I have a dream ....

Sand sculpture on Durban beach

Unlike Paris Hilton I do know it was our beloved Tata Madiba (RIP) who passed this week and not Martin Luther King Jr, but I DO have a dream.

I have been having this dream for many a year but since I have moved to France, I can almost taste it.  I constantly wake up and realise my dream is not real yet, and the disappointment is like the taste of ashes from my unclean fire.

In my dream (like all dreams) everything is perfect, the sun is shining (natch), the birds are tweeting - singing, not on Twitter, the kids are happy and well behaved (?), and hubby is content from just digging the veg from the garden and about to enjoy lunch al fresco with his book.  Where am I, I hear you wonder, well busy making the dream a reality!

This is the thing with dreams some of us are lucky enough to be able to make our dreams come true and even though I have not quite achieved my reality, I am close.  I am here; I am in France which six years ago looked ‘absolument impossible’!

I don’t often talk about my absolute rooted faith in our glorious Lord but that is what I have, and I hope that my actions speak louder than words.  However, I do believe that the Lord has got me thus far and when the time is right, he will be there to facilitate the rest of my dream.  Poppycock, I hear you shout, maybe so, but that is what I believe.

'Ma fille's' creation

So in this festive time of reflection and giving (and I am so happy to say, less commercial Christmas in France) my gift to you is that your dreams will come true and whatever helps you believe it, will come through for you.  In time I know I will wake up and be in the reality of my dream and I wish that for everyone.

Bon Noel.



A time of HIGHS and lows .....

This week brought all sorts of challenges, that if you were in a country where you could speak the language it would be a doodle but being here, turns it into a feat of jumping hurdles.

The promised wood was just not coming and I couldn’t go and collect it as the car was still not road worthy.  It got to the point where I was desperate, we possibly had one night of wood left.  This is our only heating in the house, current temperature in the minuses most days.  New tyre or not; I decided I had to go and find this wood place. I telephoned for directions and vaguely knew where they were.  Confidentially I set off, I discovered a place that ‘looked’ right with lots of wood piles which I was told to look out for.  Put my best foot forward and all that, smile, French phrases practised, our conversation goes something like this: I’ve come to buy some wood.  What wood, I have no wood? Did M not tell you I was coming? Who is M? (Clearly this is not going well.) Do you sell wood? No, this is MY wood.  Ok, feeling very foolish now, do you know where the wood place is, NON, and he disappears inside.

Not panicking yet must have taken a wrong turn, I can call and/or check the map again. Damn it, left the phone at home which has all the details. This is so stupid, why can I not get my act together?  Never the less I solider on this is a small village it cannot be too far but after a wild goose chase - end result – no wood, lots of tears.

Later that day, finally get the tyre sorted after numerous attempts and thought, in spite of my lack of language I going to get some wood.  I go to the local wood place near the school.  The only person there is a wizened woman whose job is to operate the machine that chops the wood, and no she cannot sell me any wood.  Defeated I turn around to go home, thinking which friend can I call on to help me out.  As I leave a van arrives and the gentleman flags me down.  He can help me but he needs to see my fireplace first.  So he jumps in the car and tells me to ‘take him to the fire’, literal translation.

On our return he packs my car full of the ‘right’ wood and extra kindling and promises to make a full delivery tomorrow.  On the way home from the school run, I see his van and explain to the children that he is the man who helped me with the wood and he will deliver more tomorrow, no wait, he is delivering NOW.  We all help pack the wood in a neat wood pile, and then he insists in giving me a lesson on the proper way to operate the fire. He is very sweet and helpful and chats to the children a lot, he then asks me how old I am, reluctantly I tell him but he refuses to believe me even though I haven’t fabricated at all.  We all have a good laugh and after he leaves ‘ma fille’ says 'Mum I think you have a new boyfriend', well maybe he will keep for Gogo!

We then get a call from the original wood supplier saying they tried to deliver today and can they deliver tomorrow morning at 8.30am, ok, but I’m on the school run then but they can deliver anyway as the gates will be open.  I return to find a HUGE pile of wood in my driveway which was great but no driver to pay! What I do like, is we have enough wood for now.

That morning we got the delightful news that my latest and probably last nephew had been born in Durban.  We were all in celebratory mood so I decided to turn our weekly French lesson/lunch into a celebration. I was going to make my beef bourguignon anyway, so let’s just jazz it up.  So I quickly prepare the ‘boeuf de feu’ and then finish cooking it on the feu, which was a first for me.  J (newer French granny) who also joined us for lunch pronounced it 'délicieux' which I took as a huge compliment.  Never really imagined the celebration of such a precious birth to be with relative strangers but it was a wonderful lunch and yes, we did our French lesson too.

After the various car repairs it’s still not right. There is a battery fault and the power steering goes, which is not funny.  As I had been doing so many little ‘hop’ trips I thought I would take it for a longer run.  I was not in the mood for shopping in Perpignan so I headed for the mountains.  It is a beautiful bright day but still cold it was -1 at 9am.  As I am driving along I see this man who needs a lift, literally in the middle of nowhere next village at least 5kms away or more.  So I shoot up an arrow prayer and stop for him.  I can hear you all yelling now, but it felt right I was trusting my instincts.  Anyway it turns out this guy Jose speaks Catalan, a little French and Spanish but actually is Portuguese which was a great surprise.  (Aside: my sister in law who just had the baby happens to Mozambique Portuguese = connection). He was moving stuff from Lansac about 10 kms away back to St Paul in a shopping bag on wheels.  So off we went  to Lansac and as I was waiting for him to get his stuff I thought maybe I should let someone know what I’m up to.  So I call hubby who is still in London, if I am not home tonight when you get back, this is what happened.  However all was well, he was a sweet guy who plays guitar (blues and jazz but loves classical) and his English girlfriend had kicked him out on religious differences!

On returning him to the bridge a beautiful creature, (thought it was a deer but turns out it to be a Pyrenean chamois) jumped out in front of us, it was a lovely sighting.  Jose got really excited I thought it was because he maybe wanted to shoot it but it turns out he has never seen one before and was really happy to see it.  I was over the moon too, to see it and thought, thank you God, that was a good reward, but of course the biggest joy of this week is our beautiful new nephew, he is such a blessing to all of us and cannot wait for him to get to know his crazy ‘French’ family. A bientôt.

Time to get real .......

What’s it really like living virtually alone in a foreign land?

 

Not that bad really.  Now, I know I have been waxing lyrical about the beauty and all around gorgeousness of this area and this remains to be true.  However, the weather changed literally overnight from a barmy 20C to five days of torrential rain (very unusual I am told) to now brighter skies with waves of sleet and sometimes snow, which is settling on the higher mountains. The temperature has obviously plummeted down into the minus and highs of no more than 9. 

Panic, this is not a house built for the winter living it’s definitely designed for the summer heat, tiled throughout and the bedrooms are glacial at best.  We have some heating but not very effective however our saving grace is the stove fire which does keep the downstairs area quite toasty.  We had some wood but clearly not enough for the winter, where is the best place to get more from?  I text one of our neighbours (the easiest way to communicate) to ask;  where the best place is but unusually I still have not been answered.  Fortunately J  (long distance neighbour, a street away) arrives and rescues us, there is a decent place down the road and they speak English, yay, result.  Any way we duly order some but are still awaiting delivery, fingers crossed it comes before the supply here runs out , as then I will be seriously grumpy. The cat and I DO NOT LIKE THE COLD.

Husband is back in the UK for nearly two weeks which means I am effective on my own all day every day until the kids get back from school at 5pm.  I relish in the luxury of the quiet house and I'm able to do my ‘own’ thing but this soon loses some of its shine.  The lovely French ‘grand-mère’ has moved back to Perpignan for the winter so is obviously no longer around.  Yes, I can here you shouting, get out do some exercise, go for a walk enjoy the beauty, did I mention the torrential rain? Now that its stopped I will be enjoying the splendour that surrounds.

The problem is as soon as I step out the door I feel like a toddler and am just as articulate if not worse.  My French is at the stage of, I know what I am saying is correct, i.e.: some of the grammar and most of the vocabulary is correct but I am still not been understood as my accent is completely pants, which is so frustrating but completely understandable. Therefore unless I am speaking to some good English speakers it is so much easier to email or text people if the conversation needs to go further than the daily niceties.

Before I went back to 'proper' work my life in London was not that different.  I had many hours on my own. What was different then, was I could go out the door and have a chat to anyone even if it was only about the weather.  Here at the moment that is a step too far, which make me feel more isolated than I really am.

Where does this leave me now, well exactly as I said more or less on my own but I am making good use of this time.  It’s given me a lot of time to think about what I really want and how I think we should proceed in the New Year.  It’s also given me loads of time to keep going at the French, which is clearly essential.  It is  great to be able to give my undivided attention to the kids when they do get home as there is nothing I ‘have’ to do, it’s all been done.

So as I add another log to the fire and curl up on the sofa with my French books, ok sometimes a sneak peek at a novel or too.  Life here is still good; I still just love looking out at the beautiful vista we are lucky enough to have. Just as a write this ‘our’ resident eagles give me a fly past, that is truly good for the soul. So, I cannot pop down to my old favourite coffee shop and have a brew with my mates and I am too shy/scared to do it here with my new mates. As I reflect on this time I have come to realise that I am happy to be on my own, I am alone not lonely, now if any of you knew me  20 years ago you would know that is a HUGE leap for me.

 

In week or so time hubby will be back, with all the razzmatazz that comes with that and I will be longing for some quiet time. A bientôt.

 

It's offical .... we belong!

Well I thought things were quietening down a little but we have just had the busiest week ever.  It always seems a bit more holiday-like when hubby returns from London. For a few days holiday mode sets in and daily drudgery is forgotten to be regretted at a later date.

The kids returned to school after half term but this ‘Wednesday no school business’; is really unsettling you are just getting into a routine of the week and then they are home again for the day, which is lovely I do really like spending time with my children, it just somehow upsets the rhythm of the week as we are not used to it yet.

This week of course was hectic with the young man of the house’s ninth birthday which fell on Thursday.  We were determined to keep things as similar as possible as before, so as not to highlight the difference and him missing his London mates.  His first request was fish and chips for supper – ‘Dad can just go to the chippy’, uhm.... no he cannot. So I did my best and it seemed to pass muster.  Then the birthday party itself, well trying to control 20 kids at any one time is a headache in itself but try and do it in another language it’s a whole new ball game.  They either really didn’t understand me or chose not to, not sure which is worse. To top it all, le fils decided to go for a swim, determined to do so on his birthday, forget that is was absolutely freezing; it had to be done, he was joined by two of his crazier male friends, the girls all laughed and took video’s on their phones to later be uploaded to Facebook...... they are 9, for goodness sake! I believe General de Gaulle died on the 9^th November just wondering if there is a connection?

As the house was going to be in chaos anyway we decided to invite the parents, neighbours and various friends for drinks and cake too, WHAT was I thinking, well clearly I wasn’t.  I was so tired by this stage I forgot how to speak at all and any small amount of French I did have completely deserted me all that was forming in my head were phrases of Zulu, not so helpful.  However we survived, the rain came at the right time and didn’t ruin the fireworks, such as they were.  Obviously no bonfire night here so we hoped to do a home job on the 5^th but it was way too windy and dangerous so we did them on Saturday instead.

Sunday saw hubby and son off to son’s first rugby league tournament, they left at 8.30 and returned at 5ish, (so not just the morning then). Son completely chuffed with his first rugby medal albeit for the wrong code! La fille and I had the joy of cleaning up after the party but we rewarded ourselves by curling up on the sofa together and watching Saturday’s Strictly, always a treat.

Monday was a public holiday to commemorate Armistice Day and as mentioned before we were the guests of Monsieur Mayor.  What we didn’t realise was that it was his last official ceremony after 19 years of service to St Paul.  So the great and the good of St Paul gathered outside the Marie and then walked the short distance to the Place de République where the war memorial is.  We were lead by the oldest veterans of the village carrying the colours, followed by the pompiers and gendarmes, then Monsieur Mayor and other dignitaries.  We formed a semi circle around the memorial and all waited respectfully, the mayor began to speak and then, wait yes, I am not going crazy, and he’s speaking English and officially welcoming us to St Paul.  It was a great surprise and a bit of shock but it just highlighted how welcome we have been made to feel here.  The Representative of the Conseil General not to be out done also welcomed us in English and was very proudly wearing his British Legion poppy, made me feel awful I hadn’t bothered, not because I didn’t want to it just felt like a very British thing to do in a small French town.  The ceremony was followed by drinks and nibbles in the Marie, where we met more fellow town’s people. 

There was one lady who was speaking really rapid French and seemed very concerned for our ‘prayer life’ I tried to explain we were not Catholics but this was not registering.  After a few pleasantries we came to some sort of understanding.  On our walk home, me carrying the baguettes, (the Mayor commented I was doing the perfect imitation of a French mother) la fille noticed this same women at her gate very close to the turning to our road.  She was waiting for us with the church program for the winter; she then accompanied us the short distance to our house.  Husband invited her in for a drink but she had to go home and lock up, she returned minutes later with a bottle of vin rouge which is made by her family. Stay with me: her husband’s, brother’s son (so nephew once removed?) made the wine and owns the cave.  We were pleased it was one we had visited recently so were able to show some knowledge and appreciation.  We invited her to stay for our simple lunch of said pain, fromage and saucisson, oh no, couldn’t possibly.  Of course you can, no I need to call my daughter (policewomen in Paris) otherwise she will worry about me, so off she trots to return 10 or so minutes later to enjoy our simple déjeuner.  What an amazing character, we learnt she originally hails from Lorraine and has lived in St Paul for 57 years.  She and her husband built their house together which I have always admired.

So from a chaotic children’s birthday party and drinks party all on the same day, to a official welcome at the Remembrance ceremony and attending the Coupe de Monde;  I think we are making our mark in a small way and making friends along the way. We may still be the ‘fou Anglaise’ (or in my case ‘fou Sud-Africain’) but we are also officially residents of St Paul, what JOY!

Harvest and le Sanglier

May 2013

We visited St Paul in the May of this year and it was the wettest, coldest spring in many a year, depending who you speak to, this is unprecedented it’s never been as cold and wet so late in the year. I certainly hope there is not a repeat performance as I have been guaranteed 300 days of sunshine in this region (not sure by who, probably the tourist board) and I may have to go all the way to the top to complain if this is not achieved. What I do know is the ski slopes were opened for the weekend when we were here in spring, so cold it was.

Whatever the facts and figures are concerning the weather it is definitely changing and certainly affected a lot of the harvesting.  One of the joys of the Roussillon is that a well managed vineyard can turn into timely and well managed harvest.  If you take the traditional grapes of the area (namely Muscat, Syrah, Grenache and Carignan) and they all behave properly you can harvest each one in turn as they ripen at differing times in more or less that order depending on vineyard location.  However, in the main that did not happen this year.  Harvest started more or less on time at in September but it was well into the latter weeks of October that the reds could even be considered for picking; they were just not ripe enough and then to top it off, they all ripened at once even the late-ripening Carignan.  So this made cellar management really tricky especially for the smaller producers and some long hours and frenetic days and nights were spent making sure all was on course.

In days gone by before mechanical harvesting the travelling pickers could literally start at the bottom of France and work they way north as the weather was consist and even moving in an orderly pattern but that is no longer the case.  In theory the hotter southern part of France should be harvested earlier than the northern cooler regions but this year this was certainly not so. The weather played havoc on all regions and some of the northern regions were done before their expected harvest date unlike these southern parts.  Global warming having its effect or an abnormal year? Only time will tell.

 

As to the grapes themselves as mentioned before 2013 is a harvest of quality but not quantity. In a whispered voice: I personally think that some of the reds may benefit from less grape sugar so we will not have the searing alcohol levels and possibly softer fuller fruity wines at less abv. For many traditional producers this is not what is wanted so I have to be careful to not upset them with my opinions.  From early observations I think this year will be remembered for the fresh, aromatic whites and roses and velvety, fruit driven, long lasting reds.  One producer is convinced their wines will be as good as 2010 if not better!

 

Many vineyards have electric fences around them to protect the crop from the le sanglier and  unlike the harvest it appears the sanglier population is booming!  We are constantly hearing the shots of the chasseur and wondering how we can get in on some of the action – not the shooting just the consuming. We had the privilege to be part of Mas Peyre 10^th Anniversary celebrations and it was our first big foray into the French community.  We were the only ‘l’anglais’ there but we were welcomed warmly and met some real characters.  Tables were laid out in the storage cellar and we were treated to a real feast, the highlight of which was the sanglier served with haricot, it was so delicious and we had the added bonus of the chasseur sitting at our table! (The one on the phone). That party went on well into the wee hours not for me though I came back to watch the Currie Cup Final! (Take the girl out of Africa.......)

 

I had been inquiring and even asked our charming chasseur at our table how to get hold of some le sanglier as this is not a bought and sold thing it’s all about who you know and hubby is not out there hunting yet!  I was resigned to maybe next year but the ever faithful Gigi came to our rescue once again and arrived with a rump of sanglier from her neighbour as a gift for us. I was overwhelmed by the generosity of total strangers but very grateful. It was sent with a recipe too because of course no l’anglais would know how to cook it properly.  There is a chance it might be sanglier for Christmas!

As the season changes and the wines settle the beauty of the region blossoms  to breath-taking magnificence. The autumn colours against the mountains and blue sky (in the main) is simply stunning and we are treated to the most perfect rainbows, clear and full with each colour defined, awesome in its truest sense. (Wish I could paint!) There is a definite shift in attitude and feeling as the colours ripen, the weather cools and the summer fruits disappear from the markets.  There is a sense of closure especially now as the kids return to school after their half term break, the pool needs to be shut down for winter, the logs need to be collected, mushrooms should be foraged.  It somehow seems quieter but content it was a good summer and now we can rest on the bounty of it, with quiet satisfaction; and with that sanglier in the freezer it just feels ‘right’ and that we are a little part of this wonderful land. A bientôt.

 

 

 

Getting social with the natives

Hubby and daughter come home from the Saturday market announcing we have been invited to party and we should go.  I now need to sit down as a) hubby would rather be at home with a good book than interact with strangers and b) with the enthusiasm that this announcement is delivered I know there is no objecting. 

Please supply details, well its next Saturday up in the hills at St Martin at the Salle de Fête.  St Martin is really up in the hills quite a windy road from St Paul but not too far and still part of the Fenouillèdes. It was made famous or (infamous depending who you talk to) by Chateau Monty written by Monty Waldin. I am still hesitant how did this invitation come about?  Well, we met K (lovely English Mum, bilingual daughter in son’s class) and she was with her friend E (French I think but spent at lot of time in the States), well she host's parties in the autumn/winter to get the community together.  Well we are not of the community of St Martin (according to the Marie website 55 residents!)  No it’s not exclusively for St Martin residents after all K doesn’t live there does she? Ok, what's the plan? Not really sure; a euro for the DJ and bring a plate for bring and share supper and of course drink. Still trying to digest this and all the enthusiasm it is delivered with but hey ho, it's probably time to get out there and bond.

On the last trip back from London hubby’s plane was diverted to Bezier as the visibility was rubbish, funny that the Paris plane could land but it probably was a smaller craft than the Ryanair plane.  So there I was dutifully waiting at Perpignan airport for him while he was 2 hours away.  Managed to get hold of him on the phone and agreed I needed to get back for the school run and we would make new collection plans later.

The school run had also changed, as we have formed a lift club in the road.  We realized three cars were going to the same schools at the same time virtually every day.  The primaire and college are next to each other, very handy for all.  So it was my weekly turn to do the school run and felt I couldn’t offload neighbour’s children onto the ever willing Gigi.  I had imagined we would not use the car for the school run but the fact is that even though the schools are only 5 mins away by car they are a 15 – 20 minute walk along the busiest road and the college school bags are really heavy; plus no one really seems to walk here if they can drive.

The drive back from Perpignan was full of water on the roads and the mist was rolling down the mountains all looking a bit gloomy.  I wasn’t too thrilled about the going back to the aéroport but at least Simon could drive the return trip; or maybe he could even try the €1 bus? The school run done and we now wait on tender hooks for the call of collection at least we know he is on the bus back to Perpignan. The call comes in, no worries he's met a man on the bus who lives in St Paul and will happily give him a lift back.  Great, time for that Friday glass of wine while the thunderstorms clap loudly around me, so pleased not to be driving.

Hubby is dutifully delivered home and numbers exchanged, ‘let’s get together’s’ cried and hearty thanks given, we settle in for a cosy family evening. That week we get a call from S (the angel of the lift) to come for aperitifs, hubby is all up for it again, this socialising thing is catching.  We as a family walk to the house and the lovely S and L are very hospitable and welcoming.  We have sundowners watching the sun slipping behind the mountains but it’s a school night we need to get home and the invite was for aperitifs not the evening.  Arrangements are made to meet on Saturday morning for hubby and la fille to climb the smaller Via Ferrata on Saturday. La fille has wanted to do this since she was six so is very excited.

(View of St Paul from the Large Via Ferrata)

So Saturday rolls around and they off to climb the face of the mountain, literally.  Le garcon and I hit the Saturday market and I try and decide on what plate to bring for our ‘bring and share’.  This is not a decision to be taken lightly this is my first social outing with food and we all know how the French are about their food.  I will never be able to take this first plate back it better be good or at least acceptable. I decide on, what is becoming, my signature anchovy salad. At sundown we head up the mountain to St Martin this road is windy, how are we going to get back down?  ‘I won’t drink and I’ll drive back’ I say to hubby, ‘on these roads I don’t think so’ comes the reply.  For a small place it was hard to find the ‘Salle de Fete’ but eventually we did and even though we were later than the appointed time we were early.  I put my best French forward but that was silly as the people that are there are English. E speaking perfect English is not, but somehow sounding like a native.  We help set up and more people arrive and the kids begin to get more rowdy.  Drinks are shared (sorry never in a plastic cup, I have my glass, thank you) and then it dawns on me we are in an English enclave everyone including the 5 French that arrive are speaking English!  What’s going on? Needless to say we met some lovely people the kids had a ball with their mates, nearly drinking wine instead of apple juice as someone had decanted white wine into a ‘ jus de pomme’ container!  

The mixture of people was quite diverse and all settled in France for differing reasons. I met a lady who is possibly even more passionate about rugby than me that was a revelation, an ex Marine who is now a Nordic skier, tired after harvest winemakers and a fellow South African.  So just your average Saturday night out then, could be in London.  It dawned on me that I was in the same hall that had been written about in Chateau Monty and that felt special as I had been dreaming of my NOW life while reading that book. 

Obviously we made it down the mountain in one piece, and were back to Perpignan on Sunday to drop hubby at the airport for his London run and for the kids and I to finally attend the Riverchurch (English speaking, non-denomination) where we met more very welcoming people.  Now to most that is not a lot of socialising in one week but it is more than I ever did in London for years, and all mainly instigated by hubby, is the French living changing him and us? I hope so.

Do we eat like the French?

YES, but no.

Obviously one of the things I was most looking forward to was the wonderful food in France. I had visions of the most perfect 'potager' with the children collecting seasonal veg (all in soft focus). Obviously it’s way too soon for that but have our eating habits changed?

St Paul doesn't have the greatest market, it’s there and it does its job. There are better ones in Perpignan (wrong side of the tracks) but good, 3 cantaloupe melons for €1.49, a third of the price of the supermarkets. Quillan also has a good Saturday market but that is up the mountain on the overhanging rock narrow road, really have to WANT to go there rather than just pop in.

So where does this leave me? At the supermarché, that’s where. Apparently our local Carrefour is 'très cher' but being used to London prices I am not shocked. However the grocery bills have been rather large but when examined it was all 'la fille's' required stationery that was adding up, which not having had a child in secondary school before; I am sure the price in UK would be similar.

If I have found anything eye watering and a bit of a deep breath needed it’s at the meat counter. Like most I prefer organic or at least not factory farmed but you do pay. Hubby went pale when the local butcher asked for €40 for 10 double joint chicken pieces. They were delicious. The good news is the seafood can be inexpensive and it’s lovely and fresh.

As mentioned before the kids eat in the canteen. I had to pick up 'le garcon' from there and I wanted to stay and eat the meal he couldn't. They have a choice of starters normally salady type of dishes, bread (natch, but only 3 pieces mind). They have to eat most or all of their main course and on the day I was there it was salmon in dill sauce, it looked really good. Then dessert can be anything from flan, fruit or ice-cream. So far my kids seem to love it and don't appear to come home staving and all that for €3 a day. The teachers are not on duty at lunch and they have a separate dining room with one way glass I have never had it confirmed that they have a glass of wine but I so hope they do.

So hubby and I (if he's) here, generally have breakfast together at 10ish fresh bread and/

or pastry, confiture, fruit, yoghurt and café. Lunch is well, bread again with a bit of salad, cold cuts and of course the fromage.

Dinner can be anything from beans on toast (yes Heinz) I am afraid we imported them but they are available here at a price; to homemade veal escallops’ with mushroom sauce, depending what day it is. So we eat well but smaller portions throughout the day rather than a huge meal in the evening.

So do we eat like the French? There is definitely a lot more bread on our table. We are eating seasonal fresh veggies and fruit because we have to. The fromage is ever present but that isn't all that different from before but the taste oh yes, the ripe sweet tomatoes, juicy flavourful peaches and plums added to the bounty of green and black figs from Gigi's garden all eaten al fresco, yes it does seem more French, but I suspect those Heinz baked beans and frozen petit pots will always have a place in my pantry/freezer.

 

As for the dreams of the potager, I have asked if there is an allotment free and I'm waiting to hear if there is one available. In the meantime I have planted loads of seeds mainly herbs and for some spring colour lots of bulbs, it’s a small start. Come the spring we will get ready for those home grown salads. In the meantime I have the markets and the wonderful bio veggies from @maspeyre and I've heard a rumour that IF I'm really lucky some ready to eat sanglier may appear! Très French, non?

 

Harvest continues to continue, the weather is playing up again and some of the red varieties are not yet at optimum ripeness. I will do a full report when the wine is settling and possibly some of it is blended. A bientôt.

So how is it all going?

Life cannot be too bad when this is my office canteen!

This seems to be the constant question by family and friends, and after nearly a month I can say VERY well thank you.

The irratations are we still have NO broadband and living on mobile internet is just no fun anymore. The frustrations continue to be, my lack of French and having to pour over dictionaries every day to translate homework and notices. I can just about hold my own in cafes and markets but when it comes to the school governing body notices, it all becomes a bit much.

However I am so please to report the JOYS outweigh any negatives. We have all been overwhelmed by the French welcome and in particular our French Granny Gigi. One of her kindnesses was to arrive on a day when I thought I must attack the stack of school forms, and like the angel she is, she took over. She then marked all the important people that I need to contact in the telephone book including an English speaking GP. Life saviour, or what?

Its not just the wonderful Gigi who has helped us settle quickly both schools have been great and the kids have settled into the routine of school life. The days are long beginning at 8.45 and finishing at 5. Currently they are staying for lunch as its better for their French than coming home and speaking English with Mum and Dad. Our son has found his feet quickly on the sports field and is playing tennis and rugby this term. 'Notre fille' is finding it a bit tougher getting to grips with secondary school and all the lessons in quick and complex French but we are proud of her incredible effort to make it work and her determination to get it right.

Both of them have made friends quickly and fortunately with the neighbour's children. They are constantly in and out of each others houses; for that sacred play hour after school and before dinner. The Mum is also our daughter's form and Spanish teacher which is obviously very useful. Better still they are a lovely family and have enjoyed our hospitality (never been so nervous cooking a Sunday lunch) and have made us feel very welcome and given us lots of useful insight and background to village life.

We have been amazed by the willingness of people to help us in communication, many are really happy to speak to us in English and those that cannot, help us with slow French. It doesn't help that there is such a mixture of Catalan, both French and Spanish and the pronunciation is just a little different but each day we learn a little more and it becomes a little easier, however the dictionary is never far away. Hubby was recently complemented by the mayor on his French, so one of us is getting there.

As to our daily lives, each day is an adventure. I love waking up to our mountain view which seems different daily with the differing light. There is so much to explore and discover we haven't even touched the surface yet. The expat community is strong and that's great but we are making our own way slowly. However it is very useful to find English speaking repair men. My laptop recently seized and we found an English man in the hills to fix it. It was an adventure in itself as hubby and I set off to place we hadn't been to before and made a day's outing of a chore.

The harvest is in full swing which is exciting and it looks good for a quality year but not abundant due to the weather been all over the place. We are making a nuisance of ourselves at Domaine Grier and learning at lot. It all does feel a little surreal but I suppose that is what happens, when you are living your dream. Does it feel like home yet? Not quite but we are getting there, each day as I say is an adventure. I think the ladies in Carrefour no longer think I am a tourist as they asked me for my loyalty card the other day. The mayor has asked us to be his special guests on the 11th November for the town ceremony, so we are making our mark slowly .

The best bit is we are a family happy together in the sun doing what we all love, the outdoor living is great, the kids are busy and active. We can choose sea or mountains to play in and the food, well that is a whole blog on its own. So far so good, merci beaucoup!

Why are we (I) so snobby when it comes to packaging?

I have never been a 'label' or designer type of girl but I do like good packaging. If I have been given something in a nice present bag or shopping bag I would keep it to re-use. If I have bought presents off auction sites or charity shops, I may even spend more on packaging than the present to smarten them up and look pretty.

So imange my horror when arriving in St Paul and going to one of our local 'caves' (@maspeyre) and being offered my favourite rose in a BOX. I was in a quandry I really like this Grenache based rose and it is perfect for lunchtime and sundowners but from a box?? Clare assures me it's the same wine I had before in a bottle, but in a box and cheaper. So what is my hesitation?

There has been a lot of text and discussion on closures recently and I think its fair to say that screw caps are here to stay and will probably continue to increase in usage. I am a fan, which has been noted before but that's different to an ugly box. There has also been a lot of chat about 'greener' bottles as in lighter, sometimes even plastic which are great for your picnic but not for your dinner table. In my humble opinion that's why box wine is out.

It reminded me of my first real memory of wine, my parents used to drink a wine called Rosanne, which I thought came in a box too but actually it was packaged in heavy based 2 litre bottles. I remember my parents pouring themselves some, in little pottery glasses and I loved the pinky colour against the terracotta, it all sounded and looked so romantic. Of course now that I'm all grown up and done a wine exam or two, I realise those pottery glasses were as 'bad' as an undecanted plastic bottle on the dinner table.

So did I buy the box of favoured rose, of course I did. I bought the 3litre one, also comes in 5l and 10ls. The 3l fits perfectly in my drinks fridge door and no guest has ever known it is there or ever been offered any. Bottle wine for the guests, thank you very much. I love the fact that it is even easier to access than a screwcap. When hubby is away working, I don't feel guilty about opening a bottle on my own. Its perfect for the odd glass at lunch time or a sneaky one while cooking dinner. I am a convert to the accessibility and LOVE the wine but would it stand proudly in all its box glory on my dinner table, NOT a chance.

On Friday hubby and I went for petit-dejeuner in our local cafe,(pic above, sweated blood to upload them, still working on mobile internet) good strong coffee without the London price tag we asked for a pastry and were pointed in the direction of the closest boulangerie. Hubby came back with two delicious pastries which we ate out the bag. Not quite silver service but delicious none the less.

Later we headed for another local cave (Cote d'Agly) and after a fine time of degustation we procceded to buy lots of local delights including ANOTHER box of wine, 10l this time, purely for hubby's consumption, oh and I suppose anyone else fancing a sneaky vin rouge.

So what conculsions do I come too? Pretty obvious really, in spite of tacky packaging, if the contents are quality and worth having, surely dodgy packaging is a small price to pay. Who knew I was such a packaging snob? Not I.

Tasting Notes:

Mas Peyre's Cote Catalan Rose 2012: The colour alone should delight you, pale salmon pink dancing in your glass. The fruit is upfront and bursting with red berries and hints of candifloss but countered by a backbone of steely acidity and well integrated alcohol at 12.5%.

Cote d'Agly - Saint-Paul Cuvee Du Chapitre 2011: Deep dark brooding red, with a delicious rich bouquet of black cherries and herby garrique underpinned by refreshing acidity with high (13.5%) but balanced alcohol. All that for under €3 a litre.

Pain aux raisin:
Rich, buttery, delicate pastry full of fruit perfect with petit cafe noir. (€1.30)

Vendage is upon us, more about that another time.

Moving with the Polish

As mentioned in the previous blog the packing and moving to France was all a little stressful like any other house move.  However me being me had to do it slightly differently and go on a month’s holiday after packing 75% of the house and before the moving date.

I left it to hubby to sort out how we would get all our personal belongings to France and once again this was not quite straight forward as it may seem.  The house we are renting for a year is a holiday house normally, and so it’s furnished for holiday makers.  However we rented sight unseen so I was not sure exactly what we would want to add to the mix of furniture, all my kitchen equipment, our own linen, the kids entire bedrooms, pot plants (not just any old pot plants but the trees we planted in pots on the kids naming days) and the list continues. 

I had gone down the conventional route of finding household movers but the quotes they were coming back with was (so I am reliable told) the same price of moving to Australia with twice the amount of stuff. So I then opted for a bidding war on a local site and managed to get the lowest bid down significantly however once hubby read the fine print he was not that happy with the quality of service etc.  So it was left to him and also for him to decide do we store in England (very expensive) or do we store in France (cheaper but the cost of getting there, would it be worth it?).

While on my hols got a message from hubby saying Michael is coming around on Saturday to give us a quote and decide how many vans we need.  Ok, not really sure, vans, surely one big one would do it?  However this was not any regular movers these were the Polish boys and their vans.  The quote for three seemed excessive to me but I thought at least we won’t struggle.

So moving day arrives and I am not sure what to expect, however the vans arrive early, good start.  Start to chat to the driver, Damian, as I was later to discover, NO ENGLISH, ok this is going to be fun.  Marek arrived soon after and had a little English but not too much and yes I have been concentrating on French not Polish! As I pack the last of the precious kitchen things I look up the word for FRAGILE in Polish, as start scribbling KRUCHY all over my precious breakable things.

So we had two vans and were awaiting the third.  We began packing with vigour in a very sensible way I thought, one van to go to the house and one van for storage and the third would have the extra.  Packing started well until Marek said no more, too heavy, but there is half a van space left but we bowed to superior knowledge.  We continued to pack the second but it was clear we were very tight on space and hubby wanted them to see how much stuff we had left to fit in, this is where we ran into problems and I began supervising, much to the initial amusement of the men and then grudging respect. Those skills of packing cars and bags to the hilt for sailing have not been lost on me! The third van brings Miroslav and Gosha into the mix, Gosha doesn’t say much not just the language thing, she doesn’t interact at all, not tea, coffee, nothing. However she does become very concerned when they cannot find our street on Goggle maps but I show Miroslav and reassure both of them and me it does exist.

With cries of see you on Sunday we make our seperate ways to Dover. On Sunday morning we get a call from Micheal in the office to say the vans are an hour away. 

We make a plan to meet and as our road is small and decide how best to unload and probably best to go and see the storage place.

How did we find storage in St Paul?  Well thanks to a lot of friends and emails we managed to track down Madame Abizanda who is eighty-five and has a heart problem (likes to talk a lot) but more importantly to us has a warehouse where we can store our stuff conveniently in St Paul.  Through our lovely interpreter friend we understand that this is how she earns some income and her family have been abusing it and she throwing them out because the English are coming!  Great, we are upsetting the locals already and we haven’t even arrived.

However, when we turn up, the space is large enough for our stuff and more, so hopefully we haven’t upset too many people. We unload as fast as possible although with five of us and a lot of stuff it’s not that fast, all I am saying is ‘dom’ – house and ‘magazyn’ – storage as my crafty plan of packing the vans sensibly has not quite worked. The vans naturally take up space in the road and there are a lot of curious folk about. Gosha mean while is cleaning the cabin of the van. Meanwhile, Madam gets a chair and sits and watches the show with a constant commentary.

We get back to the house and it is definitely time for lunch the kids are starving.  I had confidently bought all the things I know Polish people love, I have it from on good authority from a friend of ours who is Polish, and all you need is sausage, cheese and bread. So I lay out a smorgasbord of such with a little salad and watermelon thrown in.  Nobody is eating, except the kids, its hot I know but these guys have been working like demons all morning they must be a little hungry.  I try and encourage them to have some more and a little is eaten, but now, back to work time, ok, who am I to argue?

The last of the vans gets unloaded the house it a complete tip with boxes, bags suitcases I don’t really know how to start, but at this stage I do not care, I have a bottle of rose with my name on it and I am going to look at the view and enjoy. They then come and say to me they will help me unpack the boxes, not part of the job description, I point to the wine and explain my priority.  I asked Marek whether they were leaving St Paul tonight and he said no they wait for the next job, so I asked where they were staying, in their vans, naturally! I was curious where in the vans and they showed me the sleeping quarters above the cabin which was the size of a small double bed. Then it dawned on me these are the modern travellers, they travel huge distances loading and unloading stuff, could go at a moment’s notice anywhere in Europe (except Ukraine and Russia, I was later to find out).

Obviously I couldn’t let them loose on the ‘wilds’ of St Paul, so I offered them use of our bathroom, pool and of course they must stay for a braai (bbq).  After the ‘success’ of lunch I was a little anxious that they would not eat and perhaps had over stepped the mark.  All was well, the beers were flowing everybody’s English/Polish got better, hubby did what he does best and cooked good meat and we had a truly special evening.  So the next stop was, shrugs, who knew? Wait for the call and that’s just what they did.  They popped back for breakfast the next morning and then later that day Damien took off to Montpellier and Marek, Miroslav and Gosha, waited for two days in the Carrefour car park.  They wouldn’t accept any further hospitality and on the third day they were gone to travel to who knows where. 

I hope our paths cross again one day and I know I would use any of them to move anything for me, they were great, strong, hardworking men and there were no causalities of any sort that I have discovered from the move. I was pleased we had employed people and not just given money to a large faceless company and I think of these vans travelling all of Europe, what stories they must have.

If you need something delivered in Europe, here is the link to the website: https://www.vanone.co.uk

Fatigue, sore feet and granadillas

Fatigue, sore feet, granadillas

..... and this is my first day in France!!!  But hold up just a sec, wasn’t I in Africa more importantly the MOTHER CITY just three days ago, what is happening here......

So Wednesday morning arrive into Heathrow at 6.30 after NO sleep and two almost grown, well they felt like they were almost grown children lying on top of me so not at one’s best. Come through customs and hubby is no where to be seen the plane was early, of course, however I am digressing ... this will be a common trait so stop here now if digression is not for you.

Arrive home well it kinda of home been more like a warehouse  for the last six months with boxes everywhere and literally collapse it been a hard month of relaxing with the odd party or two for a ‘zero’ birthday and now NO sleep.

Thursday the big day to start packing and then simply pop all the household stuff into the trucks, yes 3 trucks, we did the Polish thing of a man and a van (a blog for another time)and off to the ferry by lunchtime well maybe a late lunch!  Six o’clock rolls round I am still instructing the ‘movers; how best to pack their trucks and remove all our worldly goods.

By 7pm we are finally in the new, well new to us MPV vehicle named Alice on the journey and am now frantically trying to find a ferry any ferry, just can we get across that channel, I am MUST get to France tonight!! I am exhausted from lifting and organising and what’s with these sore feet?

Finally we get on said ferry after paying an arm and a leg, no kidding, and we have a ‘lovely’ family  supper at 10pm.  Once docked at Calais only another 11 hours or so drive, WHAT ARE YOU KIDDING sleep deprived person here, remember??

However the ‘stuff that gives you wings’ and the almost freshly ground coffee is kicking in and I am rearing to go.  Hubby drives first little stint, haven’t driven Alice yet bit nervous off the ferry, wrong side of the road and all that, wimpy almost blond I know. My driving stints for the night/day (which country I am in) are around Paris and through Toulouse so the real easy ones then. Actually really don’t want to do the last bit, mountains over hangs, small roads,  lots of bends, not just yet thanks.

After 10 hours driving and a quick half an hour nap, we get into Limoux we check Eloise (the beloved feline) is ok and head for some lunch, did I not mention the constant meowing from London to Dover? Well, been in France we were too late, lunch is over and so we did the next best thing of toasting our journey so far with a Coupe de Limoux,  kids on the jus de  pomme.

Then with our tummies still rumbling and the many espresso and aforementioned caffeinated drinks start to kick in, I panic WHAT AM I DOING,  have I taken leave of my senses, who can go and live in France uproot the whole family and just expect it  all to work out? Well apparently me and then there it IS  >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

the most wonderful site of the Pyrenees ever, my heart swelling, in my head the heavenly choir is on top form. We have arrived to the most beautiful spot (in my eyes) in France.  The fatigue fades. the sore feet (unlike I have known since restaurant days) are not sore anymore, we drive into the rental house, the kids race for the pool and there they are: bright orange fruit and there are hundreds of them, granadillas in France (passion fruit to the uneducated) I have arrived to a touch of South Africa and a touch of mu children, heavenly, this is big soul stuff.

Now as these words come tumbling onto the page I cannot leave the view, Eric (the bat) has visited, I have met up with long lost friends who still don’t understand my ‘best’ French but I cannot leave this spot in my ‘office’ the mountain in front of me the sounds of the night around me and ‘village life happening its own way, actually a town but village just sounds more romantic.  The wine, my best ever; yes Ken I haven’t; left you behind and I think, this is it, this is how it’s meant to be but even I know it s not going to be this easy..... however there is going to be great granadilla liquor come the autumn and this year's vendage is on the horizon exciting times, oh and the fatigue, come on anyone can live on 30 sleep minutes in 24 hrs or was that just Maggie, bon nuit!