Friday, June 19, 2009
About me ~ Profile update!
Thought the picture of me wrapped up against the wing and cold of Selsley Common, back in the autumn, needed replacing with the sunshine of the Vendee. So here I am, Blogger Roger as christened by Mary, on the way back from the garden!
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Vie en Vendée ~ Missive 7
Dear All
Missive 7 already, but I promise not as large as the last one, and as we seem now to be properly online, hopefully the attachment will cause you no problems.
Well, if we thought things would quieten down when we were settled and there would be less to write about, they certainly haven’t and I have a growing backlog of items for forthcoming missives; idle snippets, people we have met along the way or sometimes simply observed, places we have visited and regular wonders of the world around us.
The amazing thing at the moment is that the missives continue, and will probably run for some time, but already you can get the repeats (and much more!!) on the Blog “It happened one Thursday in February.” But it doesn’t stop there as they are to be repeated again, in short edited snippets, with possible extra bits, on my very own weekly Blog on the Citizen’s webpage – “This is Gloucestershire!” (Gloucestershire’s local paper for those who don’t know!). It is due to be launched sometime next week (Week commencing Monday 15th June) with an “Introduction to their New Blogger” to feature in the paper before the blog goes live!!! Watch this space!
As promised, the covering letters are going to be kept short, just a final nudge, to say that we would love to hear from any of our readers about what they are up to in snowy / windy / wet / sunny?!? England!!
Love
Roger
La Loge
Missive 7 already, but I promise not as large as the last one, and as we seem now to be properly online, hopefully the attachment will cause you no problems.
Well, if we thought things would quieten down when we were settled and there would be less to write about, they certainly haven’t and I have a growing backlog of items for forthcoming missives; idle snippets, people we have met along the way or sometimes simply observed, places we have visited and regular wonders of the world around us.
The amazing thing at the moment is that the missives continue, and will probably run for some time, but already you can get the repeats (and much more!!) on the Blog “It happened one Thursday in February.” But it doesn’t stop there as they are to be repeated again, in short edited snippets, with possible extra bits, on my very own weekly Blog on the Citizen’s webpage – “This is Gloucestershire!” (Gloucestershire’s local paper for those who don’t know!). It is due to be launched sometime next week (Week commencing Monday 15th June) with an “Introduction to their New Blogger” to feature in the paper before the blog goes live!!! Watch this space!
As promised, the covering letters are going to be kept short, just a final nudge, to say that we would love to hear from any of our readers about what they are up to in snowy / windy / wet / sunny?!? England!!
Love
Roger
La Loge
rogerhiggs@hotmail.co.uk
Mes chers amis
Vie en Vendée
Having returned, unpacked sorted out priorities like washing machine, dishwasher, lights, wine racks etc., life could have become quite quiet and sedate, but what with the garden (see below) and a pleasant stream of visitors (13 to date see blog “It happened one Thursday in February”) and generally getting to know the place life has been very busy. However, I hardly dare say it, but our trips to France Telecom seem to have finished, and with a hiccup caused by who knows what but put right by Linda over several hours and just a couple of billing errors to sort out, hopefully online, we now seem to be reliably in contact with the outside world. Indeed for the princely sum of €7-00 a month we have added calls illimité (unlimited) to English land lines to the package, so if you want to speak to us phone the fixed line number above and we’ll phone you back, or text us and we’ll phone you.
La Loge
Our new abode, affectionately known in private and amongst friends as Chez ‘iggs, is providing to be a great place to live, it is isolated and maybe our French won’t come on as well as if we were living in the heart of a village. But the peace and tranquillity more than compensate for that. We think the house was probably servant’s quarters / farmhand accommodation in the past and may have been as many as three or four very small and humble dwellings with the attics used either for storage or sleeping areas for the lowest of servants.
It’s ours for the next three years if we want it that long but can give three months notice should we want to leave. However, Monsieur can’t give us notice unless; he sells it or wants to move into it! As he has a chateau next door and hates France with a passion, he is unlikely to want to live in it and selling the estate in his words “won’t happen” and he seems to have something of a soft spot for La Loge. We think that perhaps, as a boy, he used to play here and maybe whoever lived here had a soft spot for the master’s son and slipped him the odd cake! Monsieur did, rather wistfully say at the signing of our contract “I won’t sell it, I love that little house!” When we discovered a primitive wooden sword and woven headdress in the rafters of the attic we wondered if they were some relic of monsieur’s past, we must ask him sometime, if we can get a word in edgeways!
The house is set well back in a long thin courtyard, which provides the terrace and front garden. There is no way out at the back, but the windows look out over the front of the chateau. Inside, we have a good sized living area and kitchen, three double bedrooms, one of which doubles up as a study, a hall area outside the bathroom which has a “his ‘n hers” double sink, shower and toilet. There is also another toilet. Outside we also have a small “cave” or wine “cellar” and an enormous boiler room which houses the boiler, oil tank and water purification plant, as our water comes from the chateau’s well! There is also a rather tumble down garage and three dependencies, which we don’t use at present but were a stable and two chicken houses. As for the garden see below! But, to appreciate the tranquillity and simplicity of our Vendée life fully, view the latest film on my blog; “It happened one Thursday in February” and become one of my growing band of followers!!!!! Well I am now living in a commune (see below!) so maybe you’re witnessing the birth of a new spiritual leader!!!!!
Monsieur Joe
Space has run out so M. Joe will have to wait until another time. However, like Monsieur he is a bit of a mystery. We think we met him once, but as said gentleman was helping himself to some mushrooms off the front lawn when Linda accosted him and said “Are you Mister Joe, pleased to meet you!” It could just be that it was best to agree with the strange English woman and escape. The latest theory I have come up with is that perhaps the mysterious Monsieur is a master criminal and M. Joe is his alias should things go wrong – I’ll let you know if we ever see them together!!
How does our garden grow?
When we first viewed the house we had decided to have it and then realised that the only thing it didn’t have on our “Must have” list was a garden. There were however, a couple of areas in the extended courtyard that could possibly be dug up and there was always container growing so we decided that the lack of a garden wouldn’t stop us renting the house. But we mentioned the possibility of grow some veg along the side of the courtyard to M. Pierre, the estate agent who by now we were convinced thought us mad to want to live in the country! Yes that was possible, but was it a garden we wanted, he said? On confirmation of this he somewhat puzzled said “Follow me,” and set off down the courtyard, past the large old barn, onto the road and turned right and seemed to be heading out into open countryside. But a little way down the road, hiding behind a hedge, was an amazing faded blue and very rustic gate that opened onto a large wedge shaped plot cut into the side of the bordering field, complete with a number of beautifully blossomed trees, which we were to discover were almond and plum trees, an overgrown small opened fronted corrugated tin shed and a patch of radiant daffodils seemingly growing wild in the large and very overgrown plot. You want garden said M. Pierre – Ici, and again you could see a certain bafflement caused by the excitement of us ticking the last of the essential boxes on the list.
Very quickly after moving in we tackled the garden, being careful a) not to be over ambitious with the size of the plot we dug over for planting and b) to make sure that when we did dig it over that we removed all the rank grass and pernicious weeds that had taken over the garden, which had obviously been well cultivated once, but not for some considerable time!
First we dug two large plots and trimmed, by hand the weeds and grass around the edges, then we managed to connect several electrical extensions together, including my father’s caravan cable and were just able to reach with my trusty Black and Decker strimmer, which did an absolutely fantastic job at cutting through the tough weeds and matted grass, until on the second cut it went clunk and bits flew off!! Fortunately, the damage sounded considerable worse than it was, and new parts were ordered over the internet, delivered to my parents and forwarded to here, all in the space of less than a week. Interestingly the postage from the English supplier to my parents was more expensive than it was to send the package on to France, by airmail. It was given in at the post office near my parents on Friday afternoon and delivered to our Vendée post box, over the road, under an ancient oak tree (See the latest Blog film!), first thing Monday morning. La Poste certainly seem to have the edge over France Telecom!
We are also now starting to eat our own produce – baby courgettes and greens for tea today, with some local creamy Mogette beans and double lamb cutlets with a herby salsa – home grown or hedgerow herbs of course, and all captured on camera!!
Slumdog Millionaire
To rave reviews, and just before it won a raft of Oscars, Slumdog Millionaire hit the screens of Stroud and Gloucester at a time when we just couldn’t find the time to go and watch it, and our plans were further thwarted as it hadn’t reached the depths of “The Forest” (of Dean for those that don’t know!) and wasn’t showing in Coleford until the following week, when we would have left my Mum and Dad’s, whose nearest cinema is Coleford, and headed off into deepest France.
But, it had arrived in France and was obviously a big hit, with posters prominently displayed all over the place. It was tempting, but I think our French will need a year, two or possibly longer before we could understand and enjoy a film in French! Although, I am having an almost daily conversation with the local farmer, who comes to a large trough at the front of our house to fill up a large water tank to top up the troughs of the nearby cattle, our closest and at times quite noisy neighbours. He always makes a point and coming and shaking hands and offering a cheery “Ca va?” to which even my schoolboy French can respond, remembering at least for the present that he is vous not tu! But he definitely speaks NO English and as do many of the locals laughs charmingly at the notion that he would! But, with my pigeon French and a degree of sign language we cover quite a lot of ground in the five minutes or so it takes the tank to fill up. Finally today, we learnt each other’s names, he’s called Michel, and talked further about; the weather and how although yesterday’s rain had gone, although we agreed it was “belle pour la jardin” (good for the garden) and the sun was back he still found it cold, he was surprised to hear that there had been snow in parts of England the day before (admittedly a rarity in June but a good talking point!), and how hopefully the sun would stay and the wind drop. He learnt Max’s name, but still failed to befriend him, Max just standing there all big and brave until Michel tries to pat him when he runs off. Michel is not the slightest bit worried about Max’s rather false show of guarding the place and on an earlier occasion, when Linda asked if he was worried about Max, his reply had been “Non, il ne mange pas moi!” (No, he won’t eat me!). Today, I also discovered he has seven medium sized dogs “pour la chasse” (for hunting) and he found out that Max is thirteen years old, which quite surprised him. He’s basically a very friendly chap and rather touchingly, when passing as my brother and family were leaving after their visit, made a great thing about leaning out of his tractor, waving and wishing them “Au revoir and bon retour.” (Good-bye and good return journey). Then our conversation the next day was about the length of their journey and he was shocked by the seven hours it takes to get to Calais. My guess is that he doesn’t venture far and certainly not to the slums of Mumbai, which is where this section started!
So, we seemed destined to watch Slumdog Millionaire at some time in the future, when somewhere with a television and the DVD, as although our France Telecom package could give us access to 40 television channels we have resisted the temptation, although having internet does mean we can keep up to date with the news and listen to English radio. Then we noticed a cinema billing that included a monthly English film and the next one was in a couple of Saturday’s time and was the original Slumdog Millionaire, with French subtitles!
Tickets booked we duly arrived, picked them up from a couple who were manning the ticket office, who together with the man checking tickets on the door, who I think may have moonlighted as the projectionist, were it seemed the only French people in the building. As we made our way to our seats and listened as we became surrounded by the La Châtaigneraie ex-pat community, I made a mental note to tell Linda after the film, that I didn’t want to join, but 26 years of marriage beat me to it, and she knew what I was going to say which agreed with what she had been thinking all along. OK it might make us a pair of outcasts, but I’ve better things to do than worry about which satellite dish will be the best to pick up English television, to find out what’s happened in “Britain’s got talent,” the “Eurovision Song contest” that would appear to refute the first item, and who’s bedding who in all of the Soaps!
I was delighted, although I could only understand a little of the speech made but the man who was issuing tickets on the door; welcoming us to cinema, telling us that this was the last film in this year’s season and that they would be back in the autumn and I think about major works that were due to be carried out in the cinema during the close season!, that he stoically talked to the room full of English people in French and that was that!
All went swimmingly, although the storyline in the first few minutes wasn’t quite what I was expecting, until the two young brothers who are pivotal in the film started to talk in Hindi and the subtitles were in French – but we got the gist of it and came out having thoroughly enjoyed the film, which had the memories of our visit to India flooding back – our guide Hamza, had even had his shoes misappropriated whilst we were visiting the Taj Mahal! If you’ve not seen it and get the chance, it’s a powerful film that highlights some of the shadier sides of modern and booming India, a boom that unfortunately, not all Indians are able to benefit from and enjoy!
Leaving England
It was rather strange and somewhat final, as the large noisily vibrating cross channel ferry
reversed out of Newhaven Harbour into the early Sunday morning channel, leaving behind the town that was only just beginning to wake up, and knowing that several decks below was a large and heavily laden van, hired from the SuperU supermarket in Pouzauges, holding the items for our new life in the Vendée.
As the ferry reached deep water and turned, a last glimpse of Newhaven and Brighton, with the white cliffs in between, and it was full speed ahead towards Dieppe, France and our new rented house with a chateau in the garden. The rising sun then rather aptly made a golden pathway over the water and I closed my eyes, with the warmth of the sun on my cheek and with a degree of trepidation dreamt of adventures to come!
White Van Sunday
One sunny Sunday recently, I threw open the blinds from the hall out onto the front of the house and as is my wont greeted anyone who happened to be listening with my standard “Bonjour tout la monde.” As we are so isolated, to date no-one has answered, but as a long distance footpath runs past the front of the house who knows when I might get a cheery “Bonjour Monsieur!” or more likely a somewhat surprised “Mon Dieu, vous me fightened à moitié mort!” (My God, you frightened me half to death!”) Whilst on the subject of isolation, I have just been surfing, the Internet not the Atlantic, and discovered that the commune (similar to an English parish but much more hippy sounding!) in which we live has a population of about 350 and an average of population density of 18 people per sq kilometre – well I reckon in our sq kilometre there are most of the time (except rarely when monsieur is home) only two people and their dog, who whilst retaining a passion for French bread, has refined his taste somewhat and now goes a bundle on oysters – the only thing is he hasn’t realised that it isn’t the shell you eat and has a daily raid on our shell midden of empty shells that is growing, almost as well as our veg, in the garden.
But what a surprise, I digress!! At this quite early hour, there was a veritable cavalcade of small white vans heading somewhere in the same direction, where they were going or what they were doing remains a mystery, but I’m reminded of two things: first the clandestine passing around of unmarked paper bags in a Year in Provence, when the truffles were in season and second the bike ride I did with my brother Chris, where we rode between my school in Stroud and a partner school in France. We set off at 2.30 in the morning and for several hours nothing passed us except white vans. I must get up really early one Sunday and lie in wait, in the car, and follow them to see where they go!!
M. Pierre, Immobilier (Estate Agent) Extraordinaire!
I keep promising to tell you more about the estate agent in whose window we saw our new abode and subsequently, quite miraculously managed to wade with, sometimes seemingly in sinking mud, through the intricacies and idiosyncrasies of house rental in France to eventually, after all the bizarre rules and regulations to get the keys a day before we should have, and to move in before we had signed the contract!!
We looked in M. Pierre’s window at the very start of our housing quest and were impressed by the number of properties he had on offer, so went in and disturbed a rather bumbling, old before his time, somewhat scruffily dressed Frenchman, who seemed to be more flustered by the fact that customers had come into the shop, than the fact that we were English with only limited French. He professed to speak no English, but as we got to know him he became braver and at the inventory and key handing over ceremony, he was confident to make a little joke in part English. When welcoming us to La Loge he told us that the commune, St Laurent de la Salle that we were moving into was a small village with only 350 inhabitants, but now we would make it 352!!
Not only his own appearance, but the appearance of the office, did little to inspire confidence, as every available surface, including those areas of the floor not needed for circulation, were covered in haphazard and toppling piles of paper, and indeed in later dealings we worried that copies of documents we gave him would join the great filing cabinet on the floor. But, to give him credit, it was obviously his mess and he appeared to know where things were however disorganised it all seemed. Well, we made our intentions clear and he fished out some details of possible properties, from a random pile that obviously in his mind was clearly marked – “Rental Properties in the correct price range!!” However, he had obviously misread us as the suave sophisticated type who wanted a neat little villa, on the edge of town with a neat easy to maintain garden surrounded by high green fences to keep out the neighbours! So all he offered us, didn’t really fit the bill and becoming increasingly flustered, he had to take his leave of us, as he had an appointment to keep. As we left the shop, thanking him and saying we would return another day, didn’t give the window a second look, as independently, we had both made the decision that nothing would make us return there!!
Little did we know that many very plush and well ordered offices later, many with good English speakers, and with only a couple of disappointing viewings for all our effort, that we would have to eat our words and at least go back and look in M. Pierre’s window, with the plan drawn up if there seemed to be something suitable in the window, that we would ask him to step outside, at least then we couldn’t see the chaos that rained inside, point to any properties we were interested in and make appointments to see them. The window scrutiny yielded, in the first instance, two possibilities and we duly stuck our heads around the door and flustered M. Pierre once more, but managed to get him to step outside and pointed at those we wanted to see. Unfortunately, the first one had gone, and the second one he seemed almost reluctant to rent us, merely dismissing it as being “Out in the Country!” When we said that was fine and when could we see it, he almost unenthusiastically suggested we go straight away, and almost before we knew it we were following M. Pierre, at breakneck speed through an unfamiliar French countryside and trying to read his mind at junctions as to which two wheels would leave the ground as he cornered without the use of artificial aids and no signals! Did I say earlier he was bumbling? Well, certainly that wouldn’t apply when he got behind the wheel of his car and tried to emulate fellow countryman and former Formula 1 Driver Alain Prost.
Eventually, many turns later, both physical and mental, we raced down a tree lined avenue and just where the road almost peters out, screeched to a stop on the loose gravel. M. Pierre, looking calm, collected and bumbling again, stood by his open car door as if ready to make a speedy getaway, cast his eyes around the surrounding countryside and said I did tell you it was in the countryside. To which we enthusiastically answered yes, much obviously to M. Pierre’s amazement. The rest is history and we are now well and truly ensconced, although we did have numerous dealing with M. Pierre, before the signing of the contracts and him finishing the bit he was paid to do! Two other meetings are worthy of note; the second previously alluded to, when his presence was well and truly overshadowed by the larger than life and highly confident M. Charles, our landlord and owner of the chateau we have in our garden! The first was to arrange the signing. Early one evening shortly after we had moved in, there was a quiet knock on the door, so quiet that afterwards I thought that perhaps he was hoping that we didn’t hear and he a could escape! But on opening the door, there was M. Pierre dressed just as he had been ever since we had first met him, come to tell us the arrangements for the Contract signing. Hopefully he was just passing as it was late to be working and home we discovered was some way away. Well, I invited him in, shook hands and sat him down, enquiring as to whether he would like a café (coffee), to which I’m sure out of courtesy he said yes, rather wishing he could escape straightaway. Never before have I seen anyone drink a coffee so quickly, sitting on the edge of his chair and ready, with a speedy “Merci et au revoir” to escape, after all we were in the country and who knows what might be lurking!!
Would we recommend him to a friend? In a funny sort of way, if you can look past the untidy office and bumbling nature, we ended up with a bit of a soft spot for M. Pierre and he certainly by “doing it his way” came up with the goods, so I guess we would. He was certainly better to deal with that the lady in France Telecom, who courtesy of a good friend, will from this day forth, be referred to (which hopefully we won’t have to do!!) as Phonezilla!!
Mes chers amis
Vie en Vendée
Having returned, unpacked sorted out priorities like washing machine, dishwasher, lights, wine racks etc., life could have become quite quiet and sedate, but what with the garden (see below) and a pleasant stream of visitors (13 to date see blog “It happened one Thursday in February”) and generally getting to know the place life has been very busy. However, I hardly dare say it, but our trips to France Telecom seem to have finished, and with a hiccup caused by who knows what but put right by Linda over several hours and just a couple of billing errors to sort out, hopefully online, we now seem to be reliably in contact with the outside world. Indeed for the princely sum of €7-00 a month we have added calls illimité (unlimited) to English land lines to the package, so if you want to speak to us phone the fixed line number above and we’ll phone you back, or text us and we’ll phone you.
La Loge
Our new abode, affectionately known in private and amongst friends as Chez ‘iggs, is providing to be a great place to live, it is isolated and maybe our French won’t come on as well as if we were living in the heart of a village. But the peace and tranquillity more than compensate for that. We think the house was probably servant’s quarters / farmhand accommodation in the past and may have been as many as three or four very small and humble dwellings with the attics used either for storage or sleeping areas for the lowest of servants.
It’s ours for the next three years if we want it that long but can give three months notice should we want to leave. However, Monsieur can’t give us notice unless; he sells it or wants to move into it! As he has a chateau next door and hates France with a passion, he is unlikely to want to live in it and selling the estate in his words “won’t happen” and he seems to have something of a soft spot for La Loge. We think that perhaps, as a boy, he used to play here and maybe whoever lived here had a soft spot for the master’s son and slipped him the odd cake! Monsieur did, rather wistfully say at the signing of our contract “I won’t sell it, I love that little house!” When we discovered a primitive wooden sword and woven headdress in the rafters of the attic we wondered if they were some relic of monsieur’s past, we must ask him sometime, if we can get a word in edgeways!
The house is set well back in a long thin courtyard, which provides the terrace and front garden. There is no way out at the back, but the windows look out over the front of the chateau. Inside, we have a good sized living area and kitchen, three double bedrooms, one of which doubles up as a study, a hall area outside the bathroom which has a “his ‘n hers” double sink, shower and toilet. There is also another toilet. Outside we also have a small “cave” or wine “cellar” and an enormous boiler room which houses the boiler, oil tank and water purification plant, as our water comes from the chateau’s well! There is also a rather tumble down garage and three dependencies, which we don’t use at present but were a stable and two chicken houses. As for the garden see below! But, to appreciate the tranquillity and simplicity of our Vendée life fully, view the latest film on my blog; “It happened one Thursday in February” and become one of my growing band of followers!!!!! Well I am now living in a commune (see below!) so maybe you’re witnessing the birth of a new spiritual leader!!!!!
Monsieur Joe
Space has run out so M. Joe will have to wait until another time. However, like Monsieur he is a bit of a mystery. We think we met him once, but as said gentleman was helping himself to some mushrooms off the front lawn when Linda accosted him and said “Are you Mister Joe, pleased to meet you!” It could just be that it was best to agree with the strange English woman and escape. The latest theory I have come up with is that perhaps the mysterious Monsieur is a master criminal and M. Joe is his alias should things go wrong – I’ll let you know if we ever see them together!!
How does our garden grow?
When we first viewed the house we had decided to have it and then realised that the only thing it didn’t have on our “Must have” list was a garden. There were however, a couple of areas in the extended courtyard that could possibly be dug up and there was always container growing so we decided that the lack of a garden wouldn’t stop us renting the house. But we mentioned the possibility of grow some veg along the side of the courtyard to M. Pierre, the estate agent who by now we were convinced thought us mad to want to live in the country! Yes that was possible, but was it a garden we wanted, he said? On confirmation of this he somewhat puzzled said “Follow me,” and set off down the courtyard, past the large old barn, onto the road and turned right and seemed to be heading out into open countryside. But a little way down the road, hiding behind a hedge, was an amazing faded blue and very rustic gate that opened onto a large wedge shaped plot cut into the side of the bordering field, complete with a number of beautifully blossomed trees, which we were to discover were almond and plum trees, an overgrown small opened fronted corrugated tin shed and a patch of radiant daffodils seemingly growing wild in the large and very overgrown plot. You want garden said M. Pierre – Ici, and again you could see a certain bafflement caused by the excitement of us ticking the last of the essential boxes on the list.
Very quickly after moving in we tackled the garden, being careful a) not to be over ambitious with the size of the plot we dug over for planting and b) to make sure that when we did dig it over that we removed all the rank grass and pernicious weeds that had taken over the garden, which had obviously been well cultivated once, but not for some considerable time!
First we dug two large plots and trimmed, by hand the weeds and grass around the edges, then we managed to connect several electrical extensions together, including my father’s caravan cable and were just able to reach with my trusty Black and Decker strimmer, which did an absolutely fantastic job at cutting through the tough weeds and matted grass, until on the second cut it went clunk and bits flew off!! Fortunately, the damage sounded considerable worse than it was, and new parts were ordered over the internet, delivered to my parents and forwarded to here, all in the space of less than a week. Interestingly the postage from the English supplier to my parents was more expensive than it was to send the package on to France, by airmail. It was given in at the post office near my parents on Friday afternoon and delivered to our Vendée post box, over the road, under an ancient oak tree (See the latest Blog film!), first thing Monday morning. La Poste certainly seem to have the edge over France Telecom!
We are also now starting to eat our own produce – baby courgettes and greens for tea today, with some local creamy Mogette beans and double lamb cutlets with a herby salsa – home grown or hedgerow herbs of course, and all captured on camera!!
Slumdog Millionaire
To rave reviews, and just before it won a raft of Oscars, Slumdog Millionaire hit the screens of Stroud and Gloucester at a time when we just couldn’t find the time to go and watch it, and our plans were further thwarted as it hadn’t reached the depths of “The Forest” (of Dean for those that don’t know!) and wasn’t showing in Coleford until the following week, when we would have left my Mum and Dad’s, whose nearest cinema is Coleford, and headed off into deepest France.
But, it had arrived in France and was obviously a big hit, with posters prominently displayed all over the place. It was tempting, but I think our French will need a year, two or possibly longer before we could understand and enjoy a film in French! Although, I am having an almost daily conversation with the local farmer, who comes to a large trough at the front of our house to fill up a large water tank to top up the troughs of the nearby cattle, our closest and at times quite noisy neighbours. He always makes a point and coming and shaking hands and offering a cheery “Ca va?” to which even my schoolboy French can respond, remembering at least for the present that he is vous not tu! But he definitely speaks NO English and as do many of the locals laughs charmingly at the notion that he would! But, with my pigeon French and a degree of sign language we cover quite a lot of ground in the five minutes or so it takes the tank to fill up. Finally today, we learnt each other’s names, he’s called Michel, and talked further about; the weather and how although yesterday’s rain had gone, although we agreed it was “belle pour la jardin” (good for the garden) and the sun was back he still found it cold, he was surprised to hear that there had been snow in parts of England the day before (admittedly a rarity in June but a good talking point!), and how hopefully the sun would stay and the wind drop. He learnt Max’s name, but still failed to befriend him, Max just standing there all big and brave until Michel tries to pat him when he runs off. Michel is not the slightest bit worried about Max’s rather false show of guarding the place and on an earlier occasion, when Linda asked if he was worried about Max, his reply had been “Non, il ne mange pas moi!” (No, he won’t eat me!). Today, I also discovered he has seven medium sized dogs “pour la chasse” (for hunting) and he found out that Max is thirteen years old, which quite surprised him. He’s basically a very friendly chap and rather touchingly, when passing as my brother and family were leaving after their visit, made a great thing about leaning out of his tractor, waving and wishing them “Au revoir and bon retour.” (Good-bye and good return journey). Then our conversation the next day was about the length of their journey and he was shocked by the seven hours it takes to get to Calais. My guess is that he doesn’t venture far and certainly not to the slums of Mumbai, which is where this section started!
So, we seemed destined to watch Slumdog Millionaire at some time in the future, when somewhere with a television and the DVD, as although our France Telecom package could give us access to 40 television channels we have resisted the temptation, although having internet does mean we can keep up to date with the news and listen to English radio. Then we noticed a cinema billing that included a monthly English film and the next one was in a couple of Saturday’s time and was the original Slumdog Millionaire, with French subtitles!
Tickets booked we duly arrived, picked them up from a couple who were manning the ticket office, who together with the man checking tickets on the door, who I think may have moonlighted as the projectionist, were it seemed the only French people in the building. As we made our way to our seats and listened as we became surrounded by the La Châtaigneraie ex-pat community, I made a mental note to tell Linda after the film, that I didn’t want to join, but 26 years of marriage beat me to it, and she knew what I was going to say which agreed with what she had been thinking all along. OK it might make us a pair of outcasts, but I’ve better things to do than worry about which satellite dish will be the best to pick up English television, to find out what’s happened in “Britain’s got talent,” the “Eurovision Song contest” that would appear to refute the first item, and who’s bedding who in all of the Soaps!
I was delighted, although I could only understand a little of the speech made but the man who was issuing tickets on the door; welcoming us to cinema, telling us that this was the last film in this year’s season and that they would be back in the autumn and I think about major works that were due to be carried out in the cinema during the close season!, that he stoically talked to the room full of English people in French and that was that!
All went swimmingly, although the storyline in the first few minutes wasn’t quite what I was expecting, until the two young brothers who are pivotal in the film started to talk in Hindi and the subtitles were in French – but we got the gist of it and came out having thoroughly enjoyed the film, which had the memories of our visit to India flooding back – our guide Hamza, had even had his shoes misappropriated whilst we were visiting the Taj Mahal! If you’ve not seen it and get the chance, it’s a powerful film that highlights some of the shadier sides of modern and booming India, a boom that unfortunately, not all Indians are able to benefit from and enjoy!
Leaving England
It was rather strange and somewhat final, as the large noisily vibrating cross channel ferry
reversed out of Newhaven Harbour into the early Sunday morning channel, leaving behind the town that was only just beginning to wake up, and knowing that several decks below was a large and heavily laden van, hired from the SuperU supermarket in Pouzauges, holding the items for our new life in the Vendée.
As the ferry reached deep water and turned, a last glimpse of Newhaven and Brighton, with the white cliffs in between, and it was full speed ahead towards Dieppe, France and our new rented house with a chateau in the garden. The rising sun then rather aptly made a golden pathway over the water and I closed my eyes, with the warmth of the sun on my cheek and with a degree of trepidation dreamt of adventures to come!
White Van Sunday
One sunny Sunday recently, I threw open the blinds from the hall out onto the front of the house and as is my wont greeted anyone who happened to be listening with my standard “Bonjour tout la monde.” As we are so isolated, to date no-one has answered, but as a long distance footpath runs past the front of the house who knows when I might get a cheery “Bonjour Monsieur!” or more likely a somewhat surprised “Mon Dieu, vous me fightened à moitié mort!” (My God, you frightened me half to death!”) Whilst on the subject of isolation, I have just been surfing, the Internet not the Atlantic, and discovered that the commune (similar to an English parish but much more hippy sounding!) in which we live has a population of about 350 and an average of population density of 18 people per sq kilometre – well I reckon in our sq kilometre there are most of the time (except rarely when monsieur is home) only two people and their dog, who whilst retaining a passion for French bread, has refined his taste somewhat and now goes a bundle on oysters – the only thing is he hasn’t realised that it isn’t the shell you eat and has a daily raid on our shell midden of empty shells that is growing, almost as well as our veg, in the garden.
But what a surprise, I digress!! At this quite early hour, there was a veritable cavalcade of small white vans heading somewhere in the same direction, where they were going or what they were doing remains a mystery, but I’m reminded of two things: first the clandestine passing around of unmarked paper bags in a Year in Provence, when the truffles were in season and second the bike ride I did with my brother Chris, where we rode between my school in Stroud and a partner school in France. We set off at 2.30 in the morning and for several hours nothing passed us except white vans. I must get up really early one Sunday and lie in wait, in the car, and follow them to see where they go!!
M. Pierre, Immobilier (Estate Agent) Extraordinaire!
I keep promising to tell you more about the estate agent in whose window we saw our new abode and subsequently, quite miraculously managed to wade with, sometimes seemingly in sinking mud, through the intricacies and idiosyncrasies of house rental in France to eventually, after all the bizarre rules and regulations to get the keys a day before we should have, and to move in before we had signed the contract!!
We looked in M. Pierre’s window at the very start of our housing quest and were impressed by the number of properties he had on offer, so went in and disturbed a rather bumbling, old before his time, somewhat scruffily dressed Frenchman, who seemed to be more flustered by the fact that customers had come into the shop, than the fact that we were English with only limited French. He professed to speak no English, but as we got to know him he became braver and at the inventory and key handing over ceremony, he was confident to make a little joke in part English. When welcoming us to La Loge he told us that the commune, St Laurent de la Salle that we were moving into was a small village with only 350 inhabitants, but now we would make it 352!!
Not only his own appearance, but the appearance of the office, did little to inspire confidence, as every available surface, including those areas of the floor not needed for circulation, were covered in haphazard and toppling piles of paper, and indeed in later dealings we worried that copies of documents we gave him would join the great filing cabinet on the floor. But, to give him credit, it was obviously his mess and he appeared to know where things were however disorganised it all seemed. Well, we made our intentions clear and he fished out some details of possible properties, from a random pile that obviously in his mind was clearly marked – “Rental Properties in the correct price range!!” However, he had obviously misread us as the suave sophisticated type who wanted a neat little villa, on the edge of town with a neat easy to maintain garden surrounded by high green fences to keep out the neighbours! So all he offered us, didn’t really fit the bill and becoming increasingly flustered, he had to take his leave of us, as he had an appointment to keep. As we left the shop, thanking him and saying we would return another day, didn’t give the window a second look, as independently, we had both made the decision that nothing would make us return there!!
Little did we know that many very plush and well ordered offices later, many with good English speakers, and with only a couple of disappointing viewings for all our effort, that we would have to eat our words and at least go back and look in M. Pierre’s window, with the plan drawn up if there seemed to be something suitable in the window, that we would ask him to step outside, at least then we couldn’t see the chaos that rained inside, point to any properties we were interested in and make appointments to see them. The window scrutiny yielded, in the first instance, two possibilities and we duly stuck our heads around the door and flustered M. Pierre once more, but managed to get him to step outside and pointed at those we wanted to see. Unfortunately, the first one had gone, and the second one he seemed almost reluctant to rent us, merely dismissing it as being “Out in the Country!” When we said that was fine and when could we see it, he almost unenthusiastically suggested we go straight away, and almost before we knew it we were following M. Pierre, at breakneck speed through an unfamiliar French countryside and trying to read his mind at junctions as to which two wheels would leave the ground as he cornered without the use of artificial aids and no signals! Did I say earlier he was bumbling? Well, certainly that wouldn’t apply when he got behind the wheel of his car and tried to emulate fellow countryman and former Formula 1 Driver Alain Prost.
Eventually, many turns later, both physical and mental, we raced down a tree lined avenue and just where the road almost peters out, screeched to a stop on the loose gravel. M. Pierre, looking calm, collected and bumbling again, stood by his open car door as if ready to make a speedy getaway, cast his eyes around the surrounding countryside and said I did tell you it was in the countryside. To which we enthusiastically answered yes, much obviously to M. Pierre’s amazement. The rest is history and we are now well and truly ensconced, although we did have numerous dealing with M. Pierre, before the signing of the contracts and him finishing the bit he was paid to do! Two other meetings are worthy of note; the second previously alluded to, when his presence was well and truly overshadowed by the larger than life and highly confident M. Charles, our landlord and owner of the chateau we have in our garden! The first was to arrange the signing. Early one evening shortly after we had moved in, there was a quiet knock on the door, so quiet that afterwards I thought that perhaps he was hoping that we didn’t hear and he a could escape! But on opening the door, there was M. Pierre dressed just as he had been ever since we had first met him, come to tell us the arrangements for the Contract signing. Hopefully he was just passing as it was late to be working and home we discovered was some way away. Well, I invited him in, shook hands and sat him down, enquiring as to whether he would like a café (coffee), to which I’m sure out of courtesy he said yes, rather wishing he could escape straightaway. Never before have I seen anyone drink a coffee so quickly, sitting on the edge of his chair and ready, with a speedy “Merci et au revoir” to escape, after all we were in the country and who knows what might be lurking!!
Would we recommend him to a friend? In a funny sort of way, if you can look past the untidy office and bumbling nature, we ended up with a bit of a soft spot for M. Pierre and he certainly by “doing it his way” came up with the goods, so I guess we would. He was certainly better to deal with that the lady in France Telecom, who courtesy of a good friend, will from this day forth, be referred to (which hopefully we won’t have to do!!) as Phonezilla!!
Kind regards, Best Wishes and Love
Roger, Linda and Max ~ (“Un douzen huitre No 4 s’il vous plaît!”)
Roger, Linda and Max ~ (“Un douzen huitre No 4 s’il vous plaît!”)
And to come next time, maybe: The Red Cage, Wildlife Watch and Fortunately the natives are friendly!?!
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
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