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