four days of hectic activity, including the drive from the Vendée to Gloucestershire and back. Not only something of a feat of endurance but thankful that the van springs had held up!!
Well, part way down the avenue, just after the bend that shields the end of the road from the end of our courtyard, walking towards us was a tall rather flamboyantly dressed man with a rather shabby large black dog, which he called to his side and stepped onto the verge to let us pass. I acknowledged this with a wave and received something of a puzzled frown in return and as we passed, I noticed in the mirrors that the gentleman had promptly turned around and followed the van up the avenue. By the time I had manoeuvred the van ready to unload, he was turning the corner by our garage and striding towards me.
I walked out to meet him and remembering we were back in France proffered my hand which he took and asked, still somewhat frowning if we were going to be living here and when I affirmed this, his demeanour changed dramatically and with a broad smile and an expansive gesture, he said, “Well I’m the owner, welcome home!!” There followed quite an hilarious exchange, which being very tired was almost hard to keep up with, but at least confirmed that the natives, at least those that choose to spend most of their time in Spain, were friendly.
Fortunately, Monsieur is fluent in English, and we were to learn later also German, Spanish and his native French, and because his sister has married someone from the Czech Republic, is in the process of learning Czech!! But, he keep repeating that we were most welcome – “Welcome Home and Be Happy,” liberally scattered through a conversation that covered how, almost to his regret his parents had left him this chateau, completed with various outbuildings, stable yard, chapel, two lakes, park and wood, the extent of which we still have to discover. He informed us he had lived in Spain, first the Canary Islands and now Benidorm, for 40 years and was therefore more Spanish than English, but duty insists that he must spend the odd week back at the family chateau!
The conversation was fairly one-sided as Monsieur, was obviously not only pleased to meet us but also delighted to be able to try out his English, and I was exhausted after the numerous journeys we had made over the last four days. But it covered a little about ourselves, how the water came from a well 2 kilometres away and he and his family had always drunk it with no ill effects, but he had put in a purification system just in case. Collecting my thoughts sufficiently to say that he certainly looked very well on it and perhaps he should bottle it, and the conversation turned to how it wasn’t as good as Lourdes otherwise he would bottle it and become a millionaire. We then for the first time were treated to his booming infectious laugh that started deep within and took some time to rumble out!!
Mentioning Max, we were told this was no problem and introduced to his motley companion, who we were told had been abandoned by the roadside and was obviously now his constant companion, and if he were to come sniffing around to send him back to the chateau!
He then told us that he spent most of his time in Spain, only visiting by necessity, and really after 40 years he was more Spanish than French. We then asked if the chateau was empty when he was not there and he told us it was and that he had a caretaker, Monsieur Joe, who lived in the stable block. He then, with a twinkle in his eye told us that if we saw anyone in the chateau then it would be the ghosts of his ancestors! I retorted by saying that we would be sure to invite them in for a drink, and we were once more treated to his distinctive rolling laugh, when he said that therefore they would have to invite us back!!
His obvious love of languages then came to the fore, as again he welcomed us home and said that when he was not there we were to treat the park, woods and lakes as our own, and were free to fish in the lake, although he had no idea what we would catch, and could “wander, ramble, dawdle (which he pronounced dowdle before realising his mistake), walk, stroll, meander, roam, amble or mooch!!,” at will in the woods or park. We were to find out that it seems that Monsieur likes nothing better than to go to bed with a good Thesaurus and brush up on alternatives for any word that took his fancy. I wonder if he has a whole shelf of Thesauri; English, French, German, Spanish and a shiny new Czech one!
After some time he bade us a cheery good-bye, as he guessed we must have lots to do and left, bowing out with further expansive gestures, “welcome homes” and “be happy” as he disappeared round the corner and back to rattle around the chateau, with it would appear only his ragged dog and ghostly ancestors for company!!
* * * * * * * * * * * *
The third visitor was an altogether more slippery customer. We had just had lunch sitting out on the terrace and I collected the things and started to make my way towards the front door, when I was abruptly brought to a halt and couldn’t stop a suitable expletive from passing my lips, as there heading gracefully towards the front door was a snake, not huge but even a couple of feet is big enough. Linda asked what the matter was and when I explained she disappeared inside, not to get the long handled broom that I had asked for to try a persuade the snake that it was better to go back the other way, but to get her camera, and pictures taken, in the nick of time the broom was got and the snake beat a hasty retreat, first dropping under the cave door and again having to be persuaded that this didn’t make a good home and finally disappearing, not to be seen again down a crack at the corner of the house into with the down pipe flows. It was some days before I could comfortably pass that crack and still rather gingerly open the cave door just in case it’s changed its mind!! Fortunately, it appears to have only been a grass snake, but I wasn’t taking any chances and it was still a bit of a shock to find it on the doorstep!
A couple of other notable visitors also need mention, and who knows this might become a regular feature:
One night, shortly after the visit from the snake, when in the early hours I opened the door to let Max into the garden, there sitting watching me from the doorstep was a large frog! I was tempted to kiss it and see if it turned into a beautiful princess, but it looked rather slimy and I didn’t think Linda would have been too pleased to have a stunning blond princess move in!!! Bet it would have been a different story if it had been a handsome flaxen prince!!
Then, during an idle moment just yesterday, when after lunch we were both sitting having a read before continuing the day’s labours, me with my back to the open day and Linda facing it. Suddenly, she screamed as she leapt from her chair, scarcely avoiding a collision with an extremely fast moving black object that hit the window behind her chair and fell to the window sill, collected itself got its wind back and fluttered around the room a couple of time before heading back through the open door. I’m not sure who was the most shocked the poor swallow who had mistaken the open door and the closed window beyond as a clear way through, Linda who thought that a missile had been fired at her, or me when Linda shrieked!!
Out and about
This section is in danger of pouring out so fast as to trip over itself, and become so excitedly garbled, as to become more hard to decipher than normally!! As we went out and about our new patch the wealth of flora and fauna, or plants and animals if you prefer!!, is just staggering and the list just keeps on growing. But rather than a complete run down, rather unscientifically, suffice to say the animal list stands at 10, the bird list at 13 (including the undoubted highlight of two sightings of a hoopoe), the tree list an incomplete 11 and the star of the show, the flower list has reached over 30 and still counting!
But, like the visiting grass snake and hoopoe above there are some highlights, so here goes!:
When digging the garden, I noticed a small hole in the ground and as the spade dug perilously close to it, I jumped as a scurry of activity saw a family of field mice disturbed, mum rather surprisingly leaping for the cover of the nearby hedge and leaving three small babies to fend for themselves, I’m hoping they were reunited after I left the digging in that part and moved away. Then the next day when digging not far away, a sudden movement in the soil revealed a chunky black and yellow lizard, a salamander, about 15 centimetres long, who also determinedly, but slower than the mouse sought the safety of the hedge bottom.
Just beyond the hedge at the bottom of our vegetable patch is a large pond in the corner of the field. Here a family of coypus, large rodents a bit like beavers, live and when I’m digging the garden, you can often hear them chirping to each other or see them swimming across the water ducking down to collect weed, which is what they eat. Then the other day, peering around the hedge that separates the garden from the field and pond I was just in time to see a large heron, obviously intent on catching one of the large fish that regularly can be seen jumping clear of the pond’s surface, unfurl its enormous untidy wings and almost lazily take flight and fly low over the field to the next pond and potential meal.
On another occasion, Linda and I were fruitlessly waiting out in the road for the France Telecom technician, to either arrive or at least telephone for instructions. Waiting inside is similarly fruitless, as the walls of La Loge are too thick to allow mobile telephone signals to pass through. At the same time we both saw a movement further along the tree lined avenue, as a relatively large animal came out of the undergrowth and lolloped towards us. At first it was too far away to identify it, and we thought from its gait that it might be a fox, by as it got closer, obviously totally unaware of our presence we could see it was a large hare, lazily strolling down the avenue before disappearing off once more into the undergrowth, looking very unlike the sleek champion sprinter it could be, when in full flight across an open field running scared.
Finally, the flowers – wow what a show April put on and each time we went out we discovered new delights, from enormous early purple orchids, through swathes of bright bluebells to more hidden delights such as violets and vetch. But there remains one mystery, a flower we have watched grow from an early cluster of broad almost daffodil like leaves, with a long flower stalk capped with an untidy black flower head that continued to grow, reaching four or five feet in height and opening out into a long white flower head with delicately striped petals. At first “our” avenue seemed to be the only place that they were growing, but as the flowers have come out we have realised they are more widespread, and what they are remains a mystery.
A Night in the Country
And the encounters don’t stop when night falls!!
Like something out of a sci-fi horror film, there are the relatively large wall spiders, whose bulbous bodies you rarely see, but who live in small holes or crevices and you see, at night, hanging their legs out hoping to catch an unwary and unsuspecting insect passing by!
And, by far, the loudest of our wild neighbours, in all the lakes and ponds around, are the noisiest frogs I have ever heard, they sound like lots of ducks all quacking loudly together, and are even worst at night – as the nights get warmer and we have to have the windows open they will probably keep us awake and maybe we’ll have to think seriously about eating vast quantities of that French delicacy – frog’s legs!!
There is also something, with claws, that sounds much bigger than a mouse living in our attic!! Occasionally, late at night when all is quiet and I am reading or writing, the footsteps cross the floor above me, sometimes quite quietly and at other times with a strange thump or two! The morning brings no tangible evidence of visitors, when complete with wellies (interestingly the spell checker wanted to change this to willies – also rather apt in the circumstances!!) tucked carefully into trousers I have gone, rather timidly, to investigate!! Perhaps M. Charles’ talk of ghostly ancestors wasn’t in jest and we should be going up into the attic and inviting them in for a drink – then we could get a return invite to the chateau!!
All these encounters, which continue on an almost daily basis, are largely down to the tranquil nature of our new surroundings, as commented on by the farmer who farms the fields around us and maintains the chateau gardens, when we met him recently and in a mixture of pigeon English and rather more pigeon French introduced ourselves to each other. He heartily agreed when I commented on how well I slept, but that only after having overcome the intense quiet of the place somewhere beneath the croak of the frogs, the hoot of the owl, the nightly whistling, cheeping and cackling of the bird in the tree outside our bedroom window, the crickets and the occasional farmer ploughing his field well into the early hours of the morning – who put headlights onto tractors!! Actually, little has ever kept me awake, and even more so with a plentiful supply of good, cheap wine!!
Cheque Book update!
Now where were we with the cheque book? Oh yes, the good news is we have the cheque book, but unfortunately it has the wrong address on it and we need another one, but eventually, they decided we could keep it, just in case we needed it until the new one arrived in eight days time, which is already nearly two weeks!!
We found this out when we went to pick up the cheque book and associated cards and were told by the struggling young man behind the desk, struggling I hasten to add with his gallant and at times failing attempts to converse in English, but at least he tried, that Madame, with whom we had originally made contact needed to see us, and an appointment was made for a couple of days hence – yet another visit to Fontenay-le-Comte our local town 12 miles away. He also gave us our new cards but there was some confusion as to how we were to activate them, with numbers it seemed that we had already been given, but a thorough search of welcome pack didn’t reveal. However, all was revealed at the meeting with Madame, at which she nearly took back our cheque book. The security codes had been sent to the wrong address, returned to Madame who was now giving them to us, the envelopes open, as she needed to ascertain what was inside, but the security envelope intact inside, so we could now activate our cards and in time have a second correctly printed cheque book. It was fortunate we did keep the old cheque book as we had to write our first cheque for the telecom engineer, well at least get him to write it to be sure it was correctly filled out!! Watch this space!!
Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love
Roger, Linda and Max ~ (“Who put those large white cows in the field next to my garden and don’t get personal, it’s alright for another dog to have a sniff, but a cow – really!!)
And to come next time, who knows but it may contain:
Leaving England, La Loge, Monsieur Joe, How does your garden grow? Slumdog Millionaire, and White van Sunday!
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Setting up home again ~ Missive 6 ~ and it's all a bit like Christmas
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Here, there and everywhere: but finally ICI!! ~ Missive 5 ~ Frantic activity in an otherwise peaceful existence!
Dear All
We’re in and waiting to receive our first visitors – Victoria and Dermot who should have come this week, but events conspired against it. However, it has given us time to unload the rather heavily laden van and make various trips to Mr. Bricolage (The DIY store) to get various items and the Electromanger (Electrical store) for our new white goods, including a rather natty five burner portable gas range – the bottle is stored inside!!
We also, on our wedding anniversary signed the contract for renting La Loge , exactly one year on from our first sortie to the Vendée in search for adventures new, and a week after being given the keys, an impossibility without a French cheque book – read on!! And ... the hot news is that madame has changed into monsieur, not by biological means you understand, but appears to have always been so!! The estate agent has little command of English, but in my book this fails to explain this further bit of confusion!!!!
We also have managed, nearly, to get our French cheque book! On our return from England, we had a card notifying us that there was a letter waiting for us to sign for at the local La Poste (Post Office). On fetching it, it contained a card for us to present to the bank as proof that we lived where we said that we did! We hot footed it to the bank, only to be told that still we couldn’t have the cheque book, because they hadn’t had back the letter from the post to say that we had signed for the letter, even though we had, in our grubby little hands, the card that was in the letter, that we could only get if we signed on the dotted line – arrrrrrrrrrgh!!! We are getting quite good at smiling sweetly and saying nothing, whilst screaming inside! Read on!!!!!
It was the start of a potentially disastrous day, as we had to go to another post office to get a refund on our electricity bill, as they had double charged us. We’ll have to watch out as we hadn’t at that time even moved in!! However, despite instructions to return to La Poste, where we had paid the bill, to have the money refunded, the office knew nothing about it and certainly couldn’t give us any money back – the refund has yet to be sorted!! We then went to IKEA in Nantes to buy a couple of wardrobes from their 2009 catalogue, only to circumnavigate the city looking for the large blue and yellow sign, finally stopping at a supermarket to ask instructions, and our first stroke of luck for the day, found a lady in the Espace Cultural (Books, CD’s, Theatre tickets etc.) who spoke perfect English and knew exactly where IKEA was and better still how to get there by car! The luck didn’t last, as the wardrobes were discontinued!! We did however, not waste our visit and came away with a carload of items for the new abode!!We’ll now need two vans when we move next time!!
Attached is the next missive, that I have tried not to make too massive!!
Love and Best Wishes
Roger, Linda and Max, who at the moment is snoring loudly, on one of his many beds, talk about pampered pets – next he’ll want to go to the Chien Toilettage – grooming parlour, of which there are nearly as many as there are coiffures (hairdressers)!!
P.S. Rather late sending as we have fallen out with France Telecom and have not been able to get on line, could be another 4 weeks now!!! More arrrrrrrrgh!!! More I’m sure to follow!!!
We have also had our first two lots of visitors who seemed to go away happy and the next visitors arrive Monday, with visitors and digging the garden and retrieving it from the jungle leaves little time or energy for writing – whoopee I hear you say!!
En France, La Vendée to be precise!!
(As we leave a little bit of Ireland in the Vendée, and yes Tom was delighted with the outcome of the 6 Nations, whilst other friends from across the Severn Bridge were looking for a “twll” (hole) to crawl in to!!), and we move into Chez ‘iggs, and look forward to welcoming our first visitors, the day after we arrive back with the furniture!!)
07759 753892
rogerhiggs@hotmail.co.uk
Mes chers amis (as corrected by my French mistress – Oh la la!!!)
Here, there and everywhere: but finally ICI!! ~ Frantic activity
in an otherwise peaceful existence!
We thought the travelling was over – little did we know, not only did we have to make an extra, unscheduled, journey to England (see below), but we seemed to be quite literally – Here, there and everywhere; seeking out the white goods at the best prices, opening bank accounts, taking out insurance, shopping, booking van hire and finding Internet Wee Fee (Wi-Fi) hotspots to check emails and keep up to date with what was going on with friends and family. The wonders of modern technology have meant that we are quite often to be found outside the church in Chantonnay, early evening, sitting in the car talking animatedly to our computer as we talk to people through Skype. I had wondered if it would look better if we pretended and held a mobile to our ears, but nobody particularly seemed to notice, proposition us or indeed send the police around to investigate, so no doubt until we are connected at Chez ‘iggs, our trips to the car park will continue!!
Chez ‘iggs arrivée
Having seemingly got the okay on the house, our various trips often saw us just happening to drive past the new place, despite it being very off the beaten track and certainly not on route to anywhere!! Indeed, again it was surprising that the police weren’t call to say there was a slow moving turquoise English car repeatedly casing the chateau – would they have believed that we were really looking at the altogether more modest empty servant’s quarters at the end of the chateau drive!!
Each time we drove past the sun seemed to be shining and the wide verge on either side of the road, seemed to proliferate a huge variety of wild flowers, most recognisable, but others unknown to me. On one occasion as Linda, took surreptitious photos of the Chateau security system, no sorry of our soon to be new abode, I decided to walk the dog along the avenue that leads to La Loge, and promptly featured in one of the photos – one man and his dog or too the manor born!!
The sun was shining, warm enough not to need a jumper, as down the quarter mile avenue of mixed trees and a wonderful selection of wild flowers in the hedgerows; campions, white violets en masse, dandelions, primroses, cowslips – the list was endless and the crowning glory seemed to be some sort of wild iris type plant, daffodil-type leaves and a large flower stalk, almost growing as you watched it, topped by a black tangled flower head about to emerge into what – I didn’t know as the flower is unknown to me and also in our travels we have only seen it in one other place – so perhaps a rarity, maybe from where La Loge gets its name!!
Also, I was delighted to see lots of Butcher’s Broom, a plant that I didn’t know until looking it up after a walk with a class of French Schoolchildren when visiting our friends near Brest, in Brittany. The plant has small very tough leaves, not unlike holly but without the spines, just one sharp spike at the end. It was this and the general toughness of the leaf that made it very useful for butchers to clean off their wooden cutting blocks at the end of the day, hence its common name.
But above all, was a great feeling of peace and tranquillity. It just felt right, could things get any better? Certainly we felt that we had arrivée!
The first cut is the deepest! (just another quick snippet, quite literally!!)
Just one of those little amusing cameos on life, when we recently visited nearby Pouzauges, having unsuccessfully visited a couple of estate agents to find they had nowhere suitable on their books for us to view with a possibility to rent. (This is one of those out of sequence pieces that happened before Chez ‘iggs!)
We were hastening back to the car, having very briefly been drawn into the covered market, to view the produce and sniff the fish, those of you who know me well will know that this is a little weakness of mine!!, we almost missed it in the rush. But, there amongst the parade of shops that included; a Tabac, Insurance Office, Flower Shop and Patisserie, was a small tattoo and piercing shop, its slightly set back front window discreetly covered with a blind, that was far from discreetly covered with samples of the available designs and pictures of those piercing that they performed that could be viewed in public!!
Beside the narrow window and lace curtained door stood a large potted evergreen shrub, not unlike a privet, and next to this the even larger black clad tattoo artist who, visibly, had all but run out of available space on which to advertise his art. He stood there, rather self consciously, with his back to the thronging market crowds just across the narrow street, a very small pair of scissors in his hand delicately clipping the odd wayward frond off the shrub and I’m sure hoping that none of his macho, tattooed friends happened to be passing and desperate for the anonymity of dingy shop interior!! I was briefly tempted to comment on what a lovely shrub he had, but my French wasn’t up to it, and he was rather large!!
In the Dog house!!
The unscheduled return to England with the car and not a van for the furniture was, as some of you know, all my fault. Some evenings previously we had been checking the diary and sorting out when we could return to England and fetch some furniture for Chez ‘iggs, and a little niggle entered my head, that was later to develop into a major headache!!
Suddenly, I remembered that my driving licence, which had normally resided rather bulkily in my wallet, it being the old-fashioned paper variety, was not there and although I vaguely remembered removing it to clear out the wallet a little, I couldn’t remember where I had put it and certainly didn’t remember seeing it in the altogether bigger “man-bag” that I tend to carry on such occasions!!
I ventured a rather lame, “I don’t know where my driving licence is!” to Linda who emphatically declared “Well, you better find it!” So the search began, and every nook and cranny in the caravan and car was turned upside down, despite it being dark and cold outside and places already searched, searched again all to no avail. Eventually, tiredness got the better of me and I went to bed only to find that I couldn’t sleep, worrying about where the blessed thing had been put for safe keeping!
After a fitful night, I retraced my steps in daylight, searching everywhere again and even looking in the most unlikely of places, such as the food cupboard and the fridge, more in desperation than in the hope of really finding it. Then after several fruitless searches, the realisation dawned that it certainly wasn’t with us, after all there are only a limited number of places in the car and caravan where a driving licence could be hiding! So what to do, and was the licence safely stored away back in Stroud or had I lost it / had it stolen? It was all rather a dilemma and not a few words were exchanged as to what we could do to find or replace the licence.
Daniel’s help, back in Stroud, was enlisted and he searched in any of the likely places back at our Bath Road house, but still to no avail. It became clear that the only feasible plan was to delay the hiring of the van in France, that we were going to come back to England in to collect our things, come back in the car, find the licence or at least arrange for a new one and then return to France, hire the van and make a second visit very shortly after the first, so as to have everything ready for the imminent arrival of our first visitors! Further problems followed as when we tried to book the van from one of the many local supermarkets that all do van hire, none of them had one available at the required time! Finally, we also needed a French cheque (see below ~ “Which came first the chicken or the egg?) to pay the deposit, but thankfully Tom, our campsite host of a couple of weeks, came to the rescue and offered to hire the van in his name, with his address and with an €800 cheque as surety!! All very generous, but as he jokingly pointed out, we would be leaving the car and caravan at his place, worth considerably more than €800!! However, in the end with the changing dates, the car and caravan were at our new abode, so we left no surety, but still he was only too pleased to come to our aid, for which we were extremely grateful!!
Hence, the unscheduled return, which actually proved to be an added bonus, as we thankfully found, fairly quickly, the licence and then had time to catch up with work colleagues, who we had missed because of the snow on the week of our departure. We also filled the car with some extra items and left Max with my Mum and Dad for a holiday, which avoided too much travelling for him. So I wasn’t sleeping in the kennel for too long!!!
Ferry hoppers ~ the first of two “people watching “
items from our return ferry trip
They swept on with a purpose, middle aged tightly coated couple, his head bare and bald hers covered in a large furry Russian-style hat! Each carried a blanket and a pillow with the gentleman also carrying a rucksack on his back. They nigh on marched to the seats at the front of the salon and promptly disappeared as they spread their blankets on the space in front of the seats and still tightly buttoned up put their heads onto their pillows and didn’t stir until the announcement was made, that we were approaching Dieppe harbour and thank you for sailing with us ......
At this point they were both up, blankets folded and stacked with pillows on a nearby vacant seat, a thermos flask was produced from the rucksack and two china cups were filled with coffee and drunk, leaving just enough time for a trip to the toilet, with wash bags to freshen up, before the announcement came for passengers and drivers to rejoin their vehicles.
Obviously, seasoned and well-practised travellers, intent on sleeping in readiness for the onward journey, and so well sorted out, that I certainly took a leaf out of their book on my next trip, and took a blanket and pillow with me and definitely slept more than on previous journeys!!
There was nothing Conservative about the “lady!”
Their car first came to our attention as we boarded the boat, and whilst everyone else waited in line to be told where to park, this large British Racing Green 4 X 4, several cars in front of us, thought it knew best and tried to push in, only to be firmly stopped by a deckhand and told in no uncertain terms, that on the car deck, they were in charge and people did as they said! They were then ushered none too politely back into the line of traffic ending up parked just in front of us. Inside were a middle aged couple, who rapidly left the car seemingly intent to be the first to get their towels, metaphorically, on the sun loungers, and without becoming too involved in cultural differences – they were English.
I didn’t then give them another thought, although in hindsight I remembered seeing the rather bouffant lady of the car acting rather strangely when seeking out the Ladies, or should that be powder room, as I don’t think the ship’s toilets quite came up to scratch!! That was the last I saw of them until we were coming into the harbour at Dieppe and were asked to return to our cars. As we got back, the lady was already seated in the front of the 4 X 4, the gentleman lurking outside, probably trying to escape the messages and orders that were barked out every-so-often, when the lady thought of something and opened the door and announced her thoughts to the wide world, in a very loud voice that the gentleman seemed quite adept at not registering!! Obviously, a well deserved case of selective hearing!!
Then as vehicles started to move, the passenger door opened more frequently and further ordered were barked from within, including instructions to us to move. I stoically ignored her, waiting to be told by someone in authority as to what to do, and the orders became more frequent but still fell on deaf ears, but eventually the driver did get in the car and start the engine. When finally given the go ahead to leave the boat, by a crew member not the lady in front, we had to carry out a strange manoeuvre, and reverse some way down the car deck before being able to turn and leave, as I set off the 4 X 4 tried to reverse rapidly after me, only to be thwarted by a very nonchalant crew member who walked very slowly after me, his back rather pointedly towards the 4 X 4 only moving aside and signalling them out when he wasn’t big enough to block the exit on his own!
I was all for giving them the benefit of the doubt, and despite being very rude I had wondered if the lady had a phobia of travelling by boat and was desperate to get back on to dry land – it was then I noticed a “Vote Conservative” sticker on the back window and all was explained!! (Sorry Beryl!) Then as I drove down the car ramp and waited at the bottom for a lorry coming out of the deck below, the 4 X 4 undertook me, sped out in front of the lorry and across the dock, leaving me with a disappearing view of the sticker on the other side of the back window saying “Keep Hunting Legal,” so I thought myself lucky to only have had a lashing from her tongue and that she hadn’t taken a riding crop to me!!
I also hoped that customs would stop them and take the car apart, but sadly, at this early hour there were few customs officials in sight, so they were quickly out on to the open road, leapfrogging anything that got in their way, the driver obviously keen not to spend a moment too long in the car with his companion – and just maybe, one of the multitude of speed cameras springing up all over France caught them, not that I’m the vindictive sort!!
Which came first the chicken or the egg?
I have just returned from Fontenay-le-Comte, which will be our nearest large town once we have moved. Here I ventured to explain the “chicken and egg scenario” to a bank employer, who spoke excellent English and had just informed me that “You won’t believe this, as we are a bank, but we can’t take cash!!!”
The cash in question was to pay for contents insurance on the French house and he had asked us for a cheque. I had then told him that although we had a bank account we didn’t have a cheque book, because the bank wouldn’t issue us one until we had an address to send it too, hence the chicken and the egg conversation!! We had then offered to pay on a VISA card but that also was not possible and then we had the conversation about the cash!!
At least, we have taken solace in the fact that when we come to eventually buy a house at least all these little idiosyncrasies will have been ironed out and most importantly we will have the all important French cheque book to pay people money with.
Our first encounter with this strange chicken and egg situation was when the Estate Agent said he would need a French cheque to cover; his fees, the deposit on the house, the first month’s rent and the fees for the notaire acting on behalf of Madame. When we said that we didn’t have a cheque book and couldn’t get one until we were moved in and had an address to send it too this caused a degree of consternation, and although the agent accepted cash, the rest would have to be a cheque. So off we went again from La Châtaigneraie (the Estate Agent) to Fontenay-le-Comte (Bank) and asked the obliging bank employee if they could provide a cheque if we were to give them the money, but no “It is not possible!!” We now hope that we have got around this by a kind friend with a French cheque book writing the cheque in question, we just hope that that doesn’t cause further Gallic shrugs and sharp intakes of breath, with them thinking that we have sub-let as it’s not our name on the cheque!!
Finally, a way was found around the payment of the insurance, a direct debit would be set up and everyone would be happy!, well once the multitude of forms had been signed, this time just a signature, not like when opening a bank account when the 101 signatures all had to be prefaced with a written “Read and Understood” statement, which was incidentally already clearly printed above the signature box! The bank employee was however, beginning to see the funny side and as he straightened up the vast pile of papers that the computer had spewed out, he said “Welcome to France, now we must sign all of these!!” When I retorted with “Just my signature?” he said “Yes, to start with!!”
So that’s all done then, well not exactly, first we have to transfer funds into the French Bank Account to cover the Direct Debit, then to make it all official we have to prove who we are, by taking in our passports and then prove that we are actually renting the house by taking in the contract, which in theory we can’t sign unless we have the insurance!! But Antoine, as he insisted we call him, was beginning to realise our predicament and gave us the necessary papers, provided we return with the relevant documents, in due course. And all we wanted to do was pay the bank for some insurance, which would have been invalid had we made a false statement anyway!!
The bank in the meantime had already seen our passports, but still needed proof of our new address, which even once we had provided it didn’t qualify for the release of our cheque book, for which they were sending around the postman to verify!! Oh, and as it was a joint account they also wanted proof that we are married!!
Again the saving grace is that I was reading a book about living in France last night, or in fact the chapter on dying in France!!, and obtaining a death certificate is relatively easy, and you don’t even have to sign it yourself to confirm that you have read it and understood it!!
Postscript: Having got everything that the Estate Agent wanted us to do; French cheque for deposit and first month’s rent, proof of who we are, proof that we had money and contents insurance ready for the completion of the Inventory and subsequent signing of papers with Madame’s Notaire (Solicitor) – all of which we had to do before there was any possibility of moving in, when we dropped the cheque off we were told that oil was needed to be able to have heating and hot water, and although we were due to get the keys on the day of the inventory, the Notaire was proving difficult to pin down and we might have to sign after we have moved in. When I said we were returning to the UK to pick things up, the day after we moved in, this didn’t seem to be a problem, as long as we signed sometime – so much for all the rushing about getting everything sorted before being able to enter the premises!!
Plus amour et grosse bises!!! (More love and big kisses!!!)
Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love
Roger, Linda and Max ~ (“bring on” Monsieur ou Madame La Poste!!)
And to come next time, who knows but it may contain:
A night in the country / Madame becomes Monsieur / Our first three or so visitors, and ...... who knows what other adventures the new abode will bring!?!
We’re in and waiting to receive our first visitors – Victoria and Dermot who should have come this week, but events conspired against it. However, it has given us time to unload the rather heavily laden van and make various trips to Mr. Bricolage (The DIY store) to get various items and the Electromanger (Electrical store) for our new white goods, including a rather natty five burner portable gas range – the bottle is stored inside!!
We also, on our wedding anniversary signed the contract for renting La Loge , exactly one year on from our first sortie to the Vendée in search for adventures new, and a week after being given the keys, an impossibility without a French cheque book – read on!! And ... the hot news is that madame has changed into monsieur, not by biological means you understand, but appears to have always been so!! The estate agent has little command of English, but in my book this fails to explain this further bit of confusion!!!!
We also have managed, nearly, to get our French cheque book! On our return from England, we had a card notifying us that there was a letter waiting for us to sign for at the local La Poste (Post Office). On fetching it, it contained a card for us to present to the bank as proof that we lived where we said that we did! We hot footed it to the bank, only to be told that still we couldn’t have the cheque book, because they hadn’t had back the letter from the post to say that we had signed for the letter, even though we had, in our grubby little hands, the card that was in the letter, that we could only get if we signed on the dotted line – arrrrrrrrrrgh!!! We are getting quite good at smiling sweetly and saying nothing, whilst screaming inside! Read on!!!!!
It was the start of a potentially disastrous day, as we had to go to another post office to get a refund on our electricity bill, as they had double charged us. We’ll have to watch out as we hadn’t at that time even moved in!! However, despite instructions to return to La Poste, where we had paid the bill, to have the money refunded, the office knew nothing about it and certainly couldn’t give us any money back – the refund has yet to be sorted!! We then went to IKEA in Nantes to buy a couple of wardrobes from their 2009 catalogue, only to circumnavigate the city looking for the large blue and yellow sign, finally stopping at a supermarket to ask instructions, and our first stroke of luck for the day, found a lady in the Espace Cultural (Books, CD’s, Theatre tickets etc.) who spoke perfect English and knew exactly where IKEA was and better still how to get there by car! The luck didn’t last, as the wardrobes were discontinued!! We did however, not waste our visit and came away with a carload of items for the new abode!!We’ll now need two vans when we move next time!!
Attached is the next missive, that I have tried not to make too massive!!
Love and Best Wishes
Roger, Linda and Max, who at the moment is snoring loudly, on one of his many beds, talk about pampered pets – next he’ll want to go to the Chien Toilettage – grooming parlour, of which there are nearly as many as there are coiffures (hairdressers)!!
P.S. Rather late sending as we have fallen out with France Telecom and have not been able to get on line, could be another 4 weeks now!!! More arrrrrrrrgh!!! More I’m sure to follow!!!
We have also had our first two lots of visitors who seemed to go away happy and the next visitors arrive Monday, with visitors and digging the garden and retrieving it from the jungle leaves little time or energy for writing – whoopee I hear you say!!
En France, La Vendée to be precise!!
(As we leave a little bit of Ireland in the Vendée, and yes Tom was delighted with the outcome of the 6 Nations, whilst other friends from across the Severn Bridge were looking for a “twll” (hole) to crawl in to!!), and we move into Chez ‘iggs, and look forward to welcoming our first visitors, the day after we arrive back with the furniture!!)
07759 753892
rogerhiggs@hotmail.co.uk
Mes chers amis (as corrected by my French mistress – Oh la la!!!)
Here, there and everywhere: but finally ICI!! ~ Frantic activity
in an otherwise peaceful existence!
We thought the travelling was over – little did we know, not only did we have to make an extra, unscheduled, journey to England (see below), but we seemed to be quite literally – Here, there and everywhere; seeking out the white goods at the best prices, opening bank accounts, taking out insurance, shopping, booking van hire and finding Internet Wee Fee (Wi-Fi) hotspots to check emails and keep up to date with what was going on with friends and family. The wonders of modern technology have meant that we are quite often to be found outside the church in Chantonnay, early evening, sitting in the car talking animatedly to our computer as we talk to people through Skype. I had wondered if it would look better if we pretended and held a mobile to our ears, but nobody particularly seemed to notice, proposition us or indeed send the police around to investigate, so no doubt until we are connected at Chez ‘iggs, our trips to the car park will continue!!
Chez ‘iggs arrivée
Having seemingly got the okay on the house, our various trips often saw us just happening to drive past the new place, despite it being very off the beaten track and certainly not on route to anywhere!! Indeed, again it was surprising that the police weren’t call to say there was a slow moving turquoise English car repeatedly casing the chateau – would they have believed that we were really looking at the altogether more modest empty servant’s quarters at the end of the chateau drive!!
Each time we drove past the sun seemed to be shining and the wide verge on either side of the road, seemed to proliferate a huge variety of wild flowers, most recognisable, but others unknown to me. On one occasion as Linda, took surreptitious photos of the Chateau security system, no sorry of our soon to be new abode, I decided to walk the dog along the avenue that leads to La Loge, and promptly featured in one of the photos – one man and his dog or too the manor born!!
The sun was shining, warm enough not to need a jumper, as down the quarter mile avenue of mixed trees and a wonderful selection of wild flowers in the hedgerows; campions, white violets en masse, dandelions, primroses, cowslips – the list was endless and the crowning glory seemed to be some sort of wild iris type plant, daffodil-type leaves and a large flower stalk, almost growing as you watched it, topped by a black tangled flower head about to emerge into what – I didn’t know as the flower is unknown to me and also in our travels we have only seen it in one other place – so perhaps a rarity, maybe from where La Loge gets its name!!
Also, I was delighted to see lots of Butcher’s Broom, a plant that I didn’t know until looking it up after a walk with a class of French Schoolchildren when visiting our friends near Brest, in Brittany. The plant has small very tough leaves, not unlike holly but without the spines, just one sharp spike at the end. It was this and the general toughness of the leaf that made it very useful for butchers to clean off their wooden cutting blocks at the end of the day, hence its common name.
But above all, was a great feeling of peace and tranquillity. It just felt right, could things get any better? Certainly we felt that we had arrivée!
The first cut is the deepest! (just another quick snippet, quite literally!!)
Just one of those little amusing cameos on life, when we recently visited nearby Pouzauges, having unsuccessfully visited a couple of estate agents to find they had nowhere suitable on their books for us to view with a possibility to rent. (This is one of those out of sequence pieces that happened before Chez ‘iggs!)
We were hastening back to the car, having very briefly been drawn into the covered market, to view the produce and sniff the fish, those of you who know me well will know that this is a little weakness of mine!!, we almost missed it in the rush. But, there amongst the parade of shops that included; a Tabac, Insurance Office, Flower Shop and Patisserie, was a small tattoo and piercing shop, its slightly set back front window discreetly covered with a blind, that was far from discreetly covered with samples of the available designs and pictures of those piercing that they performed that could be viewed in public!!
Beside the narrow window and lace curtained door stood a large potted evergreen shrub, not unlike a privet, and next to this the even larger black clad tattoo artist who, visibly, had all but run out of available space on which to advertise his art. He stood there, rather self consciously, with his back to the thronging market crowds just across the narrow street, a very small pair of scissors in his hand delicately clipping the odd wayward frond off the shrub and I’m sure hoping that none of his macho, tattooed friends happened to be passing and desperate for the anonymity of dingy shop interior!! I was briefly tempted to comment on what a lovely shrub he had, but my French wasn’t up to it, and he was rather large!!
In the Dog house!!
The unscheduled return to England with the car and not a van for the furniture was, as some of you know, all my fault. Some evenings previously we had been checking the diary and sorting out when we could return to England and fetch some furniture for Chez ‘iggs, and a little niggle entered my head, that was later to develop into a major headache!!
Suddenly, I remembered that my driving licence, which had normally resided rather bulkily in my wallet, it being the old-fashioned paper variety, was not there and although I vaguely remembered removing it to clear out the wallet a little, I couldn’t remember where I had put it and certainly didn’t remember seeing it in the altogether bigger “man-bag” that I tend to carry on such occasions!!
I ventured a rather lame, “I don’t know where my driving licence is!” to Linda who emphatically declared “Well, you better find it!” So the search began, and every nook and cranny in the caravan and car was turned upside down, despite it being dark and cold outside and places already searched, searched again all to no avail. Eventually, tiredness got the better of me and I went to bed only to find that I couldn’t sleep, worrying about where the blessed thing had been put for safe keeping!
After a fitful night, I retraced my steps in daylight, searching everywhere again and even looking in the most unlikely of places, such as the food cupboard and the fridge, more in desperation than in the hope of really finding it. Then after several fruitless searches, the realisation dawned that it certainly wasn’t with us, after all there are only a limited number of places in the car and caravan where a driving licence could be hiding! So what to do, and was the licence safely stored away back in Stroud or had I lost it / had it stolen? It was all rather a dilemma and not a few words were exchanged as to what we could do to find or replace the licence.
Daniel’s help, back in Stroud, was enlisted and he searched in any of the likely places back at our Bath Road house, but still to no avail. It became clear that the only feasible plan was to delay the hiring of the van in France, that we were going to come back to England in to collect our things, come back in the car, find the licence or at least arrange for a new one and then return to France, hire the van and make a second visit very shortly after the first, so as to have everything ready for the imminent arrival of our first visitors! Further problems followed as when we tried to book the van from one of the many local supermarkets that all do van hire, none of them had one available at the required time! Finally, we also needed a French cheque (see below ~ “Which came first the chicken or the egg?) to pay the deposit, but thankfully Tom, our campsite host of a couple of weeks, came to the rescue and offered to hire the van in his name, with his address and with an €800 cheque as surety!! All very generous, but as he jokingly pointed out, we would be leaving the car and caravan at his place, worth considerably more than €800!! However, in the end with the changing dates, the car and caravan were at our new abode, so we left no surety, but still he was only too pleased to come to our aid, for which we were extremely grateful!!
Hence, the unscheduled return, which actually proved to be an added bonus, as we thankfully found, fairly quickly, the licence and then had time to catch up with work colleagues, who we had missed because of the snow on the week of our departure. We also filled the car with some extra items and left Max with my Mum and Dad for a holiday, which avoided too much travelling for him. So I wasn’t sleeping in the kennel for too long!!!
Ferry hoppers ~ the first of two “people watching “
items from our return ferry trip
They swept on with a purpose, middle aged tightly coated couple, his head bare and bald hers covered in a large furry Russian-style hat! Each carried a blanket and a pillow with the gentleman also carrying a rucksack on his back. They nigh on marched to the seats at the front of the salon and promptly disappeared as they spread their blankets on the space in front of the seats and still tightly buttoned up put their heads onto their pillows and didn’t stir until the announcement was made, that we were approaching Dieppe harbour and thank you for sailing with us ......
At this point they were both up, blankets folded and stacked with pillows on a nearby vacant seat, a thermos flask was produced from the rucksack and two china cups were filled with coffee and drunk, leaving just enough time for a trip to the toilet, with wash bags to freshen up, before the announcement came for passengers and drivers to rejoin their vehicles.
Obviously, seasoned and well-practised travellers, intent on sleeping in readiness for the onward journey, and so well sorted out, that I certainly took a leaf out of their book on my next trip, and took a blanket and pillow with me and definitely slept more than on previous journeys!!
There was nothing Conservative about the “lady!”
Their car first came to our attention as we boarded the boat, and whilst everyone else waited in line to be told where to park, this large British Racing Green 4 X 4, several cars in front of us, thought it knew best and tried to push in, only to be firmly stopped by a deckhand and told in no uncertain terms, that on the car deck, they were in charge and people did as they said! They were then ushered none too politely back into the line of traffic ending up parked just in front of us. Inside were a middle aged couple, who rapidly left the car seemingly intent to be the first to get their towels, metaphorically, on the sun loungers, and without becoming too involved in cultural differences – they were English.
I didn’t then give them another thought, although in hindsight I remembered seeing the rather bouffant lady of the car acting rather strangely when seeking out the Ladies, or should that be powder room, as I don’t think the ship’s toilets quite came up to scratch!! That was the last I saw of them until we were coming into the harbour at Dieppe and were asked to return to our cars. As we got back, the lady was already seated in the front of the 4 X 4, the gentleman lurking outside, probably trying to escape the messages and orders that were barked out every-so-often, when the lady thought of something and opened the door and announced her thoughts to the wide world, in a very loud voice that the gentleman seemed quite adept at not registering!! Obviously, a well deserved case of selective hearing!!
Then as vehicles started to move, the passenger door opened more frequently and further ordered were barked from within, including instructions to us to move. I stoically ignored her, waiting to be told by someone in authority as to what to do, and the orders became more frequent but still fell on deaf ears, but eventually the driver did get in the car and start the engine. When finally given the go ahead to leave the boat, by a crew member not the lady in front, we had to carry out a strange manoeuvre, and reverse some way down the car deck before being able to turn and leave, as I set off the 4 X 4 tried to reverse rapidly after me, only to be thwarted by a very nonchalant crew member who walked very slowly after me, his back rather pointedly towards the 4 X 4 only moving aside and signalling them out when he wasn’t big enough to block the exit on his own!
I was all for giving them the benefit of the doubt, and despite being very rude I had wondered if the lady had a phobia of travelling by boat and was desperate to get back on to dry land – it was then I noticed a “Vote Conservative” sticker on the back window and all was explained!! (Sorry Beryl!) Then as I drove down the car ramp and waited at the bottom for a lorry coming out of the deck below, the 4 X 4 undertook me, sped out in front of the lorry and across the dock, leaving me with a disappearing view of the sticker on the other side of the back window saying “Keep Hunting Legal,” so I thought myself lucky to only have had a lashing from her tongue and that she hadn’t taken a riding crop to me!!
I also hoped that customs would stop them and take the car apart, but sadly, at this early hour there were few customs officials in sight, so they were quickly out on to the open road, leapfrogging anything that got in their way, the driver obviously keen not to spend a moment too long in the car with his companion – and just maybe, one of the multitude of speed cameras springing up all over France caught them, not that I’m the vindictive sort!!
Which came first the chicken or the egg?
I have just returned from Fontenay-le-Comte, which will be our nearest large town once we have moved. Here I ventured to explain the “chicken and egg scenario” to a bank employer, who spoke excellent English and had just informed me that “You won’t believe this, as we are a bank, but we can’t take cash!!!”
The cash in question was to pay for contents insurance on the French house and he had asked us for a cheque. I had then told him that although we had a bank account we didn’t have a cheque book, because the bank wouldn’t issue us one until we had an address to send it too, hence the chicken and the egg conversation!! We had then offered to pay on a VISA card but that also was not possible and then we had the conversation about the cash!!
At least, we have taken solace in the fact that when we come to eventually buy a house at least all these little idiosyncrasies will have been ironed out and most importantly we will have the all important French cheque book to pay people money with.
Our first encounter with this strange chicken and egg situation was when the Estate Agent said he would need a French cheque to cover; his fees, the deposit on the house, the first month’s rent and the fees for the notaire acting on behalf of Madame. When we said that we didn’t have a cheque book and couldn’t get one until we were moved in and had an address to send it too this caused a degree of consternation, and although the agent accepted cash, the rest would have to be a cheque. So off we went again from La Châtaigneraie (the Estate Agent) to Fontenay-le-Comte (Bank) and asked the obliging bank employee if they could provide a cheque if we were to give them the money, but no “It is not possible!!” We now hope that we have got around this by a kind friend with a French cheque book writing the cheque in question, we just hope that that doesn’t cause further Gallic shrugs and sharp intakes of breath, with them thinking that we have sub-let as it’s not our name on the cheque!!
Finally, a way was found around the payment of the insurance, a direct debit would be set up and everyone would be happy!, well once the multitude of forms had been signed, this time just a signature, not like when opening a bank account when the 101 signatures all had to be prefaced with a written “Read and Understood” statement, which was incidentally already clearly printed above the signature box! The bank employee was however, beginning to see the funny side and as he straightened up the vast pile of papers that the computer had spewed out, he said “Welcome to France, now we must sign all of these!!” When I retorted with “Just my signature?” he said “Yes, to start with!!”
So that’s all done then, well not exactly, first we have to transfer funds into the French Bank Account to cover the Direct Debit, then to make it all official we have to prove who we are, by taking in our passports and then prove that we are actually renting the house by taking in the contract, which in theory we can’t sign unless we have the insurance!! But Antoine, as he insisted we call him, was beginning to realise our predicament and gave us the necessary papers, provided we return with the relevant documents, in due course. And all we wanted to do was pay the bank for some insurance, which would have been invalid had we made a false statement anyway!!
The bank in the meantime had already seen our passports, but still needed proof of our new address, which even once we had provided it didn’t qualify for the release of our cheque book, for which they were sending around the postman to verify!! Oh, and as it was a joint account they also wanted proof that we are married!!
Again the saving grace is that I was reading a book about living in France last night, or in fact the chapter on dying in France!!, and obtaining a death certificate is relatively easy, and you don’t even have to sign it yourself to confirm that you have read it and understood it!!
Postscript: Having got everything that the Estate Agent wanted us to do; French cheque for deposit and first month’s rent, proof of who we are, proof that we had money and contents insurance ready for the completion of the Inventory and subsequent signing of papers with Madame’s Notaire (Solicitor) – all of which we had to do before there was any possibility of moving in, when we dropped the cheque off we were told that oil was needed to be able to have heating and hot water, and although we were due to get the keys on the day of the inventory, the Notaire was proving difficult to pin down and we might have to sign after we have moved in. When I said we were returning to the UK to pick things up, the day after we moved in, this didn’t seem to be a problem, as long as we signed sometime – so much for all the rushing about getting everything sorted before being able to enter the premises!!
Plus amour et grosse bises!!! (More love and big kisses!!!)
Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love
Roger, Linda and Max ~ (“bring on” Monsieur ou Madame La Poste!!)
And to come next time, who knows but it may contain:
A night in the country / Madame becomes Monsieur / Our first three or so visitors, and ...... who knows what other adventures the new abode will bring!?!
Joie de vie en France et en Francais ~ Missive 4
Dear All
As you read this we will be about to move into our new abode and make the second trip to “jolly old blighty” (oh no! I’m already sounding like an ex-pat!!) inside two weeks, why two, that will be explained within!! We were also pleased to catch up with some of you on the last trip and make visits that the winter snows had prevented.
Due to the size of our new abode and the payload of the hire van that we ordered in pigeon French, the lady behind the counter eventually thanking me for letting her practice her English and on a later occasion, this time when buying some white goods for the kitchen, she complemented me on my French, when I knew what 604 was in French, there may well be more trips!! The wine is obviously working, although I hasten to add as this was at 11 o’clock in the morning not a drop had passed my lips that day!! I think it was also something to do with being able to spell my name out, as the French have trouble with “H!” – hash, e, double g, s!! Hence, the unofficial and certainly not displayed name of the new abode – Chez ‘iggs!!
La Loge
FRANCE
The best way to contact me will still be to email on:
rogerhiggs@hotmail.co.uk
If you need to make urgent contact, phone or text me, bearing in mind you may be contacting France and will be charged accordingly!! Snail mail will take a little longer!!
[Roger] 07759 753892
(add 0044 and miss the first 0 if ringing from a French phone)
Read on and all will be revealed – well at least as regards our new address!!
Love and Best Wishes
Roger, Linda and Max, who as you read this will be holidaying in England – what an old age jetsetter!
PS: A little late sending this, we are now in and sending this whilst in England collecting furniture.
Somewhere in France
(A little bit of Ireland in the Vendée ~ between the towns of Chantonnay, where the journey started last Easter, and Pouzauges and not a million miles from La Châtaigneraie our intended destination and vie en France.)
07759 753892
rogerhiggs@hotmail.co.uk
We arrived in the sunshine, had a slight mishap (see below), received the greeting that you read in the previous missive, and have since had rain, wind, a slight frost, a glorious sunset (and obviously “Red sky at night ...” doesn’t hold true here!) and this morning the sun is rising and struggling a little to burn off the thick mist, but it’s winning the line of trees across the field have just come into sight – in the space of two days we had the weather of four English seasons!!
Mes chers amis (as corrected by my French mistress – Oh la la!!!)
Joie de vie en France et en Francais ~ The Joy of life in France and French
Ah there is so much to tell and so much wine (!), that you may notice the order in which some of the happenings have occurred has become slightly blurred and fussy around the edges, some of this is simply to get priority items to my readers!!!
Out of the Maelstrom into the Snowstorm
It was going to be called out of the frying pan into the fire, but that was altogether too hot!
Later in the day, the wind still buffeting the caravan mercilessly, we decided to go ahead with our plan to visit Carcassonne, and leaving the caravan rattling and shaking and hoping it would still be upright on our return, off we went through St Pons de Thomière and picking up the main road to Castres for a short time before picking up the lower category road signposted Carcassonne.
The road started well enough with a good road, mostly signposted, although in the French countryside, as I suppose often happens in England, a sign points down a country lane towards where you want to go and at the next few junctions it’s a case of which road takes your fancy before, hopefully and with an element of relief you pick up the signs again. We then started to climb, not in itself too alarming as to get from St Pons to most places involved driving up over the hills, but slightly more alarming was the rapidly decreasing temperature indicated by the car’s outside thermometer, quickly indicated the possibility of ice.
We then came to one of those junctions with no mention of Carcassonne, and two choices one down the hill and one up the hill. Referring to the map it was clear that the up was the way and despite temperatures now dropping towards freezing, the road looked clear and signposted a view point a little way on, where we could get the lie of the land.
We then entered the “snow line,” well at least the fields bordering the road had a smattering of last night’s snow and the trees were beginning to look pretty, the branches still traced with thin lines of snow, as least where the wind hadn’t blown it off. Arrival at the viewpoint gave a very wintery, and extremely windy view of a white world, and thicker snow and inadequate footwear meant a trip out to the rather exposed topograph was out of the question, but at least we seemed to have reached a summit and the road started to go back down and this was something of a relief as the temperature had now fallen to minus 1°C. However, it was something of a false summit and around a couple of corners the trees hung heavier with snow, there was no choice at road junctions as we had to follow the “cleared” road, those shooting off to the side with increasing amounts of snow cover and the fields now well and truly white over.
Alarm bells should have rung when turning one corner there was a stretch of snow-covered road ahead of us with only the tyre marks of one previous car, but it was only where the still immensely strong wind had blown the snow off the field over the road and you could see clear tarmac about one hundred metres away, so with care and consummate ease we passed over the snow and onto the tarmac and round the next corner to find increasingly that the road was covered in snow and that any potential turning spots were certainly hidden from view under a fair covering of snow or mounds of snow where a snow plough had obviously pushed the snow several days previously, as they had certainly not been along recently! But all remained well, we marvelled at the weather, to some extent unexpected in the South of France despite being early in the year, and just started to admire the pretty snow-clad trees a little less and in my case grip the steering wheel a little tighter and lift the foot off the accelerator.
We then turned a corner with the definite promise of the road going down, out of the snow, but the thermometer reached minus 1.5°C the road in front did indeed go down steeply but was covered in a compacted layer of ice and snow and despite being in French there was absolutely no mistaking the permanent blue road sign that said “In the event of snow use snow chains!” The next few minutes seemed like a lifetime, as I pointed the car down the hill, more or less letting it free wheel and trying to stay in whatever wheel tracks had gone down the middle of the road previously, the road now very clearly reduced to a single track in the middle, we crawled down the long straight and steep hill, before reaching the next twisty section of the road, large rocks on my side with what appeared to be a snow-filled ditch in front of them and a steep wooded drop on Linda’s sign, and never had the lack of crash barriers on potentially dangerous French roads been more apparent!! The feeling in France seems to be, and there is a lot of sense in it I suppose, although I didn’t think so at this particular time!, that you are responsible for your own safety. Strangely however, the following day, away from the mountains, we went along a perfectly straight typically tree-lined French road, with kilometre after kilometre of very sturdy crash barriers on both sides of the road, but maybe the number of trees with obvious crash wounds and the frequent wayside memorial meant it was on a “supply and demand” basis.
However, back to the current white knuckle ride! For what seemed like kilometre after kilometre we crawled hesitantly down the road, hoping nothing came the other way, praying that the thermometer would finally start to rise and the road clear, Linda frequently saying and me constantly thinking “I don’t like this!” Finally, loads of bends later the road cleared the trees lost their covering and we were once again on the road to Carcassonne, rather than competing, albeit very slowly, in a snowy section of a rally car event, but the experience and the still bitingly cold wind when we arrived at our destination rather put the dampeners on the visit. I couldn’t even have a stiff drink at lunchtime as we still had to return, needless to say by a different route, that we both knew and was lower, although nearing the top the temperature starting to fall rather worryingly, but the snow had gone and we were relieved to return to a warm and peaceful caravan the wind of the previous night now a bad memory, somewhat erased by the later nightmare journey!!
Postscript: After a peaceful evening, pleasant meal and a good night’s sleep, it seemed as though the gods had it in for us and having failed in the snow the previous day sent the wind back with a vengeance at about 6.00 a.m., from a different direction and blowing so strongly we were fearful that the caravan wouldn’t stay upright. We had a very early start that day and were relieved to leave what I’m sure, in the calm of the summer, must be a very pleasant site. Arriving later in the day at our next destination; a lovely calm wooded site in the hills above the Dordogne with splendid views through the trees, the Dutch owner was a little puzzled when my first question was “The wind is going to start blowing tonight!?!” until it suddenly dawned on her and she said “Have you been down in the south?” which when we confirmed this she said “The wind always blows there!!” – as well we know!
The cock struck one, as the torch flashed around the greenhouse
We were only on this rather lovely, very quiet – save the odd owl or two, and wind free site for a couple of nights whilst we broke our journey and met up with some friends from County Durham, for Sunday lunch, who were holidaying just down the road. But, a couple of happenings got the imagination racing, and it was late at night after a glass or two of the local liquid, so the mind was crystal clear at this my most creative time!! So I present nothing heavy just a little cameo piece based on an unusual occurrence!!
It was late, indeed midnight had long gone, the dog kept looking at me and sighing as if to say surely it’s time for bed, not that he was particularly tired as he spends increasing amounts of time snoring in his bed. Much of it dreaming no doubt of food, as he has been known to do a strange lying down version of his “cute and endearing” give me bread dance followed by some talking, well at least wouffing, in his sleep. No the sighing involved the “need” for more food as at bedtime he goes out into the dark and cold for the last time, which he and I both strangely rather enjoy, but then he gets his night-time biscuits!! But, I had been on a roll, sorting out computer files, particularly photographs, and making sure that they were all suitably backed up on my new external hard drive, and as many of you will know, it is only too easy to get lost in the computer and time simply disappear!!
Despite his deafness, Max became aware that I was closing down the computer and signs were good that it was “B and B” time – bed and biscuits! So computer away, various hard drives, USB pens and notebooks tidied and we went out into the darkness of a near moonless Dordogne night and headed for the edge of the campsite for Max to disappear into the surrounding woodland to quarter it for interesting smells and do what a dog has to do, when I noticed that in the large greenhouse, partly hidden behind one of the large static caravans over on the other side of the campsite someone was moving slowly around with a small touch, searching for something or at least looking carefully around checking on the plants. At first I thought about Prince Charles!, who rumour has it spends a lot of his time talking to his plants or then there are those farmers who swear by planting in relation to the cycle of the moon! Then more sinister thoughts about burglars, either burgling or more likely stashing their horde made me hasten to the far side of the campsite, thanking my lucky stars that on our night-time forays I don’t carry a torch, that would have given my presence away. Then it was over the low mound of stones surrounding the site, onto a small field hidden from the mysterious torch in the greenhouse by several large static caravans and a reasonable distance before I felt secure enough to let Max off the lead.
It was then as the clock in the caravan confirmed afterwards, at one o’clock in the morning, that the cock in a distant farmyard loudly and clearly, heralded the start of a new day, with repeated cock-a-doddle-doos at a ridiculously early hour. It was also then that the creative took over and thoughts of burglars were forgotten and thoughts of the heralded morning being the morning that we finally take off for the present journey’s end, and later on today we would finally arrive in the Vendée, was this a good omen?
It was only later, after the dog had had his biscuits and gone to bed, that I lay wide awake in bed thinking of the Vendée and things to come, that the mind started racing and thoughts of strange lights in the midnight greenhouse, Dutch owners, Amsterdam and cannabis cafés, put a completely different slant on the story. As I then drifted off to sleep, I thought that maybe that could also explain the one in the morning cock-a-doddle-doo, perhaps it was in the air!!
Perhaps it’s all getting to me!! (just a quick snippet, that’s all it’s worth!!)
One of the things that has surprised us both since we left England, initially on holiday and then on a mission, is that despite not going to work each day, we have been really exhausted! Sleep therefore has not been a problem, most nights falling into a very deep, seemingly dreamless sleep, interrupted only by the getting up, shaking and gentle wouffing of the dog to announce he wants to pop out!
However, a couple of weeks ago, both of us had a couple of restless nights with the most bizarre of dreams, with mixed up people, places and series of events. I’m sure that Freud or his cronies would have a field day analysing the pair of us!!
On two consecutive nights, my dreams centred around school, but with various other people and strange settings as you will see. Perhaps, I’m missing you after all!! On the first night I ended up in an old fashioned Victorian Classroom surrounded by modern children, having had to come out of retirement to talk to an OFSTED Inspector, who was querying the correct timetable I had sent him. It all became very heated and I remember my parting line was “I shouldn’t be here anyway, I’ve left!” It seemed to shut him up and is hopefully not an omen!
The following night, was a very mixed up dream about packing everything up. My worry was that I hadn’t sorted out my office at school, which appeared to be in the upstairs of a modest three-bedroom house. My office was still full of my own things, mainly bookcases full of books (this I’m sure referring back to January and packing up our house, when we decided we were never going to buy another book, as well as a long list of other things!!), with my bedroom next door full mainly of dressing up clothes, hanging from various washing lines strung across the room. Time had run out and I had to go somewhere, I think to France!!, so I had had to leave it all but had decided to do a quick last minute initial sort and that involved putting stuff all over the bed in the other bedroom and leaving it there until who knows when and that bedroom appeared to belong to my Admin Officer from school!!!
Fortunately, the nightmares have now stopped in more ways than one!!!
Dented pride
If it was going to happen it was going to be at a petrol station, as it is there that all the lanes converge onto a narrow lane by the pay booth and the exit is nearly always narrow and often tortuous.
Some years previous we had pulled into a petrol station complete with caravan, filled up with petrol and gone to leave and realised that the exit took a sharp left after the pay booth and was closely lined by large metal cases containing an array of gas canisters for sale. On that day how I managed to negotiate the exit without mishap, was as much of a surprise to me as it was to the cashier who smiled broadly and applauded as I returned once more to the open road!!
Sadly, this time I wasn’t to be so lucky and although I pulled into the petrol station perfectly aligned for a clear exit, we realised that the pump I was lined up on didn’t have gasoline (diesel) and so without too much trouble I had to reverse a little and realign at the next pump. Filling complete, it became obvious that I wasn’t at the best of angles to exit but would just make it by carefully mounting the curb with the caravan and equally carefully dropping off on the other side. Manoeuvre complete a glance in the wing mirror revealed that I was very close to the rubber hoses connected to the pumps with them rubbing along the side of the caravan, but we appeared to have just got through and then had to mount the curb the other side of the lane to turn sufficiently to clear the pay booth and return to the open road.
I resisted a look until we arrived at the site, and having been offered a cut of tea, realised it was just what I needed as there were three small dents in the side of the caravan, where obviously the caravan had rocked into the pumps as the wheel came down of the curb. After tea it became obvious that although two of the dents were very small and only minor, one had made a very small hole in the outer shell of the caravan, a black moment indeed, possibly more with dented pride than anything, four weeks, over 1500 miles without a mishap and this happens 30 miles from journey’s end!
To make matters worse, when I tried to surreptitiously clean it down and apply some fibreglass filler, Tom our Irish host passed and came over for one of his chats saying “arh, just giving the van a little polish are ye?” to which I had to admit to the dent. I stayed seated cleaning off the rubber marks and preparing the surface, which was just as well as two hours later the chat finished, us having both been joined by respective partners as well as one of the lodgers, so much for an incognito repair!!
Now several days later, with the hole sealed but still needing finishing off and touching up, the feeling of dented pride has worn off, a little, but I shall never feel the same about filling up in supermarket petrol station with the caravan!!
Escape to the country
Or that maybe should be escape to the middle of nowhere, as the house we have fallen in love with and are waiting with baited breath to hear whether Madame, the owner of the house and the next door chateau, says oui!! is quite simply in the middle of nowhere with Madame, our closest neighbour, spending most of her time in Spain!!
The escape, if it works out, is to the servant’s quarters of a small but fairly grand chateau, deep in the French countryside half way between Chantonnay and Fontenay-le-Comte, about 15 km (9 miles) SO (South West!) of La Châtaigneraie, with the nearest civilisation a small village called St-Laurent-de-Salle, which on first brief exploration has a Coiffure (Hairdresser), but no Boulangerie (Bakers)!! As I write this we are about to go and see the Immobilière (Estate Agent, more about him later!) to see if he has been able to contact the somewhat elusive Madame, for whom he doesn’t appear to have a telephone number and is indeed at the moment in Spain!!
Many of you may have received a change of address card that read:
“Please note change of address with effect from early February 2009:
Foreign Field
Deepest French Countryside
Out of sight out of mind
Foreseeable future!!”
Well, in many ways something said in jest has come true, as the address will almost read like this, indeed when we went to the bank earlier this afternoon, to open a French Bank account having been given the OK, in principle, by Madame, the bank employee dealing with us asked us the address of the property, to which, much to her amazement we replied that we didn’t know. She said “You don’t know where you are going to live!” to which we had to explain that it was all alone on a country lane with no obvious name, road name or house number and we had been taken there by the Estate Agent; us following his car and paying little attention to the surrounding countryside, rather trying not to lose sight of him as he sped off with a cloud of dust behind him, heading for the “Deepest French Countryside”and the back of beyond!!
We have been back since and we will certainly be in the back of beyond, but we still fortunately, both felt the same about the place and now are waiting to meet with the Notaire (solicitor) acting on Madame’s behalf to persuade her we are genuine and can afford the rent and to sign on the dotted line!!
Plus amour et grosse bises!!! (More love and big kisses!!!)
Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love
Roger, Linda and Max ~ (ici on wouf Francais très bien!!)
And to come next time:
· The first cut is the deepest!
· In the Dog House
· Chez ‘iggs arrivée
As you read this we will be about to move into our new abode and make the second trip to “jolly old blighty” (oh no! I’m already sounding like an ex-pat!!) inside two weeks, why two, that will be explained within!! We were also pleased to catch up with some of you on the last trip and make visits that the winter snows had prevented.
Due to the size of our new abode and the payload of the hire van that we ordered in pigeon French, the lady behind the counter eventually thanking me for letting her practice her English and on a later occasion, this time when buying some white goods for the kitchen, she complemented me on my French, when I knew what 604 was in French, there may well be more trips!! The wine is obviously working, although I hasten to add as this was at 11 o’clock in the morning not a drop had passed my lips that day!! I think it was also something to do with being able to spell my name out, as the French have trouble with “H!” – hash, e, double g, s!! Hence, the unofficial and certainly not displayed name of the new abode – Chez ‘iggs!!
La Loge
FRANCE
The best way to contact me will still be to email on:
rogerhiggs@hotmail.co.uk
If you need to make urgent contact, phone or text me, bearing in mind you may be contacting France and will be charged accordingly!! Snail mail will take a little longer!!
[Roger] 07759 753892
(add 0044 and miss the first 0 if ringing from a French phone)
Read on and all will be revealed – well at least as regards our new address!!
Love and Best Wishes
Roger, Linda and Max, who as you read this will be holidaying in England – what an old age jetsetter!
PS: A little late sending this, we are now in and sending this whilst in England collecting furniture.
Somewhere in France
(A little bit of Ireland in the Vendée ~ between the towns of Chantonnay, where the journey started last Easter, and Pouzauges and not a million miles from La Châtaigneraie our intended destination and vie en France.)
07759 753892
rogerhiggs@hotmail.co.uk
We arrived in the sunshine, had a slight mishap (see below), received the greeting that you read in the previous missive, and have since had rain, wind, a slight frost, a glorious sunset (and obviously “Red sky at night ...” doesn’t hold true here!) and this morning the sun is rising and struggling a little to burn off the thick mist, but it’s winning the line of trees across the field have just come into sight – in the space of two days we had the weather of four English seasons!!
Mes chers amis (as corrected by my French mistress – Oh la la!!!)
Joie de vie en France et en Francais ~ The Joy of life in France and French
Ah there is so much to tell and so much wine (!), that you may notice the order in which some of the happenings have occurred has become slightly blurred and fussy around the edges, some of this is simply to get priority items to my readers!!!
Out of the Maelstrom into the Snowstorm
It was going to be called out of the frying pan into the fire, but that was altogether too hot!
Later in the day, the wind still buffeting the caravan mercilessly, we decided to go ahead with our plan to visit Carcassonne, and leaving the caravan rattling and shaking and hoping it would still be upright on our return, off we went through St Pons de Thomière and picking up the main road to Castres for a short time before picking up the lower category road signposted Carcassonne.
The road started well enough with a good road, mostly signposted, although in the French countryside, as I suppose often happens in England, a sign points down a country lane towards where you want to go and at the next few junctions it’s a case of which road takes your fancy before, hopefully and with an element of relief you pick up the signs again. We then started to climb, not in itself too alarming as to get from St Pons to most places involved driving up over the hills, but slightly more alarming was the rapidly decreasing temperature indicated by the car’s outside thermometer, quickly indicated the possibility of ice.
We then came to one of those junctions with no mention of Carcassonne, and two choices one down the hill and one up the hill. Referring to the map it was clear that the up was the way and despite temperatures now dropping towards freezing, the road looked clear and signposted a view point a little way on, where we could get the lie of the land.
We then entered the “snow line,” well at least the fields bordering the road had a smattering of last night’s snow and the trees were beginning to look pretty, the branches still traced with thin lines of snow, as least where the wind hadn’t blown it off. Arrival at the viewpoint gave a very wintery, and extremely windy view of a white world, and thicker snow and inadequate footwear meant a trip out to the rather exposed topograph was out of the question, but at least we seemed to have reached a summit and the road started to go back down and this was something of a relief as the temperature had now fallen to minus 1°C. However, it was something of a false summit and around a couple of corners the trees hung heavier with snow, there was no choice at road junctions as we had to follow the “cleared” road, those shooting off to the side with increasing amounts of snow cover and the fields now well and truly white over.
Alarm bells should have rung when turning one corner there was a stretch of snow-covered road ahead of us with only the tyre marks of one previous car, but it was only where the still immensely strong wind had blown the snow off the field over the road and you could see clear tarmac about one hundred metres away, so with care and consummate ease we passed over the snow and onto the tarmac and round the next corner to find increasingly that the road was covered in snow and that any potential turning spots were certainly hidden from view under a fair covering of snow or mounds of snow where a snow plough had obviously pushed the snow several days previously, as they had certainly not been along recently! But all remained well, we marvelled at the weather, to some extent unexpected in the South of France despite being early in the year, and just started to admire the pretty snow-clad trees a little less and in my case grip the steering wheel a little tighter and lift the foot off the accelerator.
We then turned a corner with the definite promise of the road going down, out of the snow, but the thermometer reached minus 1.5°C the road in front did indeed go down steeply but was covered in a compacted layer of ice and snow and despite being in French there was absolutely no mistaking the permanent blue road sign that said “In the event of snow use snow chains!” The next few minutes seemed like a lifetime, as I pointed the car down the hill, more or less letting it free wheel and trying to stay in whatever wheel tracks had gone down the middle of the road previously, the road now very clearly reduced to a single track in the middle, we crawled down the long straight and steep hill, before reaching the next twisty section of the road, large rocks on my side with what appeared to be a snow-filled ditch in front of them and a steep wooded drop on Linda’s sign, and never had the lack of crash barriers on potentially dangerous French roads been more apparent!! The feeling in France seems to be, and there is a lot of sense in it I suppose, although I didn’t think so at this particular time!, that you are responsible for your own safety. Strangely however, the following day, away from the mountains, we went along a perfectly straight typically tree-lined French road, with kilometre after kilometre of very sturdy crash barriers on both sides of the road, but maybe the number of trees with obvious crash wounds and the frequent wayside memorial meant it was on a “supply and demand” basis.
However, back to the current white knuckle ride! For what seemed like kilometre after kilometre we crawled hesitantly down the road, hoping nothing came the other way, praying that the thermometer would finally start to rise and the road clear, Linda frequently saying and me constantly thinking “I don’t like this!” Finally, loads of bends later the road cleared the trees lost their covering and we were once again on the road to Carcassonne, rather than competing, albeit very slowly, in a snowy section of a rally car event, but the experience and the still bitingly cold wind when we arrived at our destination rather put the dampeners on the visit. I couldn’t even have a stiff drink at lunchtime as we still had to return, needless to say by a different route, that we both knew and was lower, although nearing the top the temperature starting to fall rather worryingly, but the snow had gone and we were relieved to return to a warm and peaceful caravan the wind of the previous night now a bad memory, somewhat erased by the later nightmare journey!!
Postscript: After a peaceful evening, pleasant meal and a good night’s sleep, it seemed as though the gods had it in for us and having failed in the snow the previous day sent the wind back with a vengeance at about 6.00 a.m., from a different direction and blowing so strongly we were fearful that the caravan wouldn’t stay upright. We had a very early start that day and were relieved to leave what I’m sure, in the calm of the summer, must be a very pleasant site. Arriving later in the day at our next destination; a lovely calm wooded site in the hills above the Dordogne with splendid views through the trees, the Dutch owner was a little puzzled when my first question was “The wind is going to start blowing tonight!?!” until it suddenly dawned on her and she said “Have you been down in the south?” which when we confirmed this she said “The wind always blows there!!” – as well we know!
The cock struck one, as the torch flashed around the greenhouse
We were only on this rather lovely, very quiet – save the odd owl or two, and wind free site for a couple of nights whilst we broke our journey and met up with some friends from County Durham, for Sunday lunch, who were holidaying just down the road. But, a couple of happenings got the imagination racing, and it was late at night after a glass or two of the local liquid, so the mind was crystal clear at this my most creative time!! So I present nothing heavy just a little cameo piece based on an unusual occurrence!!
It was late, indeed midnight had long gone, the dog kept looking at me and sighing as if to say surely it’s time for bed, not that he was particularly tired as he spends increasing amounts of time snoring in his bed. Much of it dreaming no doubt of food, as he has been known to do a strange lying down version of his “cute and endearing” give me bread dance followed by some talking, well at least wouffing, in his sleep. No the sighing involved the “need” for more food as at bedtime he goes out into the dark and cold for the last time, which he and I both strangely rather enjoy, but then he gets his night-time biscuits!! But, I had been on a roll, sorting out computer files, particularly photographs, and making sure that they were all suitably backed up on my new external hard drive, and as many of you will know, it is only too easy to get lost in the computer and time simply disappear!!
Despite his deafness, Max became aware that I was closing down the computer and signs were good that it was “B and B” time – bed and biscuits! So computer away, various hard drives, USB pens and notebooks tidied and we went out into the darkness of a near moonless Dordogne night and headed for the edge of the campsite for Max to disappear into the surrounding woodland to quarter it for interesting smells and do what a dog has to do, when I noticed that in the large greenhouse, partly hidden behind one of the large static caravans over on the other side of the campsite someone was moving slowly around with a small touch, searching for something or at least looking carefully around checking on the plants. At first I thought about Prince Charles!, who rumour has it spends a lot of his time talking to his plants or then there are those farmers who swear by planting in relation to the cycle of the moon! Then more sinister thoughts about burglars, either burgling or more likely stashing their horde made me hasten to the far side of the campsite, thanking my lucky stars that on our night-time forays I don’t carry a torch, that would have given my presence away. Then it was over the low mound of stones surrounding the site, onto a small field hidden from the mysterious torch in the greenhouse by several large static caravans and a reasonable distance before I felt secure enough to let Max off the lead.
It was then as the clock in the caravan confirmed afterwards, at one o’clock in the morning, that the cock in a distant farmyard loudly and clearly, heralded the start of a new day, with repeated cock-a-doddle-doos at a ridiculously early hour. It was also then that the creative took over and thoughts of burglars were forgotten and thoughts of the heralded morning being the morning that we finally take off for the present journey’s end, and later on today we would finally arrive in the Vendée, was this a good omen?
It was only later, after the dog had had his biscuits and gone to bed, that I lay wide awake in bed thinking of the Vendée and things to come, that the mind started racing and thoughts of strange lights in the midnight greenhouse, Dutch owners, Amsterdam and cannabis cafés, put a completely different slant on the story. As I then drifted off to sleep, I thought that maybe that could also explain the one in the morning cock-a-doddle-doo, perhaps it was in the air!!
Perhaps it’s all getting to me!! (just a quick snippet, that’s all it’s worth!!)
One of the things that has surprised us both since we left England, initially on holiday and then on a mission, is that despite not going to work each day, we have been really exhausted! Sleep therefore has not been a problem, most nights falling into a very deep, seemingly dreamless sleep, interrupted only by the getting up, shaking and gentle wouffing of the dog to announce he wants to pop out!
However, a couple of weeks ago, both of us had a couple of restless nights with the most bizarre of dreams, with mixed up people, places and series of events. I’m sure that Freud or his cronies would have a field day analysing the pair of us!!
On two consecutive nights, my dreams centred around school, but with various other people and strange settings as you will see. Perhaps, I’m missing you after all!! On the first night I ended up in an old fashioned Victorian Classroom surrounded by modern children, having had to come out of retirement to talk to an OFSTED Inspector, who was querying the correct timetable I had sent him. It all became very heated and I remember my parting line was “I shouldn’t be here anyway, I’ve left!” It seemed to shut him up and is hopefully not an omen!
The following night, was a very mixed up dream about packing everything up. My worry was that I hadn’t sorted out my office at school, which appeared to be in the upstairs of a modest three-bedroom house. My office was still full of my own things, mainly bookcases full of books (this I’m sure referring back to January and packing up our house, when we decided we were never going to buy another book, as well as a long list of other things!!), with my bedroom next door full mainly of dressing up clothes, hanging from various washing lines strung across the room. Time had run out and I had to go somewhere, I think to France!!, so I had had to leave it all but had decided to do a quick last minute initial sort and that involved putting stuff all over the bed in the other bedroom and leaving it there until who knows when and that bedroom appeared to belong to my Admin Officer from school!!!
Fortunately, the nightmares have now stopped in more ways than one!!!
Dented pride
If it was going to happen it was going to be at a petrol station, as it is there that all the lanes converge onto a narrow lane by the pay booth and the exit is nearly always narrow and often tortuous.
Some years previous we had pulled into a petrol station complete with caravan, filled up with petrol and gone to leave and realised that the exit took a sharp left after the pay booth and was closely lined by large metal cases containing an array of gas canisters for sale. On that day how I managed to negotiate the exit without mishap, was as much of a surprise to me as it was to the cashier who smiled broadly and applauded as I returned once more to the open road!!
Sadly, this time I wasn’t to be so lucky and although I pulled into the petrol station perfectly aligned for a clear exit, we realised that the pump I was lined up on didn’t have gasoline (diesel) and so without too much trouble I had to reverse a little and realign at the next pump. Filling complete, it became obvious that I wasn’t at the best of angles to exit but would just make it by carefully mounting the curb with the caravan and equally carefully dropping off on the other side. Manoeuvre complete a glance in the wing mirror revealed that I was very close to the rubber hoses connected to the pumps with them rubbing along the side of the caravan, but we appeared to have just got through and then had to mount the curb the other side of the lane to turn sufficiently to clear the pay booth and return to the open road.
I resisted a look until we arrived at the site, and having been offered a cut of tea, realised it was just what I needed as there were three small dents in the side of the caravan, where obviously the caravan had rocked into the pumps as the wheel came down of the curb. After tea it became obvious that although two of the dents were very small and only minor, one had made a very small hole in the outer shell of the caravan, a black moment indeed, possibly more with dented pride than anything, four weeks, over 1500 miles without a mishap and this happens 30 miles from journey’s end!
To make matters worse, when I tried to surreptitiously clean it down and apply some fibreglass filler, Tom our Irish host passed and came over for one of his chats saying “arh, just giving the van a little polish are ye?” to which I had to admit to the dent. I stayed seated cleaning off the rubber marks and preparing the surface, which was just as well as two hours later the chat finished, us having both been joined by respective partners as well as one of the lodgers, so much for an incognito repair!!
Now several days later, with the hole sealed but still needing finishing off and touching up, the feeling of dented pride has worn off, a little, but I shall never feel the same about filling up in supermarket petrol station with the caravan!!
Escape to the country
Or that maybe should be escape to the middle of nowhere, as the house we have fallen in love with and are waiting with baited breath to hear whether Madame, the owner of the house and the next door chateau, says oui!! is quite simply in the middle of nowhere with Madame, our closest neighbour, spending most of her time in Spain!!
The escape, if it works out, is to the servant’s quarters of a small but fairly grand chateau, deep in the French countryside half way between Chantonnay and Fontenay-le-Comte, about 15 km (9 miles) SO (South West!) of La Châtaigneraie, with the nearest civilisation a small village called St-Laurent-de-Salle, which on first brief exploration has a Coiffure (Hairdresser), but no Boulangerie (Bakers)!! As I write this we are about to go and see the Immobilière (Estate Agent, more about him later!) to see if he has been able to contact the somewhat elusive Madame, for whom he doesn’t appear to have a telephone number and is indeed at the moment in Spain!!
Many of you may have received a change of address card that read:
“Please note change of address with effect from early February 2009:
Foreign Field
Deepest French Countryside
Out of sight out of mind
Foreseeable future!!”
Well, in many ways something said in jest has come true, as the address will almost read like this, indeed when we went to the bank earlier this afternoon, to open a French Bank account having been given the OK, in principle, by Madame, the bank employee dealing with us asked us the address of the property, to which, much to her amazement we replied that we didn’t know. She said “You don’t know where you are going to live!” to which we had to explain that it was all alone on a country lane with no obvious name, road name or house number and we had been taken there by the Estate Agent; us following his car and paying little attention to the surrounding countryside, rather trying not to lose sight of him as he sped off with a cloud of dust behind him, heading for the “Deepest French Countryside”and the back of beyond!!
We have been back since and we will certainly be in the back of beyond, but we still fortunately, both felt the same about the place and now are waiting to meet with the Notaire (solicitor) acting on Madame’s behalf to persuade her we are genuine and can afford the rent and to sign on the dotted line!!
Plus amour et grosse bises!!! (More love and big kisses!!!)
Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love
Roger, Linda and Max ~ (ici on wouf Francais très bien!!)
And to come next time:
· The first cut is the deepest!
· In the Dog House
· Chez ‘iggs arrivée
Plus écrivt de le stylo de M. Higgs! ~ Missive 3 ~ (More writing from the pen of Mr. Higgs!)
Dear All
Please find attached the latest edition of “It Happened one Thursday in February,” a working title based on a real life event, and hopefully, fairly soon you will be able to access, by invitation!!!, all previous missives and various other information via my own personal Blog!! You may also be able to add your own comments!! Watch this space!
However, that is not the hot news of the moment!! All being well, having got the provisional OK from Madame of The Chateau, and we think having persuaded the Notaire (Solicitor) of our ability to pay, we will shortly be moving into “Chez ‘iggs,” as it will affectionately be known; the servants quarters (farm cottage) of a nearby chateau. A long way from anywhere and the only address on the country road than peters out into little more than a track (marked on the map as “irréglièrement entretenue,” irregularly maintained!), other than the Chateau itself, but hopefully home for the next 12 months or so, with the nearest neighbour, by far, Madame who spends most of her him in Spain!! The story of this will form part of many other missives, but suffice to say, we will be rural and very isolated so need lots of visitors to keep us sane – book your space now, and if you don’t mind roughing it a little, the three- bedroom downstairs house has a large 4-roomed space in the attic, eminently suitable for a bunkhouse experience!!!
This also means that we are likely to be returning to England, to pick up furniture, about the last week in March. However, it will be a brief visit and therefore we don’t promise to be able to catch up with too many of you.
Enjoy the read, hopefully!!
Love and Best Wishes
Roger, Linda and Max (the intrepid explorer and loud snorer!!)
Somewhere in France
(at first at St Pons de Thomière, near Narbonne and the world’s second biggest area of vineyards!!, then finally in the Vendée ~ journey’s end or should that be beginning?)
07759 753892
rogerhiggs@hotmail.co.uk
Another day … another town or two … and more adventures and happenings along the way!!
Mon cher amis
Plus écrivt de le stylo de M. Higgs! (More writing from the pen of Mr. Higgs!)
You may notice a developing theme or two along the way – more French creeping in and further removal from the real world!! At least one of you, and yes you know who you are, replied to the first l……o……n……g email, with an altogether shorter one as they didn’t have time to write more! At the moment time is certainly not our master, as the length of this “chapter” will testify!!
Birthday Boy ~ lunch in Monaco, as you do!
In the first missive I wrote about popping to Italy for the day, well with a birthday looming, Linda asked me what I wanted to do and I suggested, as one does!!, why not go to Monaco for the day and take me to lunch!! (I promise that when we arrive in the Vendée life will become a little more mundane, or at least I think it will!!!)
After a leisurely breakfast of croissants, confiture Reines-Claudes (greengage jam) and café (coffee), we helped the dog into the car put in coats, just in case, and set off under a cloudless azure sky along the Cote d’Azur to the playground, and tax haven, of millionaires! I was a little unsure of driving to a place where I would be surrounded by Mercedes, Rolls Royce’s, Daimlers, Maseratis and Porches, but did think that hopefully parking spaces would be sufficiently big to house a mere Vauxhall Zafira!!
After the rush hour jams on the autoroute en route to Italy, we decided to keep to the coast road and first stop was a superb view point looking over the emerald Med with Villefranche-sur-Mer and Beaulieu-sur-Mer hugging the coastline far below and the bright sun reflecting back off the simmering waters. You may get attached to this a picture of me looking every inch of 35 with this seaside view behind oh, alright then 40, but certainly very relaxed!!
Then, just a short way along the road, we saw why the guide book described the village of Èze as; “a village on a rock,” as there in front of us and hanging delicately above the sea was a village on a rock! We stopped and discovered another absolutely delightful village with narrow streets and stepped passages that all seemed to lead to Hotel Chèvre d’Or, with a charming statue of a golden goat above the arches of its terrace, both looking out over the sea below, and Hotel Chateau Èze, both tempting, but one closed and both certainly out of our league! But after a pleasant stroll in the warm sunshine around a blissfully quiet site that in the summer would be hard to see through the thronging mass of tourists, we took coffee outside a café at the bottom of the rock, looking at the rock and watching the passers by going to or coming from Monaco, and not a recognizable celebrity amongst them!!, then we realised that the one’s we would recognised came in by helicopter!
Then, just a short but dramatic drive later we left France and entered the Principality of Monaco, now just a case of finding one of those oversized car parking spaces! However, what we hadn’t realised was that by coming by helicopter it meant that you left the large motor at home, and possibly even flew in off the large gleaming yacht, moored just a little way along the Riviera, in one of the multitude of exclusive marinas! Indeed, space is so tight in Monaco, as I’d only read a couple of days before, that they had reclaimed some of the ocean for a “new extension” and much of the new development, including parking, was underground! The old town seemed the best bet so we headed for the “Old Town Parking” and were mighty glad we had removed the bikes off the roof of the car and even wondered if we should have taken off the roof bars, as the roof was incredibly low, clearance only just and the whole think rather dimly lit, just to add to the excitement!! But after a tentative start, going down and a trip the wrong way down one of the aisles we found a space, decanted the dog and found ourselves five storeys below the ground with the only way up by escalator – another first for Max, who didn’t mind the sensation caused by a rising lift, but was a little non-plussed by all the other (smelless!) dogs around him in whichever direction he looked – the lift was surrounded by full-length mirrors!!!
Monaco, was a good choice for lunch and the whole place, bathed as it was in warm spring sunshine impressed greatly, even the lunch was great, particularly the sole Breton style, not extortionately expensive, at least the food - €13 for two medium beers did seem a bit steep! There was however, a glimpse of “how the other half live,” the two marina areas filled with large sparkling motor yachts and bordering onto exclusive and expensive looking boutiques.
Leaving the sunshine behind we once again plunged into the dark underground world of Monaco parking and had encounter the spiral exit road the wrong way, it’s really surprising the difference it makes being on the outside of the spiral not the inside!!
We drove a little further down the coast to the town of Menton, famous for its Lemon Festival, which was currently on, although we were not there for one of what appeared to be a series of riotous processions, involving the throwing around of large quantities of oranges and lemons. We also glimpsed the most amazing fruit constructions, with temples and other buildings and structures all made with thousands upon thousands of oranges and lemons, held together with elastic bands.
It was time to leave the bright lights and we decided to head once more into the mountains on a “pilgrimage” to a small village called “St Agnes” that shares its name with that much loved island, one of the Isles of Scilly that we have regularly visited over the last few years. It didn’t disappoint, being yet another fantastic hillside village, with the most amazing views, at this time of the setting sun and the lights of coastal Menton far below, starting to twinkle and remind us how near we were to the Mediterranean flesh-pots of the Côte d’Azur, albeit down the most tortuous of “alpine” roads often with little in the way of crash barrier. In France they have what seems an eminently sensible notion, that as far as safety goes the individual is responsible for themselves – obviously litigation hasn’t reached these shores. As with the other similar villages we had discovered over the last few days, the houses hung precariously one above the other making it seem as though the whole thing was growing out of the underlying rock.
A dramatic end to another fine day, and although a year older, I certainly didn’t feel it!!
Utilities ~ don’t you just love them!
In an earlier instalment I mentioned the sudden lack of heating one morning and the miraculous self-healing, well fingers crossed it has only done it once more, on the evening of my birthday and try as we might we couldn’t get it to come back on, and as we sat down to eat, thinking that we would have to put the gas heating on later if the temperature dropped once more, miraculously it self-healed once again and now legs and everything else crossed, it hasn’t done it again. However, now in the Vendée the nights don’t seem as cold and I have just crossed from the shower block at 11.00 p.m. wrapped in my towel with a jumper on, somewhat precariously as Dan the large St Bernard type dog who belongs to the farm, a youngster who likes to play and been known to playfully nip at the bottom, appeared from nowhere and with armfuls of towel, spongebag, trousers, flannel and the rest, as the towel started to slip I suddenly felt very vulnerable. I’m sure there will be more of Dan in a future missive as we get to know each other and come to an understanding about Max being too old to roll playfully around with a several stone giant!!
But back to the utilities, and you’ll be pleased to know, I’m sure, that the new gas cube has behaved perfectly and allowed meals to be cooked with no hassle and even come into its own when low ampere electricity has meant that we haven’t been able to blast the central heating on full to take off the chill when arriving “home” and have had to supplement the heating with the gas. Tonight, to give you just a flavour and to assure you that we are not going hungry, we had goats cheese gratin potatoes, flageolet beans and pan fried linge (a strong white fish) avec thyme and enchalottes, washed down with Muscadet de Sevre et Maine sur lie (meaning the wine was bottled whilst still fermenting (I’ve been swotting up on the wine!!, and due purely to academic research had to sample several over the weeks!!) for me and a Corbières for Linda – only I hasten to add a half bottle each!! This was rounded off by delicious pears a Poire William for me with a selection of cheeses (and without being biased the Stilton worked best with the Comté a close second!) and a Conference for Linda, we never could agree!! Tonight was a healthy night with fruit instead of one of the sumptuous delights so beautifully displayed, much like sweets next to a supermarket checkout, in the patisserie at the entrance to the shop!
But again back to the utilities, what’s left! Oh yes the water, and this hasn’t been plane sailing, freezing early on in our trip and then a fast drip from one of the taps meaning that we couldn’t leave the water pump on, without it bursting into life every few minutes to refill the tank. But fear not, my limited toolkit and lack of technical information about the tap, didn’t stop me sorting out the problem during a lull in the proceedings, whilst Linda did the washing – isn’t that rather sexist I hear you say, well I did the cooking, but I haven’t managed to train Linda to empty the chemical toilet – yet!! Actually, in truth all I did was take it apart and put it back together again and by a further bout of self-healing it dripped no more!
Fortunately, although I haven’t been able to delegate the job to Linda yet, the toilet seems to be OK, although thinking about plumbing, my internal plumbing did have a bit of an off day the other day, but nothing a drop of joie de vie didn’t soon put right!
Campsite lottery and the neighbours
Really, we have been pretty lucky with the campsites that we fairly randomly chose or were chosen for us by dint of being the only one open, in the area we wanted so early in the year. In many ways booking and arriving at a new campsite is a little like a lottery, but I guess the stakes aren’t so big and if absolutely necessary you could always up jacks and move on!
In the book we use to choose sites in France, there is usually a quote from a previous visitor, which gives their impression in a brief sentence. However, one person’s “friendly welcome” is another person’s dour faced business-like greeting, but of course it could be a different person or indeed a bad day!!
Restaurant / Supermarket “short walk” may refer to someone with very long legs and a member of the Long Distance Walkers Association and involve a lengthy car journey, following the ever present signs to the local supermarket, that promise you find it in “2 mns, 1eme gauche à la rond” (2 minutes, 1st left at the at the roundabout) and that sometimes seems wildly inaccurate. There are some supermarkets that we have looked for and find, by accident, several days later in a totally different part of the village!!
“Possible road noise,” might refer to the 2 a.m. hoodlums racing back for the disco on their highly-tuned (?) motos, bent low over the handlebars to increase their speed from 20 kph (approx. 12 mph) by a kilometre or two, or simply the gentle hum of the autoroute several kilometres away that goes quiet overnight anyway!!
“Excellent sanitary facilities,” well perhaps at the time of writing, at the start of the season, when the seasonal staff were still trying to make a good impression! Perhaps, not always the case out of season!
It all makes me think that perhaps the previous visitors may have all been Estate Agents ~ bijoux and desirable and all that!!
Then there are the neighbours! An Englishman’s home is his castle and there are some awful English families you encounter when travelling, who delight in living an impersonation of a football hooligan, but then in the south of France we were next to a French motorhome, which was surrounded by a temporary mesh fence, on the posts of which flew several French tricolours and vases containing huge bunches of brightly coloured and heavily fragranced mimosa and the older French couple appeared to choose each day whether today was to be a day that they replied to our cheery bonjours, or not! There’s nowt so queer as folk and that’ it seems, isn’t just those from Yorkshire!! Then on one very peaceful site; no wind, no traffic noise, friendly Danish neighbours, in the early hours an owl insisted on doing a great impersonation of a heavily distressed baby and sadly no-one came to comfort it. Perhaps the site handbook should carry a warning: “At all rural sites poss. Noise from local wildlife!!”
I nearly forgot, the chattering magpies, loudly “talking” in raucous rural French – how does that rhyme go: One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl and four for a boy ...... but what is it for eighty five, they’re everywhere!!!
However, at the final campsite for the time being, the “friendly welcome from Irish owners” was spot on. As we drove down the long gravel drive the gentleman of the house appeared from under the beautiful stone arch leading to house’s large courtyard, closely followed by the lady of the house. As I knew the gentleman’s name I greeted him in French, although a “top of the morning to you” would have been more appropriate, shook hands with them both and then it became apparent that they had forgotten we were coming, although we had exchanged a couple of emails, but this was not problem it would just take a few hours for the water in the shower block to heat up. But after a few attempts to jog there memory about us; names, small old dog, house hunting – really to no avail and punctuated by a long and very noisy puppy who didn’t want to talk but wanted to play, the lady “ah well it doesn’t matter, how’s about a cup of tea before you sort the caravan out?” I accepted, but Linda declined and said she didn’t drink tea, to which the reply was well coffee then, or maybe a glass of wine!! She then went out to put the kettle on, at four thirty we declined the wine!, and the gentleman preceded to show us around, apologising all the time about the lack of water, then took us to show us the new gîte they were putting the finishing touches to, and before we knew it we were taken into the kitchen introduced to the two youngest children, the youngest of whom had just had his first full day at school, and despite the novelty of having an after dinner nap, as they in école maternelle (infants school) in France, he still looked exhausted, although did visit us when he had perked up later to be introduced to the dog! Then it was through to an amazing wood panelled living room for tea and biscuits and their life history, before so much as putting a single jack down!!
Never had such a warm welcome before, and as we finished the drinks and went out to site the van, we had to keep stopping to chat and be told about the area, who lived where, where the shops were, before they went off in a frenzy of activity to clean the shower block, check the electric and water was on and generally make sure that we felt truly welcomed even if not initially expected!!
The Storm
The previous night we had feared for the awning as the gusty wind billowed the ripstop and rattled the posts. Indeed, at midnight I had added a couple of guy ropes and been woken a few times fearful I would hear the sound of ripping or indeed flipping material. With the force of the wind, I couldn’t for one minute believe that the fabric could live up to its name!!
The following night initially followed a similar pattern; we had been out of the hills for the day, and driven back in the gathering gloom over the 630 metre pass as the temperatures plummeted, to close on freezing, the wind intensified and blew with it the makings of a snow storm.
Back at the campsite, we were now sole, or was that only foolhardy, campers – did the others know something we didn’t?! The temperature was a little higher, the moon veiled by thin cloud and the promise of this preventing the frost of the previous clear nights. In fact all seemed quite encouraging!
But, as the evening wore on the awning billowed and flapped more and as Linda got ready for bed, a couple of deep rumbling eddies violently shook the awning which in turn caused the whole caravan to shiver and shake! Before closing the bedroom door and turning off the light, Linda asked if we were taking down the awning, to which I replied that I thought it was too dangerous and hopefully, as it had survived the previous night it would be alright!
I then sat with a final Malt pondering the possible folly of my decision, as the wind eddied and gusted and the caravan shivered and shook (sounds like a 60’s pop group and new dance craze!!) , but a site inspection confirmed that the guys and pegs were all holding and the material, although billowing well, was strong and well stitched!
There continued to be fairly long periods of relative peace and quiet, although a distance rumble was always in evidence. Then from seemingly all different directions, you would hear a gush building, as the underlying roar, sounding more like a river in full spate, grew to a low rumble and seemed to bounce around the valley and ended up sounding like an over-excited run-a-way stream train. At these moments you waited with a mixture of anticipation and dread, as not all the gathering eddies hit us, some going down the valley, others were bounding off up the valley and others seeming to blow out before the fireman could add another shovel of finest coal.
Still wondering if I should regret my decision to not take down the awning, I went to bed after being blown around the campsite as I took the dog for his late-night constitutional and having to bend low into the wind to get to the sanitaires for a wash.
Sleep didn’t come easily, but the dog did wake me wanting to go out at about 2.30 and although still very windy, the worse of the storm seemed to have blown through, and whilst waiting for the dog to choose the right place together with the right smell to cock his leg, the awning for some considerable time stood completely still, before the next gust ruffled the fabric and rattled the poles a little. Good I thought as I returned to bed, the caravan will no longer appear like a boat tossed on a turbulent ocean and I can sleep until the next wouf of the dog – at 94 (in human years!) he gets up fairly frequently in the night!
Unfortunately, it wasn’t to be and at 3.30ish with waves crashing and sails billowing and catching the swirling wind, I thought the worst had happened and the awning had finally given in to one enormous and lengthy gust. But the wind subsided, the awning settled back down and although still tempestuous outside I slept, fitfully and the dog (also mercilessly stone deaf at 94!!) wasn’t worried or even aware of what was going on outside!! He only realised a gale was blowing when he went outside and his ears were blown around and inside out and standing on three legs, unless in a sheltered location, was somewhat precarious! Finally, at about 6.50 am he awoke me as again the grey light of an overcast grey dawn were coming through the skylight, which gave me a great view of the scurrying clouds above. This reminded me of another bizarre feature of the previous night; strong winds usually equate to scudding clouds that at night often make it look as if the moon is the headlamp of a lone motorcyclist, fast and straight through, or at least behind patches of bushes or trees, but although at two thirty the eddies of wind had been roaring and rumbling around the valley at breakneck speed, the clouds around the moon were barely moving.
But at 7.00 the clouds were back on the race track, the wind seeming as strong as ever and the awning was billowing even more as the daylight revealed that several pegs had either been pulled out of the ground or at least weren’t holding down the awning anymore!!
Dog sorted, trip to the loo done and I was hoping to settle down for a quick cuppa, before tackling the awning, between eddies, and thanking my luck that as we had only really put the awning up to dry out from the previous site, we hadn’t filled it with chairs, tables, shoes and other paraphernalia; there was a solitary table and the outside temperature gauge, useful when taking Max out in the dead of night, when gauging what layers to put on!
One further particularly violent burst of ferocious wind, causing the caravan to tremble violently and for the awning poles to leave the ground and the tea had to wait.
The table was quickly dismantled and onto the back seat of the car, awning poles inside were removed and lain on the ground, external posts also quickly lain flat as another express train born down on me, heading so it seemed for our platform, so any remaining pegs were hastily unhooked, material roughly bundled and removed from the awning track and pushed, finally still and quiet, into the back of the car as the train roared passed the platform, it shook the caravan but there was almost an eerie calm as the billowing sails of the awning were no longer there to collect the wind. The poles were then quickly stacked out of harm’s way, the pegs retrieved and by now the kettle had boiled, the interior of the van was pleasantly warm, the dog and the wife were snoring quietly and the wind now just seemed to gently rock the caravan and rattle the cutlery on its stand.
Tea made, some of the blinds opened and pen picked up to put the night to paper and I glanced at the thickly forested hillside across the valley. Suddenly, there in front of my eyes was a graphic representation of what had been going on all night and why, as the rumbling and roaring built up in intensity with each eddy, you waited with baited breath to see if you were catching that particular train! The wind was swirling over the hillside, moving different sections of the wood, in no apparent order or indeed direction, but creating an ever changing pattern amongst the foliage that looked like the seaweed in the bottom of a rock pool being swirled and washed by an aggressive rising tide. Still one minute, a frenzy of activity another and moving around haphazardly as through at a whim, but then tide and time wait for no man, and strangely the radio controlled clock seemed also to have been blown off course and said 7.00 a.m. instead of what I hoped was nearer to 9.00 and a chance to escape the windy valley for the day and hope the wind had blow itself out by the evening!! However, the wind had the last laugh, for as I put my pen down and picked up the cuppa, as through to emphasise the point and let me know the wind had not finished with me yet, a fierce gush crept around the back, shook the caravan and rattled the bedroom door. It was obviously time for me to take Linda her morning coffee, so we could escape to the peace and quiet of Carcassonne in winter!
Out of the Maelstrom into the Snowstorm
It was going to be called out of the frying pan into the fire, but that was altogether too hot!
Later in the day, the wind still buffeting the caravan mercilessly, we decided to go ahead with our plan to visit Carcassonne, and leaving the caravan rattling and shaking and hoping it would still be upright on our return, off we went through St Pons de Thomière and picking up the Castres road for a short time before picking up the lower category road signposted Carcassonne.
The road started well enough with ............ But, fearful that it might all be too much for you all, the rest will have to wait for the next instalment!! When you can also hear about; “The cock struck one, as the torch flashed around the greenhouse” “Dented pride,” and “Perhaps it’s all getting to me!!”
So much to write and so much time!!!!!!
Amour et grosse bises!!! (Love and big kisses!!!)
Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love
Roger, Linda and Max ~ wouf, wouf
(donnez moi le pain, s’il vous plait!!)
Please find attached the latest edition of “It Happened one Thursday in February,” a working title based on a real life event, and hopefully, fairly soon you will be able to access, by invitation!!!, all previous missives and various other information via my own personal Blog!! You may also be able to add your own comments!! Watch this space!
However, that is not the hot news of the moment!! All being well, having got the provisional OK from Madame of The Chateau, and we think having persuaded the Notaire (Solicitor) of our ability to pay, we will shortly be moving into “Chez ‘iggs,” as it will affectionately be known; the servants quarters (farm cottage) of a nearby chateau. A long way from anywhere and the only address on the country road than peters out into little more than a track (marked on the map as “irréglièrement entretenue,” irregularly maintained!), other than the Chateau itself, but hopefully home for the next 12 months or so, with the nearest neighbour, by far, Madame who spends most of her him in Spain!! The story of this will form part of many other missives, but suffice to say, we will be rural and very isolated so need lots of visitors to keep us sane – book your space now, and if you don’t mind roughing it a little, the three- bedroom downstairs house has a large 4-roomed space in the attic, eminently suitable for a bunkhouse experience!!!
This also means that we are likely to be returning to England, to pick up furniture, about the last week in March. However, it will be a brief visit and therefore we don’t promise to be able to catch up with too many of you.
Enjoy the read, hopefully!!
Love and Best Wishes
Roger, Linda and Max (the intrepid explorer and loud snorer!!)
Somewhere in France
(at first at St Pons de Thomière, near Narbonne and the world’s second biggest area of vineyards!!, then finally in the Vendée ~ journey’s end or should that be beginning?)
07759 753892
rogerhiggs@hotmail.co.uk
Another day … another town or two … and more adventures and happenings along the way!!
Mon cher amis
Plus écrivt de le stylo de M. Higgs! (More writing from the pen of Mr. Higgs!)
You may notice a developing theme or two along the way – more French creeping in and further removal from the real world!! At least one of you, and yes you know who you are, replied to the first l……o……n……g email, with an altogether shorter one as they didn’t have time to write more! At the moment time is certainly not our master, as the length of this “chapter” will testify!!
Birthday Boy ~ lunch in Monaco, as you do!
In the first missive I wrote about popping to Italy for the day, well with a birthday looming, Linda asked me what I wanted to do and I suggested, as one does!!, why not go to Monaco for the day and take me to lunch!! (I promise that when we arrive in the Vendée life will become a little more mundane, or at least I think it will!!!)
After a leisurely breakfast of croissants, confiture Reines-Claudes (greengage jam) and café (coffee), we helped the dog into the car put in coats, just in case, and set off under a cloudless azure sky along the Cote d’Azur to the playground, and tax haven, of millionaires! I was a little unsure of driving to a place where I would be surrounded by Mercedes, Rolls Royce’s, Daimlers, Maseratis and Porches, but did think that hopefully parking spaces would be sufficiently big to house a mere Vauxhall Zafira!!
After the rush hour jams on the autoroute en route to Italy, we decided to keep to the coast road and first stop was a superb view point looking over the emerald Med with Villefranche-sur-Mer and Beaulieu-sur-Mer hugging the coastline far below and the bright sun reflecting back off the simmering waters. You may get attached to this a picture of me looking every inch of 35 with this seaside view behind oh, alright then 40, but certainly very relaxed!!
Then, just a short way along the road, we saw why the guide book described the village of Èze as; “a village on a rock,” as there in front of us and hanging delicately above the sea was a village on a rock! We stopped and discovered another absolutely delightful village with narrow streets and stepped passages that all seemed to lead to Hotel Chèvre d’Or, with a charming statue of a golden goat above the arches of its terrace, both looking out over the sea below, and Hotel Chateau Èze, both tempting, but one closed and both certainly out of our league! But after a pleasant stroll in the warm sunshine around a blissfully quiet site that in the summer would be hard to see through the thronging mass of tourists, we took coffee outside a café at the bottom of the rock, looking at the rock and watching the passers by going to or coming from Monaco, and not a recognizable celebrity amongst them!!, then we realised that the one’s we would recognised came in by helicopter!
Then, just a short but dramatic drive later we left France and entered the Principality of Monaco, now just a case of finding one of those oversized car parking spaces! However, what we hadn’t realised was that by coming by helicopter it meant that you left the large motor at home, and possibly even flew in off the large gleaming yacht, moored just a little way along the Riviera, in one of the multitude of exclusive marinas! Indeed, space is so tight in Monaco, as I’d only read a couple of days before, that they had reclaimed some of the ocean for a “new extension” and much of the new development, including parking, was underground! The old town seemed the best bet so we headed for the “Old Town Parking” and were mighty glad we had removed the bikes off the roof of the car and even wondered if we should have taken off the roof bars, as the roof was incredibly low, clearance only just and the whole think rather dimly lit, just to add to the excitement!! But after a tentative start, going down and a trip the wrong way down one of the aisles we found a space, decanted the dog and found ourselves five storeys below the ground with the only way up by escalator – another first for Max, who didn’t mind the sensation caused by a rising lift, but was a little non-plussed by all the other (smelless!) dogs around him in whichever direction he looked – the lift was surrounded by full-length mirrors!!!
Monaco, was a good choice for lunch and the whole place, bathed as it was in warm spring sunshine impressed greatly, even the lunch was great, particularly the sole Breton style, not extortionately expensive, at least the food - €13 for two medium beers did seem a bit steep! There was however, a glimpse of “how the other half live,” the two marina areas filled with large sparkling motor yachts and bordering onto exclusive and expensive looking boutiques.
Leaving the sunshine behind we once again plunged into the dark underground world of Monaco parking and had encounter the spiral exit road the wrong way, it’s really surprising the difference it makes being on the outside of the spiral not the inside!!
We drove a little further down the coast to the town of Menton, famous for its Lemon Festival, which was currently on, although we were not there for one of what appeared to be a series of riotous processions, involving the throwing around of large quantities of oranges and lemons. We also glimpsed the most amazing fruit constructions, with temples and other buildings and structures all made with thousands upon thousands of oranges and lemons, held together with elastic bands.
It was time to leave the bright lights and we decided to head once more into the mountains on a “pilgrimage” to a small village called “St Agnes” that shares its name with that much loved island, one of the Isles of Scilly that we have regularly visited over the last few years. It didn’t disappoint, being yet another fantastic hillside village, with the most amazing views, at this time of the setting sun and the lights of coastal Menton far below, starting to twinkle and remind us how near we were to the Mediterranean flesh-pots of the Côte d’Azur, albeit down the most tortuous of “alpine” roads often with little in the way of crash barrier. In France they have what seems an eminently sensible notion, that as far as safety goes the individual is responsible for themselves – obviously litigation hasn’t reached these shores. As with the other similar villages we had discovered over the last few days, the houses hung precariously one above the other making it seem as though the whole thing was growing out of the underlying rock.
A dramatic end to another fine day, and although a year older, I certainly didn’t feel it!!
Utilities ~ don’t you just love them!
In an earlier instalment I mentioned the sudden lack of heating one morning and the miraculous self-healing, well fingers crossed it has only done it once more, on the evening of my birthday and try as we might we couldn’t get it to come back on, and as we sat down to eat, thinking that we would have to put the gas heating on later if the temperature dropped once more, miraculously it self-healed once again and now legs and everything else crossed, it hasn’t done it again. However, now in the Vendée the nights don’t seem as cold and I have just crossed from the shower block at 11.00 p.m. wrapped in my towel with a jumper on, somewhat precariously as Dan the large St Bernard type dog who belongs to the farm, a youngster who likes to play and been known to playfully nip at the bottom, appeared from nowhere and with armfuls of towel, spongebag, trousers, flannel and the rest, as the towel started to slip I suddenly felt very vulnerable. I’m sure there will be more of Dan in a future missive as we get to know each other and come to an understanding about Max being too old to roll playfully around with a several stone giant!!
But back to the utilities, and you’ll be pleased to know, I’m sure, that the new gas cube has behaved perfectly and allowed meals to be cooked with no hassle and even come into its own when low ampere electricity has meant that we haven’t been able to blast the central heating on full to take off the chill when arriving “home” and have had to supplement the heating with the gas. Tonight, to give you just a flavour and to assure you that we are not going hungry, we had goats cheese gratin potatoes, flageolet beans and pan fried linge (a strong white fish) avec thyme and enchalottes, washed down with Muscadet de Sevre et Maine sur lie (meaning the wine was bottled whilst still fermenting (I’ve been swotting up on the wine!!, and due purely to academic research had to sample several over the weeks!!) for me and a Corbières for Linda – only I hasten to add a half bottle each!! This was rounded off by delicious pears a Poire William for me with a selection of cheeses (and without being biased the Stilton worked best with the Comté a close second!) and a Conference for Linda, we never could agree!! Tonight was a healthy night with fruit instead of one of the sumptuous delights so beautifully displayed, much like sweets next to a supermarket checkout, in the patisserie at the entrance to the shop!
But again back to the utilities, what’s left! Oh yes the water, and this hasn’t been plane sailing, freezing early on in our trip and then a fast drip from one of the taps meaning that we couldn’t leave the water pump on, without it bursting into life every few minutes to refill the tank. But fear not, my limited toolkit and lack of technical information about the tap, didn’t stop me sorting out the problem during a lull in the proceedings, whilst Linda did the washing – isn’t that rather sexist I hear you say, well I did the cooking, but I haven’t managed to train Linda to empty the chemical toilet – yet!! Actually, in truth all I did was take it apart and put it back together again and by a further bout of self-healing it dripped no more!
Fortunately, although I haven’t been able to delegate the job to Linda yet, the toilet seems to be OK, although thinking about plumbing, my internal plumbing did have a bit of an off day the other day, but nothing a drop of joie de vie didn’t soon put right!
Campsite lottery and the neighbours
Really, we have been pretty lucky with the campsites that we fairly randomly chose or were chosen for us by dint of being the only one open, in the area we wanted so early in the year. In many ways booking and arriving at a new campsite is a little like a lottery, but I guess the stakes aren’t so big and if absolutely necessary you could always up jacks and move on!
In the book we use to choose sites in France, there is usually a quote from a previous visitor, which gives their impression in a brief sentence. However, one person’s “friendly welcome” is another person’s dour faced business-like greeting, but of course it could be a different person or indeed a bad day!!
Restaurant / Supermarket “short walk” may refer to someone with very long legs and a member of the Long Distance Walkers Association and involve a lengthy car journey, following the ever present signs to the local supermarket, that promise you find it in “2 mns, 1eme gauche à la rond” (2 minutes, 1st left at the at the roundabout) and that sometimes seems wildly inaccurate. There are some supermarkets that we have looked for and find, by accident, several days later in a totally different part of the village!!
“Possible road noise,” might refer to the 2 a.m. hoodlums racing back for the disco on their highly-tuned (?) motos, bent low over the handlebars to increase their speed from 20 kph (approx. 12 mph) by a kilometre or two, or simply the gentle hum of the autoroute several kilometres away that goes quiet overnight anyway!!
“Excellent sanitary facilities,” well perhaps at the time of writing, at the start of the season, when the seasonal staff were still trying to make a good impression! Perhaps, not always the case out of season!
It all makes me think that perhaps the previous visitors may have all been Estate Agents ~ bijoux and desirable and all that!!
Then there are the neighbours! An Englishman’s home is his castle and there are some awful English families you encounter when travelling, who delight in living an impersonation of a football hooligan, but then in the south of France we were next to a French motorhome, which was surrounded by a temporary mesh fence, on the posts of which flew several French tricolours and vases containing huge bunches of brightly coloured and heavily fragranced mimosa and the older French couple appeared to choose each day whether today was to be a day that they replied to our cheery bonjours, or not! There’s nowt so queer as folk and that’ it seems, isn’t just those from Yorkshire!! Then on one very peaceful site; no wind, no traffic noise, friendly Danish neighbours, in the early hours an owl insisted on doing a great impersonation of a heavily distressed baby and sadly no-one came to comfort it. Perhaps the site handbook should carry a warning: “At all rural sites poss. Noise from local wildlife!!”
I nearly forgot, the chattering magpies, loudly “talking” in raucous rural French – how does that rhyme go: One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl and four for a boy ...... but what is it for eighty five, they’re everywhere!!!
However, at the final campsite for the time being, the “friendly welcome from Irish owners” was spot on. As we drove down the long gravel drive the gentleman of the house appeared from under the beautiful stone arch leading to house’s large courtyard, closely followed by the lady of the house. As I knew the gentleman’s name I greeted him in French, although a “top of the morning to you” would have been more appropriate, shook hands with them both and then it became apparent that they had forgotten we were coming, although we had exchanged a couple of emails, but this was not problem it would just take a few hours for the water in the shower block to heat up. But after a few attempts to jog there memory about us; names, small old dog, house hunting – really to no avail and punctuated by a long and very noisy puppy who didn’t want to talk but wanted to play, the lady “ah well it doesn’t matter, how’s about a cup of tea before you sort the caravan out?” I accepted, but Linda declined and said she didn’t drink tea, to which the reply was well coffee then, or maybe a glass of wine!! She then went out to put the kettle on, at four thirty we declined the wine!, and the gentleman preceded to show us around, apologising all the time about the lack of water, then took us to show us the new gîte they were putting the finishing touches to, and before we knew it we were taken into the kitchen introduced to the two youngest children, the youngest of whom had just had his first full day at school, and despite the novelty of having an after dinner nap, as they in école maternelle (infants school) in France, he still looked exhausted, although did visit us when he had perked up later to be introduced to the dog! Then it was through to an amazing wood panelled living room for tea and biscuits and their life history, before so much as putting a single jack down!!
Never had such a warm welcome before, and as we finished the drinks and went out to site the van, we had to keep stopping to chat and be told about the area, who lived where, where the shops were, before they went off in a frenzy of activity to clean the shower block, check the electric and water was on and generally make sure that we felt truly welcomed even if not initially expected!!
The Storm
The previous night we had feared for the awning as the gusty wind billowed the ripstop and rattled the posts. Indeed, at midnight I had added a couple of guy ropes and been woken a few times fearful I would hear the sound of ripping or indeed flipping material. With the force of the wind, I couldn’t for one minute believe that the fabric could live up to its name!!
The following night initially followed a similar pattern; we had been out of the hills for the day, and driven back in the gathering gloom over the 630 metre pass as the temperatures plummeted, to close on freezing, the wind intensified and blew with it the makings of a snow storm.
Back at the campsite, we were now sole, or was that only foolhardy, campers – did the others know something we didn’t?! The temperature was a little higher, the moon veiled by thin cloud and the promise of this preventing the frost of the previous clear nights. In fact all seemed quite encouraging!
But, as the evening wore on the awning billowed and flapped more and as Linda got ready for bed, a couple of deep rumbling eddies violently shook the awning which in turn caused the whole caravan to shiver and shake! Before closing the bedroom door and turning off the light, Linda asked if we were taking down the awning, to which I replied that I thought it was too dangerous and hopefully, as it had survived the previous night it would be alright!
I then sat with a final Malt pondering the possible folly of my decision, as the wind eddied and gusted and the caravan shivered and shook (sounds like a 60’s pop group and new dance craze!!) , but a site inspection confirmed that the guys and pegs were all holding and the material, although billowing well, was strong and well stitched!
There continued to be fairly long periods of relative peace and quiet, although a distance rumble was always in evidence. Then from seemingly all different directions, you would hear a gush building, as the underlying roar, sounding more like a river in full spate, grew to a low rumble and seemed to bounce around the valley and ended up sounding like an over-excited run-a-way stream train. At these moments you waited with a mixture of anticipation and dread, as not all the gathering eddies hit us, some going down the valley, others were bounding off up the valley and others seeming to blow out before the fireman could add another shovel of finest coal.
Still wondering if I should regret my decision to not take down the awning, I went to bed after being blown around the campsite as I took the dog for his late-night constitutional and having to bend low into the wind to get to the sanitaires for a wash.
Sleep didn’t come easily, but the dog did wake me wanting to go out at about 2.30 and although still very windy, the worse of the storm seemed to have blown through, and whilst waiting for the dog to choose the right place together with the right smell to cock his leg, the awning for some considerable time stood completely still, before the next gust ruffled the fabric and rattled the poles a little. Good I thought as I returned to bed, the caravan will no longer appear like a boat tossed on a turbulent ocean and I can sleep until the next wouf of the dog – at 94 (in human years!) he gets up fairly frequently in the night!
Unfortunately, it wasn’t to be and at 3.30ish with waves crashing and sails billowing and catching the swirling wind, I thought the worst had happened and the awning had finally given in to one enormous and lengthy gust. But the wind subsided, the awning settled back down and although still tempestuous outside I slept, fitfully and the dog (also mercilessly stone deaf at 94!!) wasn’t worried or even aware of what was going on outside!! He only realised a gale was blowing when he went outside and his ears were blown around and inside out and standing on three legs, unless in a sheltered location, was somewhat precarious! Finally, at about 6.50 am he awoke me as again the grey light of an overcast grey dawn were coming through the skylight, which gave me a great view of the scurrying clouds above. This reminded me of another bizarre feature of the previous night; strong winds usually equate to scudding clouds that at night often make it look as if the moon is the headlamp of a lone motorcyclist, fast and straight through, or at least behind patches of bushes or trees, but although at two thirty the eddies of wind had been roaring and rumbling around the valley at breakneck speed, the clouds around the moon were barely moving.
But at 7.00 the clouds were back on the race track, the wind seeming as strong as ever and the awning was billowing even more as the daylight revealed that several pegs had either been pulled out of the ground or at least weren’t holding down the awning anymore!!
Dog sorted, trip to the loo done and I was hoping to settle down for a quick cuppa, before tackling the awning, between eddies, and thanking my luck that as we had only really put the awning up to dry out from the previous site, we hadn’t filled it with chairs, tables, shoes and other paraphernalia; there was a solitary table and the outside temperature gauge, useful when taking Max out in the dead of night, when gauging what layers to put on!
One further particularly violent burst of ferocious wind, causing the caravan to tremble violently and for the awning poles to leave the ground and the tea had to wait.
The table was quickly dismantled and onto the back seat of the car, awning poles inside were removed and lain on the ground, external posts also quickly lain flat as another express train born down on me, heading so it seemed for our platform, so any remaining pegs were hastily unhooked, material roughly bundled and removed from the awning track and pushed, finally still and quiet, into the back of the car as the train roared passed the platform, it shook the caravan but there was almost an eerie calm as the billowing sails of the awning were no longer there to collect the wind. The poles were then quickly stacked out of harm’s way, the pegs retrieved and by now the kettle had boiled, the interior of the van was pleasantly warm, the dog and the wife were snoring quietly and the wind now just seemed to gently rock the caravan and rattle the cutlery on its stand.
Tea made, some of the blinds opened and pen picked up to put the night to paper and I glanced at the thickly forested hillside across the valley. Suddenly, there in front of my eyes was a graphic representation of what had been going on all night and why, as the rumbling and roaring built up in intensity with each eddy, you waited with baited breath to see if you were catching that particular train! The wind was swirling over the hillside, moving different sections of the wood, in no apparent order or indeed direction, but creating an ever changing pattern amongst the foliage that looked like the seaweed in the bottom of a rock pool being swirled and washed by an aggressive rising tide. Still one minute, a frenzy of activity another and moving around haphazardly as through at a whim, but then tide and time wait for no man, and strangely the radio controlled clock seemed also to have been blown off course and said 7.00 a.m. instead of what I hoped was nearer to 9.00 and a chance to escape the windy valley for the day and hope the wind had blow itself out by the evening!! However, the wind had the last laugh, for as I put my pen down and picked up the cuppa, as through to emphasise the point and let me know the wind had not finished with me yet, a fierce gush crept around the back, shook the caravan and rattled the bedroom door. It was obviously time for me to take Linda her morning coffee, so we could escape to the peace and quiet of Carcassonne in winter!
Out of the Maelstrom into the Snowstorm
It was going to be called out of the frying pan into the fire, but that was altogether too hot!
Later in the day, the wind still buffeting the caravan mercilessly, we decided to go ahead with our plan to visit Carcassonne, and leaving the caravan rattling and shaking and hoping it would still be upright on our return, off we went through St Pons de Thomière and picking up the Castres road for a short time before picking up the lower category road signposted Carcassonne.
The road started well enough with ............ But, fearful that it might all be too much for you all, the rest will have to wait for the next instalment!! When you can also hear about; “The cock struck one, as the torch flashed around the greenhouse” “Dented pride,” and “Perhaps it’s all getting to me!!”
So much to write and so much time!!!!!!
Amour et grosse bises!!! (Love and big kisses!!!)
Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love
Roger, Linda and Max ~ wouf, wouf
(donnez moi le pain, s’il vous plait!!)
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