It's just a stroll over the mountain....



Looking down on Lesquerde

Towards the end of last year I had ear-marked some markets I really wanted to go to and see.  One in particular that really excited me was the Truffle Market in Lesquerde on the 9^th February.  It was on Sunday which for us is often not the best day but I was determined we would go and made sure hubby had it in his diary too.





The view in October - Via Ferrata

When he is not working he can be seen on the various walks, climbs and general grand randonnées that surround us.  One day he went off to pay the schools dinners about an hour later I got a call, have lunch without me I may be a while as presently I am on top of the mountain and going over to Lesquerde.  Four hours later a little dishevelled and very hungry he returns, I should have seen the warning signs!

Much to my shame I am not as fit as I once was and certainly not as toned as I should be but I like a stroll or two up not too steep an incline.  Where we live we are spoilt for choice as we can stroll through vineyards, villages, forests, around lakes and if we are so inclined even down to the beach but you cannot miss the mountains, they surround us.  The family have already taken to doing the local Via Ferrata but I declined and walked up the wrong way to see the view and what views they are.

So the 9^th arrives and I am all excited about the market, there will be NO parking so let’s walk it will just be a stroll over the mountain. Now, I know my husband knows my limitations and also my Mum is visiting and she is in good shape, but doesn’t really like going up steep inclines.  Are you sure it’s easy and a stroll, yes, you will all be fine.  The kids are a bit grumpy about having to walk and we have an extra one too, as we often do on the weekends.

So off we set, my Mum and I with our ‘old lady sticks’ and traipse off through the village.  As we start to ascend I look above me and realise this is going to be no stroll; and a little bit of me is really mad with myself, I should have known I KNOW what these mountains look like! The kids have warmed up and are competing with each other to be first, racing ahead like the mountain goats they are. 

The path is pretty good and the views are spectacular and every now and then I stop for a water break just to enjoy the stunning scenery.  The path seems to go up and up and the stones are getting loser and loser, I am very grateful for my stick.  I find myself walking alone and I start to breathe, really breathe not just panting but breathing the air right into my lungs, you can taste the earth as you breathe, it’s full of the garrique that surrounds us, which is the natural bush but just happens to be full of  natural growing herbs,  fennel ( hence Fenouillèdes,) also thyme, rosemary, lavender, sage, bay, it’s amazing; no wonder the wine tastes so good with all of this in the soil.  I pause again to survey the view and yes, I am sweating like a pig, I am sore and unfit but it’s beautiful, it is truly magnificent and I feel very privileged to be living in such an amazing part of the world.

We eventually get to the summit and see the village nestled below us, we hear the music and the hum of the market and now I am anxious to get there.  It takes a little while for us to meander down but we eventually get there.  Kids still racing ahead and in spite of a few scratches and grazes they are still in one piece. 

They get their reward of hot churros (doughnut like ropes, sprinkled with icing sugar and dipped in nutella) and play with a puppy while we investigate the market.

We see some vignerons with their maroon aprons and silver sieve-like medallions, from what I can understand they are inducted a new member into their fold.  We continue to peruse the stalls and get ‘caught’ by an artisan cheese seller, the cheese is delicious and especially after the stroll, but we buy far too much, well we were having guests for dinner that night. So many other lovely temptations, I try escargot for the first time and am very pleasantly surprised it’s delicious maybe that air had got to me or I was suffering from mountain fatigue but it was delicious. 

Eventually we make our way to the ‘truffle hall’ the smell hits you as you walk in.  A bit like the air itself  but much earthier and richer, and so many on display which to buy? I choose a stall that is as local as possible, knowing better than to ask exactly where, I buy my precious bit of ‘black gold’ and am very excited about having it, as the finishing touch to my starter of local ham and fried quail egg.

We are lulled by the smells, the music and a bit of the local wine, and I know I cannot face going back over that mountain, no matter how pretty.  So hubby and daughter ‘trot’ back over and go and collect the car and a while later come and collect us.  So we could have driven to the market, but something tells me we may have missed something, not least  ‘the essence of the land’.  I am really happy we did it but please don’t tell my husband.....

How Alice went to Perpignan, Polish and came back French

It’s been a while, sorry, been very busy with lots of ‘things’ including our first foray into French bureaucracy.

Well that's not quite true as we had to do all the forms for school but this was a venture out into the ‘French government world’ of getting our Polish car registered before the end of January.

Back in December I called the ever helpful and reliable E, HELP, I need to go to the Prefecture to get the ball rolling to register the car.  We go into Perpignan and go to said office and stand in the queue, I have what I think may be all the necessary papers but I am convinced there will be more.  How right I was.

E and the helpful women rattle off in French, I am catching only the odd word here and there but when I hear Paris and Renault I really start to panic, especially when E repeats it. After what seemed forever, the conversation abruptly ends with 'mercis, au revoir and bonne journées'; and E says we need a coffee and a sit down and she will explain it all slowly as even she got confused.  Thank goodness she was with me.

So we have a list of forms we must take back with us to get the all important ‘carte grise’ the most important one being the European compliance form from Renault, as that takes the longest and should be done straight away. We should not go to the Treasury before the 22 Jan as then the car (Alice) will be exactly 10 years old and the import tax will be half price which would amount to rather a large saving.

I dutifully email Renault straight away asking for said form, a couple of days later I get a reply, they are very happy to give me said form if I part with €155.00. Are you kidding me, this car has never been out of Europe and now that I want to bring to France (home of it’s manufacture) I need to pay this for privilege.  E and I tried to investigate further, on why we had to pay this large sum but we were hitting our heads against the proverbial brick wall. So pay we did and held our breath that it would come in time.

Now for the control technique (MOT), once again the lovely E came to the fore and booked our appointment in Perpignan.  We duly took Alice in and of course there was a ‘petit problème’.  Which meant we had to go to our local mechanic to have the petit problème’ fixed.  However the lovely mechanic was ‘très malade’ and unable to work for three days, he is quite well now thankfully.  I was starting to panic as the insurance was going to expire in three days....

I really did not want to be driving an illegal car especially with other people’s children in it.  So we went to our local insurance office and explained our problem, once again no officiousness just a very kind and helpful woman who, fortunately for me spoke quite good English.  This is very complicated she says, we know we say, however leave it with me and then I will send you the quote we still have a bit of time.  So we did, and she did send the quote and although I still do not really understand it all we paid for a month and then when we get our card grise she will start the yearly insurance cover. Okay breathe, it’s going to be okay.

We had also been to the Treasury to get their required form, another trip to Perpignan I was really holding my breath here as we thought this would be very expensive, however, the once again very kind man (who spoke perfect English but will keep speaking French as it is better for us to learn) gave us the correct form required and charged us NOTHING!!! What the whole reason this had to be so last minute was because it would be cheaper not nothing, but don’t look a gift horse and all that...

So, the letter had come from Renault, hurrah. With the mechanic back in good health the ‘petit problème’ was fixed all we had to do was go back to the control technique to have it rubber stamped. Then back to the Prefecture.  Let’s just check do we have all the correct forms and passports?

We arrive at the Prefecture at 10.30ish and stand in the queue, closes at 11.30, while we in the queue I realise I have forgotten the most important document, the car registration, which fortunately was in the car in the car park.  Hubby says wait and see what the lady says and if she is happy with all the other forms and then he would go and get it.  Our turn at the window comes, no English this time but smiles and understanding on both sides result!  But before we can get the all important number she must see the car registration card first.  No need to queue again, just get the card and come to the window.  We do all that,  but she is not at the window, phew she sees us as she is going for her smoke break and is happy enough for us to be rewarded for the all important queue number.

So we are number 59, and its only 30 something on the board, so we wait and we wait, and wait a little longer, eventually we are called and all looks well but then we wait some more to be pay and get the all important form.  The doors have closed long ago, lots of the staff are leaving for lunch, the blinds are coming down on the counter windows we are still waiting, and there are only about five of us left.  It must be complicated I say this Polish registered car, bought in England, manufactured here and now trying to be registered here.  Eventually our name is called and you would like HOW MANY EUROS..... so this was the expensive bit, but it’s done, Alice is no longer Polish but French.

Our reward was a delicious lunch at a local bistro with some great local wines; Alice was presented and fitted with shining new French plates. On the way home hubby says now that we know what do to do it will be a doddle for the English car.......... I had no words!