Our Four Legged Friends in France

It's all very well relocating to the other side of the world when you know what's going on, but how does it feel to our furry family members?  If only they could tell us.  In a way, they do, and we are getting better at interpreting their needs, wants, likes and dislikes.

Safe to say they won't be too keen on a repeat performance of flying in a crate for thirty odd hours straight without food, company or exercise.  However, our reassurance was that they were in good hands and a word of advice to anyone thinking of flying pets around the world - shop around. After some research, we chose All Animal Transport (www.allanimaltransport.com.au) and felt very confident that our Chubs were in good hands with owner Mary. Not only that, but her approach was far more personal than Jet Pets or Dogtainers, for example, and her pricing way more competitive.

  

Now they are here it is noticeable how much more snuggly they are, relishing cuddles and hugs and crowding onto the sofa with us wherever possible. Even Oscar. Especially Oscar.  He is positively a changed cat - we think he is truly happy to still be with his family and not left behind as sadly cats often are. 

Out and about, Roly and Pepper come with us anywhere we can take them, which is pretty much everywhere. They are welcome in all cafes and restaurants, the bank, the post office, McDonald's, shopping centres, department stores, on the bus, on the train, on the tram - the list goes on.  They can't go into the supermarket which is fair enough but of course they can go to the weekly market, if they wanted to that is.  But they don't really want to - too scary.   

 It is interesting to witness the things that are new, strange and therefore scary to them. Being Gold Coast dogs who took their walks along the beach and in the park, these new scary things include and encompass trams, tram tracks, tram stations, tram pasengers, scooters, mopeds, gutters, man hole covers, grilles, escalators, lifts, stairwells, travelators, zebra crossings, shopping centres, department stores, security guards, carousels, waiters, waitresses, students, bridges, information offices, markets, taxis, taxi drivers, neighbours and neighbours' bicycles.  Oh, also street performers (understandable) (entirely forgiveable). And skateboards. 

New and strange to us is the marvellous range of dog and cat care grooming products available as standard in the supermarket.  Dog and cat Toilettage salons proliferate, catering to the well coiffed pet. We continue to be horrified by the dog poo defiling all streets and the scant regard for sanitation shown by dog owners - so much so that there are government paid persons patrolling the streets with Moto Crotte (above left) which are motorcyles designed to suck up dog poo!!!  Tax payers foot this bill! 

All buildings welcome pets as residents, no weight or breed discriminated against (or so it seems), yet dogs are not allowed in any park!  Lapin flavoured pet food is de rigeur as rabbits will be a plentiful and viable food source here, but are not to the taste of Oscar who is sticking to his usual seafood platter.  Roly and Pepper can't get over the new smells and scents and plunge chest deep into each and every one where possible. 

I'm sure they miss racing up and down the Spit, but they seem be embraceing this voyage of discovery as thoroughly as we have. Which just goes to show anything is possible so long as we all have each other - and plenty of treats!

Jusqu'ici tout va bien!

Well, we have started Our French Life.  All of us arrived safely at Samois by car, and that does include all three pets none of whom travelled on the roof of the car in a crate. No way!  I think I must have given the wrong impression. We tightly hugged our furry Chubs in the car all the way to Holly and Philippe’s country house, so pleased were we all to see each other. 

We had a wonderful country weekend in a wonderful house in a wonderful place. Log fires, walks alongside the Seine, wandering through the Fontainbleu market, crêpes in the local bistrôt, red wine and raclette, ordering new phones on line, digging Holly’s  old car out of the garden with a view to giving it a second lease on life au Sud, Simon teaching Alex French (‘quoi de neuf’), Alex teaching Simon to throw boomerang – really special memories and a really special welcome.

Then down to the nitty gritty. A train ride to Paris with horrified pets who have never even seen a train never mind taken a journey on one (n.b. pet tranquillisers to be recommended, thank you Holly), all our cumbersome luggage weighing us down and no luggage trolleys to be had, arriving in Montpellier in the middle of a storm only to find the agent had left our rental apartment a whole FOUR MINUTES after we were due to arrive. Apparently we were late. Hmmph.  No option but to wait. So wait we did - in a nearby McDonald’s and it turns out McDonald’s France not only serve beer but are happy to accept dogs and cats too!  How fab is that?  Never thought I’d put McDonald’s and fab in the same paragraph

but they saved our skin that day.

So now we are in the lovely flat, slap bang in the middle of Montpellier, how do we feel? Well, we are just thrilled to have French bank accounts and credit cards, a French mobile and hopefully soon a French car as these things are the basics of life which are both impossible to do without and difficult to sort out from afar - or even whilst in the country. We are pleased we fixed up a bank account with HSBC in advance of our arrival and thank you Jessica for your help with all the PIN numbers etc. sent to your home!! Anyone thinking of relocating should definitely do this first, where possible – makes us feel like proper residents. 

It’s still difficult to remember that things close for lunch and everything closes on Sunday but fabulous to have great cafés on every corner all of whom welcome dogs and still serve rubbish coffee.  We realise we have replaced coffee with wine or beer which could prove a problem long term...

It’s amazing to stumble across parts of the town that are still new to us and find they are the old stamping grounds of Nostradamus, Rabelais or Valéry. We get a thrill when we hear the trains departing from the Gare Saint Roch for cities such as Venice, Madrid or Geneva.

We are still a bit shocked by the dog poo everywhere and are fastidiously cleaning up after Roly and Pepper to set a good example.  Seeing graffiti on grand old buildings causes some disappointment but taking a tram to new destinations is uplifting. We have found our boulangerie of choice and go every morning for fresh baguettes. Speaking the language well presents our biggest hurdle and we are researching local schools for intensive courses.  Overall, it’s truly exciting and quite exhilarating to feel we are actually here embalking upon something new and challenging and that it’s for real, not just an extended holiday.  It feels good to be doing it and not just talking about it. 

Adieu l'Australie

Two figures clad in several layers of clothes, their pockets stuffed with books and toiletries and wearing multiple hats, finally staggered onto the flight to Singapore, the last passengers to board the plane.

These two people had been seriously overweight with their luggage, understandable given that they were permanently leaving the country on one-way tickets.  These two people had thus been forced to re-pack their bags and jettison assorted items before being allowed onto the flight.

This represented the farewell of Folie Madame et Monsieur to the Great Southern Land that had been their home for the last twelve years.

Fortunately the stash bag containing valium and xanax had successfully made it onto the flight, and the Brisbane – Singapore – Dubai – Paris journey passed without further mishap, and rather pleasantly too, once the drinks trolley started patrolling.

Our arrival into Paris, around supper time on a crisp Spring evening, went smoothly with Passport control barely glancing at our documents and the Douane chatting amongst themselves as we slid into the country we were to call our new home. 

An overnight stay at the airport Mercure featured giant beers and a good night’s sleep in readiness for the rendez-vous with our pets who would be arriving the next morning having spent 36 hours without food travelling in transporter crates in the chilly hold of a Cathay Pacific plane.

The ever-reliable and newly svelte Holly arrived promptly as arranged, and after navigating endless administrative diversions insurmountable without Holly’s intervention, Roly, Pepper and Oscar emerged from their crates into the frigid morning air of the French cargo dock.

And they were just fine!  Thrilled to see us and very hungry indeed, but just fine.  After big cuddles and a swift snack we loaded the crates precariously onto the roof of the Renault (hurrah for bungees!) and set out on the peripherique to Samois sur Seine, the location of Holly’s country house and the start of our new life in France.  To be continued...

Hâte à l'hiver....

It's been interesting to note reactions when it is revealed we are going to live in France, moving to the the Northern Hemisphere.

One of the non positive responses goes something like 'oh my god, think of those winters!'. 

As I was fondling a soft black leather Samvara bag (on left -should I buy it? really expensive..), lusting after a pair of black suede boots seen on line and coveting a mongolian lamb gilet, I suddenly realised I LOVE THE WINTER!  In fact, being a true goth at heart, I'd pick a floor length coat over a sun dress any day and the idea of being able to wear leather gloves again makes my heart sing.

Is this strange?  I have many friends who will be horrified by my words and would gladly spend their entire lives in a never-ending summer.  But that's not me.  I can appreciate the ease offered by dressing in little more than singlet, shorts and thongs year round, but overall I do find it rather boring.  I loathe the ever present humidity that saps energy and turns hair to mush and am truly looking forward to good hair days x 365 once we hit humidity free French shores! 

There is nothing nicer than a glass of red beside a crackling log fire and my favourite foods are all cold weather rib-stickers - shepherd's pie, casseroles, stews, French onion soup, lasagne, lamb shanks, Sunday roasts. 

I'm naturally attracted to velvet curtains, leather sofas, persian rugs and chandeliers, none of which 'gel' particularly
well with 38 degree days, 87% humidity and loose sand from the beach. 

Suffice to say I'm stoked at the thought of donning my Russian hat again and stalking out into the crisp morning for a hot chocolate. 

But what of Folie Monsieur who doesn't own a sweater, never mind a coat? Who daydreams about body surfing and year round poolside barbies? What of Roly, Pepper and Oscar who have never seen snow? How will they react? All will be revealed soon enough, I guess, and it's no fluke that we selected the South of France and not Brittany or Scotland! And the good thing about a proper winter (apart from the fabulous clothes!) is that it makes a flower filled spring followed by a long, hot summer all the easier to appreciate. That said, you might want to ask me again how I feel about winter this time next year...

r...

Je ne regrette rien....?

In less than one month's time we shall be living in Montpellier.  Rue Henri René, a few paces from Place de la Comedie.  Un bijou pied à terre until we find our permanent home.  Formidable, right??  Hmmm....

I had no idea it would feel so - strange - unsettling, and sometimes just plain crazy to take such a step. I mean, it all felt idéal when we were there last year, didn't it?  We loved it, had a great time, could picture ourselves there in a heartbeat.  However, but, BUT - now that our house has been sold, our goods have been shipped, our pets innoculated and booked one way (!) Cathay Pacific to CDG, it all seems, well, very scary, very final.

Are we in for a rude awakening when we start living in France for real? Were we looking at French life through 'holiday eyes' to quote Folie Monsieur's dad? Will the nitty gritty of the daily grind quickly relieve us of our rose (or tricolore) tinted glasses? Or will being 'closer to the core' to quote Roxette's Per Gessler make up for any disappointments or difficulties?

Funny thing is, when you know you are leaving behind a place (or a person) it enables a different perspective.  A kinder, more indulgent one where shortcomings or inadequacies are overlooked. The familiar is your friend. Thus, suffocating heat punctuated by torrential downpours seems capricious now, rather than extreme.  Coles vs. Woolworths seems straightforward rather than severely restricted.  The year round ease of living in little more than singlet, shorts and thongs takes on a transcendental appeal, as opposed to a yearning for the more seasonal, sophisticated things in life.  What can this mean? Should we stay put and never have started this heady flirtation with all things South of France? Is it just the equivalent of pre-wedding jitters?

I think not. I hope not.  The older we get the tricker it is to embalk upon adventure, so it's only natural major upheaval should give us the jitters.  However, two things sustain us.  Deathbed regrets are rarely composed of 'if only I'd done more overtime, stayed with that loser and never tried anything new'.  And, thanks to the insurpressable buoyance of the Australian psyche, should we abandon our French life and return to the antipodean shores we know, we surely would be greeted with little more than 'she'll be right, mate - coldie?', and resume our normal duties like we'd never left.  A testimony to the strength of this country, the dynamism of its appeal and its confidence in its future. 

One Small step for Folie Madame et Monsieur and one Giant step for Roly, Pepper and Oscar.  On y va!

  



 

Alliance Française

Moving to France to live isn't the real deal if you're only going to speak pidgin French and hang out with ex-pats only, right?

Right.  That's not me. Us.  We are going to Get Right Into It. Speak French, and all that.  Oui.  I had a fair bit of fun brushing up on the old French earlier this year, but now it's for real, and it feels a bit different. A bit heavier. A bit more serious. 

I mean, we think it's cute when foreign tongues talk about 'sheeps' or refers to a dining table as 'she', but the French?  Non. Pas drôle. The French language, she is beautiful, and deserves our respect.

Righty-ho!  Off to enrole in Alliance Française are we!

Oh, boy.  I'm almost changing my mind about moving to France.....

Okay, I've arrived half way through the course (can't work out if it's Intermediate 2 or Beginners 2 and I'm too ashamed to even acknowledge the latter) and everyone has a five week head start on me, but still. The first bit went well and I managed to show off and prattle on and make people laugh - with me, I'm sure.  Bon.  Then we got to grammar and the homework everyone else had prepared in advance and I got to do on the spot. 

Things started to crumble.  Something about the Infinitif followed by 'de' or 'à' and - horreur -  LE SUBJONCTIF.  Je déteste LE SUBJONCTIF.  I mean WHY?? Why does there have to be this additional torture? Isn't it bad enough that we not only have to learn that a stamp is masculine and a letter is feminine but if we want to suggest to someone they put a stamp on a letter it requires a whole new declension?  WHY? 

I made the mistake of asking our teacher, the elegent and restrained Madame C. WHY?? It's daft, I said.  We've got enough on our plates trying to remember 'this', 'that', 'those' and 'these' have to correspond not only with the plurality of the object but also with the gender, and the applications aren't interchangeable as they are in ever-so-lovely and terribly versatile English, La Langue du Monde Civilisé, à mon avis.

"Hi don no why", she said, "hits a rrrule, a rrrrule, Puwla, 'an you mus lerrrn hit hif huw are gon to liv hin France".  "Yeah, but..", I started. "HITS A RRRRULE, YOU 'AF TO LERRRN HIT", she finished.

Okaaay. I 'af to lerrrrn hit.  Bugger. It's not easy being on the planet half ('alf) a century and then try to re-learn how to do more than order a meal and ask for directions - or ask out boys - in another language.   But you know what, that is all part of the programme and why we embalk upon the rich adventure of life and the challenges thrown us.   Isn't it?

Et La Vie Ne Sera Jamais Plus Le Même...

'We notify seller that all conditions have been met and in this regard your contract is now unconditional' .....and life shall never be the same again.

Salut!  It's been a while. An eventful while.  Life has moved quietly on these past months, and the enveloping Frenchness of life in the Languedoc became a memory, rather than a hope, as everyday life encroached.

Financial markets have been fraught, housing markets depressed.  Buyer confidence low, petrol prices high.  Unrest, disturbance, turbulence, unsurety and sometimes just tedium has prevailed.  There have been some high spots..

Cadel Evans won La Tour..

    ....and Samantha Stosur won the US Open. 

Go Aussies! 

The weather has been perfect, the jacarandas in splendid bloom, the beaches beautiful again after the ravages of last summer's cyclones. It's been a terrific year for the NZ sauvignon blancs.

I've seen a lot of Sarah, been re-united with Tenille, drunk magnums of champagne and danced around the living room wearing assorted hats. 

But there was always something just not quite right, a nostalgia, a feeling.

Where was the new chapter, the life change, la vie en rose?  Was it not meant to be?  For a while, it seemed so. We left it in the lap of the gods, and suddenly - there it was!  In a matter of 4 days we went from On the Market to Unconditional and we had our answer. Yes, you are on your way! Yes, it is going to happen! Say goodbye to Australia and bonjour to France!

We will arrive Spring 2012, Montpellier it is.  A momentous occurrence.  "Be careful, you may get what you think you want........"  Watch this space.