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.

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!