Farewell to the Granadilla Vine

Sorry I know it’s been a while. Dealing with French officialdom and administration is a full time job and has been taking much of my time.
When we first moved to France, my husband always said it will be ‘just for a year’ well that time has flown by and our year is nearly over.  I am however happy to report that is not just for a year especially as I am about to launch my new business Le Petit Chou Café.

But let’s rewind a little, after the kids were settled at school I began looking for some formal employment and even though the French grannies and gardens were keeping us busy it was not putting food on the table.  Obviously my biggest hurdle was my lack of fluency in French and nothing really suitable was being offered so as we say in Africa ‘ a boer maak a plan’ – (one makes a plan).

Our lovely friend and French teacher of all things official Mr C said ‘what you need is the little cafe under the arch’ what cafe under the arch?  (Mr C we cannot thank you enough for all the help and support you have given us).So this is how it all began.  We met with the owner who was amenable to our plan and so the paper trail began....

Firstly, I had to attend two courses in French one of 2 days and the other of 3 days, this was for the Hygiène alimentaire and Permis d'exploitation basically Health and Safety and the Operational licence.  Fortunately I was able to study some of the course material online beforehand and then translate the relevant slides so I could try and keep up with the class.  On the first day I arrived with big butterflies in my tummy worse than any exam.  (This was after very complicated child-care arrangements as of course, the courses were in the same week hubby needed to be in London.)  I greeted my fellow attendees with the usual bonjours and tried to smile confidentially when I was feeling anything but.  Just take the iniative Ruth, I thought, so I went up to the lecturer and explained my situation and he was very sympathetic as were the rest of my class mates.  I would love to say it was plain sailing from here on in but it certainly wasn’t in fact it was really hard work with lots of homework to do in the evening just to keep up, however I did manage to do it and obtain the necessary certificates required.

Next on the list was the notaire to set up the lease, ‘this is a very usual situation’, he said after I explained what I needed. Why was I not surprised, I thought the end of this venture would stop right there in the notaire’s office but then he said ‘ah, yes we could do it like this but it will mean this’ and then proceeded to list all the restrictions and conditions. Great, when can we sign? ‘Leave it with me’, six weeks later we were able to sign the lease, still not sure what took all that time but that’s how it goes around here.

Next port of call was the mairie; we had a good relationship with the outgoing mayor and didn’t really know the new one.  However we meet him socially and he was very charming and eager to assist in any way possible.  I made a rendez-vous for the next week and all the necessary permissions went smoothly including the agreement on me renting the outside space adjacent and opposite the cafe.

After signing the lease we needed to go to the Masion l’enterprise to register the business but surprise, surprise the local one is closed for the holidays and I now need to go to Perpignan,  I still need to register with the Department of Minstere de L’Agriculture, De L’Agroaliment et de la Foret, for the health and safety bit, meeting the bank manager or equivalent, sorting out the insurance all to be done by Friday. That’s all!

In the meantime we have been enjoying the company of some lovely visitors including my family from South Africa. Meeting them off the TGV from Paris, as my belle-soeur stepped off the train she didn’t see me, but my 7 month old nephew did and gave me this HUGE grin, what a way to meet him for the first time! It was precious moment. We had a wonderful time with them and I was very sad to see them go, however we have lovely visitors for the rest of August and currently some of our closest friends are with us.

So the cafe opens on the 1^st August we need to leave our rented house by the 31^st August so this is farewell to the granadilla vine that is in its full glory at the moment.  This house has cradled us for our first year and helped us settle into the community, we will miss the glorious views but the one thing about St Paul there is always a glimpse of a view.  So my next blog will be on peitichoucafe@blogspot.com which will be written in a quiet moment outside the cafe still looking at our wonderful mountains.

Thank you for reading this blog and the support you have given me and I hope to see you on the petitchou site. A bientôt.

A new emotion – Potager envy?

Potager to our immediate left

I don’t think I am an envious or jealous person however this ‘new’ emotion has got a real good grip on me.  Who knew there was such a thing as potager envy.... and trust me I have got a large dose of it.

We always knew that the Jardin Legume would be a challenge the plot that we are able to use has not been worked for a couple of years or so and the weeds are high and solid.  However, not to be daunted we choose a bit to work on and clear which hopefully we would be able to plant some potatoes in sooner rather than later.

Potager to our right

We were lucky as the first day we began the big dig  it had rained the night before which somewhat eased our task but it was still hard going.  We began to dig the larger weeds, then tackling the smaller plants and grass.  In need of inspiration I would glance at our neighbour’s perfectly prepared neat and tidy garden and think one day, our patch could look like that too.

As it was in the beginning...

It took several days of hard digging, pulling, plucking, raking just to be able to begin to hoe some furrows.  I kept the target in sight by glancing at the neighbours neat rows.  After checking the lunar calendar for the optimium planting days; the day was almost nigh when the ground would be ready and the seed potatoes could go in.  I am determined to be as chemical free as possible in all our gardens and if bio-dynamics and the phases of the moon aid and assist, it’s all good as far as I’m concerned.

Pomme de terre planted

So the big day arrives and after a little extra hoeing of furrows we could plant our potatoes, so exciting.  I made an earlyish start as it was a warm day and even after the first hour of fine-tuning I was sweating like a pig.... very attractive I know, but hopefully the effort will be rewarded. Planted and watered we will now have to wait and see how our crop fares, the weather has really been kind with soft gentle rain at night to help our cause.

Lézard Vert  

Looking around the plot I was feeling overwhelmed with gratitude and wonder, so many beautiful things and creatures to see and hear.  The bird song is truly amazing sometimes almost deafening.  There are loads of ‘good’ bugs, worms and lizards and hubby was fortunate enough to see a pine marten lurking under the cherry trees. The garden is directly below the mountain (which has the cross on it) and the potagers on either side are full with straight rows of vegetables and beautiful flowers. The river is not far away and we can hear it bubble and gurgling as we work.

However, we have so far to go, but in the meantime we can and do use our envy for inspiration and just enjoy being in the town but in a beautiful setting surrounded by abundance of life.

Recently, we have also agreed to look after G's town garden, probably one of the bigger gardens attached to a house in St Paul.  It is really big and needs a very good mow but needs to be scythed/chopped first.  It too has an abundance of fruit trees, which are old and established. 

As for the Jardin Cache, hubby has been using the still weather (as in not much wind) to burn much of what we have cleared.  It is a hot sticky job and there is so much to burn and we only really have the rest of this month to do it.  No open fires between June and September by order of The Pompiers! Today he and a friend are tackling the bigger trees with a chainsaw, I hope they both come back in one piece. (Of course they did, with stories to tell!)

We wanted space and gardens we certainly have that, probably a little more than we need and can mange probably but each one is unique and special and fits a purpose, but its the jardin legume that has my attention right now and I hope one day I can return the emotion of potager envy to anyone who may glance at our veggie plot. In the meantime the first crop of cherries need to be picked before the birds get them all.

A bientôt.

One a penny, deux centime.... we have a garden or two...

The beginning of the story of the Jardin cache.

(Firstly apologies to all my loyal readers that I have not posted in a long while, a LOT has been happening but nothing I can really report on yet!)


A while back we asked the then Monsieur Mayor, if he knew of a potager jardin (allotment) we could rent or buy.  On our return from a trip to the UK there is a message from said Mayor giving us details of a lady who may be interested in helping us out.


I met up with G the owner of a garden, a local in her seventies or so, who married an Englishman (shock, horror!). She doesn’t want to sell as it belonged to her grandfather and father but we could ‘take care’ of it for her.  It is however fairly overgrown and there is an issue of water. She took me to the garden a little out of town down a little farm-like track, past an old chestnut horse that looked very quizzically at us.

We got to the garden and negotiated through the petite cabane (little hut) door and through the cobwebs and spiders and through the next door into the garden. As I stepped out into the garden G was not joking this was a jungle not just slightly overgrown.  I however had this weird sensation, the same as when I was watching the Secret Garden and they found the door, this was also something magical. However the comparisons stop there apart from the name we have given it, which the lovely E helped us choose.

When hubby returned from the UK I took him to see the garden and to see if he was up for the challenge.  I stood back to watch his reactions which went from horror, to intrigue and then to possibility; the garden magic was working on him too.

The following Saturday the whole family returned to start clearing and see just what we were dealing with.  This was not for the faint hearted this was a daunting task, there were brambles everywhere, and ivy had invaded all the mature trees and anything else it could find with vines thicker than most ropes I had ever seen. ‘Ma fille’ immediately climbed the biggest of the fig tree and started pulling ivy down.  She had good practice on holiday in the UK when she was helping clearing her grandparents’ new overgrown garden.

‘Le garcon’ and I started clearing around the cherry trees eventually finding ten in all after removing all the growth both under and over. By lunchtime we had managed to find a flattish surface virtually clear, to have our picnic.  The garden is a triangle shape with the rural track along one side with a deteriorating fence, a stone wall along the back and then an irrigation channel with a completely collapsed fence. 


As we wearily munched our sandwiches we realised how peaceful it all was, apart from two fisherman we saw in the morning there had been no human or vehicle traffic all morning and that continued for the rest of the day. With the birds singing merrily and the abundance of butterflies it was a real sanctuary.

As a family we have continue to work clearing the garden but it has to be said that S has done the lion’s share of the work.  We have found five large beautiful fig trees, the shapes they have made are stunning, an old apricot tree (which hopefully we have rescued in time) and a greengage and other yet unidentified fruit trees.  There is a possibility of more plums along the back wall but we are still making our way there.

The main problem for planting any veggies was the lack of water in spite of the river being only 50m away there is no practical way of getting large amounts into the garden.  S and I walked up the irrigation channel to find if there was a source further up the hill (I felt I was in my own edition of Jean de Florette), but unfortunately what once might have been a proper irrigation is now just an overflow storm water drain. We discussed many ways of getting water to the garden and eventually decided to clear a space and plant some low water veggies there and the rest in our garden at home in grow bags. (Part of our letting agreement was not to cultivate our owner’s garden).

The next thing we know J (one of our French grannies) comes a-calling. Are you looking for a potager? Yes, but we have the use of G garden, so we are good. But you haven’t seen my garden and what I can offer you, you must come and see. Ok, S dutifully went along to see said garden. Well, what a surprise and another little jewel. Right in the town not far from where we are living she has a garden with over 30 fruit trees and a large plot for growing vegetables with loads of water!! We could have this bit to cultivate, apologies it’s not very big (only about 50m²) more than enough for our needs.

So effectively we now have three gardens to look after, one at home with the swimming pool and grow bags, one to grow our lovely veggies in and one to hide away from the world.  With imminent homelessness in September at least we will be able to have somewhere to pitch a tent until the ‘real’ winter sets in. 

I am writing this under the old apricot tree in the jardin cache the wind is howling with huge gusts but we are protected from its effects and once again about to have a family picnic under its boughs. If we had been at the house we couldn’t have been outside as it would be too windy. I look around at our progress with clearing and anticipate great things to come, already designing things to suit all. A reading platform in  a tree for ‘ma fille’, a place to throw or kick a ball for ‘ma fils’, a quiet place to contemplate our next move and possibly bring the hammock down, and of course the prerequisite braai and eating area. Not forgetting the all important pétanque pitch for endless hours of fun and family rivalry. This is so much more this wonderful jardin cache has to offer, it probably needs it’s own blog... à bientôt.

Before

with some clearing

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!

How we feasted over the fête.

There was great debate this year on our Christmas and holiday feasting.  As it was going to be our first Christmas in France we were keen to embrace our new culture as well as keep some good old traditions going.

Before we moved here I was told that the French ‘don’t do Christmas’ well nothing could be further from the truth and yes they do not do Christmas in a ‘in your face, overly commercial way’ but let’s face it the French never turn down a chance to party.

On the day of Noel it would just be the four of us with our constant companion Skype we decided we would not go the turkey route and possibly just do duck or goose with most of the trimmings. However we never got past the entree and left overs! For Christmas Eve we chose to go with slow roast lamb which was simply delicious.  We ate this before Midnight Mass which was at 9pm, not midnight.  Mass was a really interesting experience, especially as it was in French and and as we are not catholic,  it's not our usual form of worship.

Traditionally we always have champagne and panettone on Christmas morning and this year was no exception.  After the mass unwrapping and a bit of Skyping it was such a beautiful day we decided to go for a walk around the town which ended up so hot we were down to shirt sleeves.  On our return I started to prepare the foie gras which was our constant entree over the fete season.  Delicious as we know with aged biscuity champagne, Muscat doux or possibly my favourite an Alsace Gewürztraminer. We had all three at one time or another. The kids enjoyed the foie gras but preferred the chocolate given by Papa Noel, no restrictions on Christmas day.

The traditional starters here during this time are foie gras, smoked salmon and oysters and who were we to buck tradition?  As we love all three we embraced this but possibly overdid it on the oysters just a touch, I love them but gluttony does spring to mind, needless to say we had more than our fair share.

Boxing day (which doesn’t exist here) was all about the sanglier, it was too large for us to have ‘en familie’ so we invited our good friends around to share it with us.  I had marinated the meat for 2 days in red wine and herbs and then cooked it really slowly, mainly on top of the fire.  I served it with the traditional haricot beans.  It was rich and delicious and accompanied with a magnum of the local Cote du Roussillon village red it was a real feast and felt good; like we could taste the ‘earth’ on our plate and in our glass, could I feel, just a little root growing?

Hubby had kindly brought back a really good Christmas pudding and mince pies from England. (I hadn’t realised you could not buy them here or the get most of the ingredients either, next year I will be more organised.)  They were delicious as was the shop bought bûche au chocolate, which is the more traditional dessert here. Of course the fromage, oh the fromage we should have just lived on the fromage.

On the Sunday we decided to explore a local market at Esperanza, about 30 minutes up the valley and it was a good market but we didn’t need anything which was almost disappointing, however one always needs bread and the hazel nut and raisin baguette never made it back home, it was so good.  On the way out I noticed an old ice cream box holding some treasure, local truffles; I had to have one. Hubby paled and was scared to ask the price but I came away with a small one and for truffle was a very reasonable price.  Shaved on top of scrambled eggs, simply delicious. Even a thumbs from the kids but I think that was more about the eggs than the truffle itself.

Suddenly it was New Year’s Eve and what to eat then? Ma fille was really determined that we did most of our traditions – dress up naturally, with lots of bling..... and watch a certain appropriate ‘Holiday’ film.  So we had an early dinner of magret de canard with a black cherry jus, really good.  We then left the house at 9ish to go up the mountain to join our friends for a New Years Eve party.  The kids played in the cold on the tennis courts and we dance up a ‘petite tempête.’  Good fun had by all.

We had many delicious meals at various friends, made some fun stuff together like our ‘four seasons’ pizza, (we all had our own corner), and generally feasted.  Thank goodness for the almost daily walks to shift a bit of those calories.

All too soon it was the 5^th and the Gallette des Rois needed to be had, we had a savoury one on the Saturday night which was delicious with jambon and cheese sauce all encased in pastry (it was worth those millions of calories) then two brioche types; one with caramel and one with candied fruits, all very delicious. The kids had one at school on the 6^th as well.  I was sad to take down the decorations and put out our beautiful tree but at least we will use it again for our summer braais, along with the vine wood we have collected.

So now it’s time to work off those extra calories like most after a period of feasting but I have just heard the French celebrate the new year all of January and there is bound to be more feasting..... not sure I can cope! Bonne année!

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!