Is the Shopping Better in Britain...or am I just living in the Sticks??

Buying a house inevitably entails buying things for it.  Some things like Liquid Nails and paint are not so terribly exciting, although they do promise change for the better. Other things like sofas and chandeliers are utterly thrilling (at least to me) and merit considerable thought and planning.

 

Given our budget for furnishings, it's a good thing that I adore old stuff and that the prospect of weilding sand paper and a paint brush around a bedside cabinet purchased for 4 euros from the car boot sale deprives me of sleep through sheer excitement.  I didn't realise, though, that my passion for brocante, chineur, vide grenier, Emmaus, skip trawling etc. was also going to be practically my only choice for furnishing our home - apart from Ikea, that is. 

Much as I love and admire Ikea, and am terribly grateful there is one a 30 minute hop down the road, I don't want an entire house decked out courtesy of our Swedish ally.  I want choice, the ability to select from a range of suppliers and outlets, the possibility of comparing one rug / dining chair / console with another.  I would like a broad spectrum of bedding options and kick-ass kitchen ware selections. I'd prefer the idea of choosing between roman blinds, shutters, curtains, sheers, panel glides, venetians etc. to be a clear and present challenge rather than a distant memory.  In my personal opinion fabric should be offered in more than toile, stripes and 80's florals.

 

I never thought I would actively miss Pillow Talk, Freedom, Domayne, Kitchen World and Spotlight quite so acutely.  Not to mention Rugs-a-Million!! What I wouldn't give for a Rugs-a-Million now.  And these are Australian shops. I couldn't even begin to list the home furnishing options on offer in the UK - there, it's best to decide on your decorating style before leaving home in order to thus target the appropriate retailers, never mind wondering if there will be any duvet covers on the shelves actually available to buy as I do here. 

I like Maisons du Monde, I really do.  The furniture section of Galeries Lafayette is lovely for lofts and hotel particuliers.  A store called But presents an impressive selection of items almost exclusively upholstered in Union Jacks and Eiffel towers.  The rugs at 

Décor are all polypropelene and they had NO hall runners.  I am not fond of pimp style leather furniture so that elimiates Chateau d'Ax.  Where else do I go? I am sure there are places I don't yet know about or have not heard of.  I am becoming prepared to drive to Lyon or Marseille for a shopping fix and would hire a van, too!  I realise of course the plethora of possibility available on line and may just have to settle for that, although it's quite nice to wander around a few department stores and then have a sustaining snack, something on line won't ever supply. 

 

 

Shopping isn't all furniture and homewares, either.  Clothes are nice to buy. Alex needs new clothes to match his new slimline shape.  And shoes. His feet haven't changed size but co-ordinating shoes are good.  Mercifully the clothing options are marginally better here and Odysseum or Polygone can usually drum up some interesting offers.  But don't go looking for singlets or shorts out of season and put aside all thoughts of stylish, statement shoes of novel design.  Brown and black with laces rule.  Or boots.

I'm going to London soon.  I can feel a lengthy visit to Top Shop, Heals and Habitat coming on.  I might even get on a train and go to the Metro Centre, just down the road from my parent's house near Durham.  Really wish I hadn't booked a baggage free Ryan Air ticket now... 

Buying a House in France a.k.a. life without phone, internet, mobile, TV, a kitchen.....

It’s not easy to rent a house in France – other than a holiday let – without the necessary credentials, status, documentation etc. etc., a situation I have bemoaned before.

 

 

We got fed up of moving every six months and not having our own stuff, so we decided to buy a house.  After having looked at 9,682 houses – well, 73 actually (no, really truly) - we decided to buy one of the first we had seen.  A common occurrence I believe, as looking at a lot of lemons allows the plum to stand out.

 

 

So we reopened negotiations with the vendors we’d last seen in October ’12 and the ball started rolling.  It rolled very nicely, not quickly but smoothly.  There were no building or pest problems as once a house gets over 300 years old the odd crack or incongruity is insignificant – it’s lasted this long and will almost certainly go another 300 more.  Extraordinarily, we were given the keys to the house ‘so we could start moving in and painting and things’ as soon as the cool off period had elapsed!  We hadn’t even paid the deposit and we were in there wielding brushes and unpacking boxes.  That would never happen in Oz...

 

 

We unpacked our boxes and were reacquainted with all the things we’d shipped from Australia, some highly relevant and useful and others not so much (regretting the CDs and clothing, very pleased to have tools, artworks, rugs and most furniture).  I bustled about putting flower boxes on windowsills and organising Alex paintbrushes.  I was delighted with the 4 metre (12ft) high ceilings, Alex less so as they are a bugger to paint.  I started off finding the irregularly shaped rooms and sloping floors characterful and rapidly became cheesed off that this prevents the furniture sitting straight. 
 

 
 

Most of all, though, we were decidedly non plussed at our lack of kitchen facilities and seeming inability to get connected to the outside world via phone, mobile, internet or TV.  The kitchen was easier to solve than the communications problem – we just had to buy things.  All we had was a sink, so we acquired a washer, a cooker (a great little number that would fail every safety test in existence in most countries of the world - the gas canister sits right next to the oven in a tailor made compartment - but is de rigeur here), a fridge etc. etc. from Le Bon Coin and plumbing courtesy of our wonderful neighbour Philippe who slogged for a 12 hour day on our behalf and didn’t even want a beer as a ‘Merci’!

 

 

Getting on line, however, was a nightmare.  We quickly worked out that the house had no existing phone line and we needed an engineer to install one.  Trying to get SFR and then Orange to agree with us was impossible, though.  And in France the TV goes through the internet lines so the whole thing is connected – if you don’t have that you have nothing.  We had nothing. For nearly 3 months. Not even mobile phone coverage. It was difficult, trying, frustrating, at times quite nice and like living in a time warp – we knew nothing of royal babies, Canandian floods or Australian elections – but mostly it was rubbish.  Not recommended.  Eventually Orange deigned to send an engineer round who confirmed we did not have a line and they would have to install one.  This happened very quickly and life resumed its normal structure.  We hadn’t even been able to use internet cafés as the only one within 50k had closed for the 3 month summer holiday (oui, 3 months). 

 

 

We are gradually attempting to get into the groove of life in a French village.  Recognising the locals happens rather quickly as you see them going about their daily business, but you don’t necessarily know who they are. Hence we have ‘handles’ for people, there’s Yellow Clogs Lady, Fat Stuff, Putain and Putain Jnr (don’t ask), Patapouf’s Mum, Scooter Boy, Whisky and Knitting Set, Chain Smoking Man, Fruit Shop in Living Room Family,  Grapes Lady, Newsagent Johnny Depp, Fat Stuff’s sister, Fluoro Girl, Moped Accident Bloke etc. etc.  So far we have only found out Yellow Clogs is Claire and Johnny Depp is Jerome. 

 

 

Adapting to total lock down at lunch time continues to be a struggle and I doubt we will ever feel comfortable sitting on a chair outside the front door having an evening chat and a wine, as the entire village seems to do. They let us off this custom as we are ‘foreign’ and there aren’t many foreigners here, certainly none direct from Australia. 

 

Summer here has been amazing, one long round of fireworks, fêtes, flowers, foam parties, picnics, performances, dinners in the square – exhausting but most enjoyable. And we got to benefit from all the hi jinks happening along the road in Marseillan, too. Oh, yes. We now live in Pomérols, did I forget to mention that?  The one by the sea, not the famous wine one, although the wine here is Picpoul de Pinet which is quite famous enough for me and now we buy it direct from the Cave Co-op for a staggering 1.20 a litre.......
 

There is lots more to tell, lots more to share, so I hope you will forgive the long silence (blame Orange...) and bear with me as I fill in the gaps, the highs and the lows, the trials and tribulations, the wine and the wonder of life in a French village.

P.S. while all this has been going on Alex has lost 15 kilos!  Coming soon, how he did it and pictures!!
P.P.S. while all this has been going on Steve and Jessica have made a baby! Felicitations!!

Bonjour Londres!

Thirteen years. Treize années.  Trece años.  Trīspadsmit gadi.  13, one-three years -enough time for a babe in arms to evolve into a spotty teenager.

That's how long since I'd been in London.  Too long.  I'd lived a full life there (!) and just hadn't felt the urge to visit, especially as I am certainly no longer in the retinue of A Listers, so the familiar doors and privileges would no longer be open to me.  But the woman 'who is tired of London is tired of life' to paraphrase Mr. Johnson, and I am certainly not that.  Inspired by our travel companions Yacine and Aurelie and their thirst for all things London  - off we set!  

Super cheap vols courtesy of Ryan Air got us there in a timely fashion and it was rather fab to see our hosts Katy and family in their accommodating South London home. Up early the next day, toast and Marmite for breakfast and heavy sight seeing on the agenda. Much more gratifying than I'd realised, we packed the day with all things tourist and can highly recommend it.  Punctuated with Pimm's, pints and ploughman's, these were excursions to cherish.

The weather was the best of the year, the flowers were in bloom (crazy technicolour beauties), the streets and buildings were clean and the locals friendly.  We thought the Queen was home, but perhaps she wasn't - the Union flag was flying not the Royal standard.  

Soho House, my haunt of many a long, hard night, we learned is no longer the cat's whiskers and we didn't get to the cool sister Shoreditch House. Next time.  We inhaled curry and mainlined coffee.  Interesting that Yacine and Aurelie loved both, too.  Highly recommend the English Market Cafe in Spittalfields for their genuine Flat Whites.  

Travelling on the Tube was fun, cheap and easy. The Tate Modern turned out to be big fun and Shakespeare's Theatre is best visited as a groundling as you will get to see the whole place and a play for five quid. Don't bother with the tour. 

Fortnum & Mason is still Posh and I can't help but wonder if it's the only place on earth where one can find chocolate fish and chips (we sampled both the original style and the confectionary).

The London Eye will be enjoyed with Emily and Mark in August - come on down!!

South Bank and Festival Hall were majorly cool and quite different from my expectations. Splendid to drink a Pimm's and look over the Thames whilst tossing up which street food vendor to visit for a culinary voyage.  We miss such food inventiveness here au Sud in our corner of France.  Thanks to Minky for escorting us in the right direction - we'd have been missed out on serious treats without you!
 

There were many things we wanted to do but did not have the time, however I am so chuffed to know such expeditions are only a 20 euro flight away.  The cultural/fun mini break is what I missed in Australia and intend to profitez-en here in the Euro zone.  It helps to have lovely friends who will put you up / put up with you (thank you Katy, Rob and family), but good to know we can forward a Languedocian counter offer albeit less Hip and less Happening, but very probably more Hot... 

All I can say is London surpassed itself and it didn't rain once!  So go visit on an empty stomach with a full purse and an open mind and prepare to leave replete.

French Wine vs. Australian Wine

We enjoy a glass (several) of wine now and again (often) and now that we have been here a year, have had ample opportunity to compare French wines with the Australian wines we'd grown to love over the last couple of decades.

Upon our arrival last year, I recall being handed a glass of Morgon and just about spat it out so alien did it taste to my antipodean palette.  I was assured we'd get on better with the more full bodied wines of the South, those produced in the area we now live - so have we?

Well, we have thrown ourselves wholeheartedly into a thorough and dogged research of Languedoc Roussillon wines, with a few other regions thrown in for good measure. This has involved buying and tasting a lot of wine ranging in price / quality from 1 euro a bottle (yes, 1 euro) to 25 euros a bottle, visiting domaines and caves, asking lots of questions, bringing back wine from Australia, America and Angleterre in order to do taste tests - basically being very committed to drinking a lot of wine.

Our taste buds still told us that we preferred Australian reds and vastly preferred NZ whites.  Why was this? I very much like our local Picpoul de Pinet and can get along fine with most rosé wines as there just isn't really any rosé to speak of in Oz.  But nothing beats a Marlborough sauvignon blanc. We bandy around words like 'body', 'meaty', 'fragrant and full', 'floral notes, flinty finish', 'fruit forward' etc. etc. to illustrate our point and hope we know what we are talking about.

Needless to say, we leapt at the chance to go for a wine tasting at Domaine La Sarabande in Laurens as this domaine is owned and run by an Australian Paul and his Irish wife Isla who have worked in the Southern hemisphere in Australian vineyards and in Marlborough, NZ and are now the first Aus/Irish vignerons here in the Langudeoc.  They surely would have the answer to why we prefer Australian wines - along with the UK who import more of it than they do any other country's wine. 

We tasted a few wines, had a chat about terroir and schiste, harvests, weather and mildew, talked of palettes, heritage, barrels, bottle shock, corks and culture and eventually found out why we like Australian wine.

Sugar.

French wines contain very roughly about 1.5g of sugar per litre, as opposed to around 8g in Australian wines.  So there you have it.  We rushed home and added sugar syrup to a bottle of red we had both rejected as nasty and - voilà!  There it was, perfectly drinkable! 

Good to know we have put in all this dedicated research to finally discover we are basically alco-pop binge drinkers.  Bottoms-up everyone, and one lump or two??!

Spring into Summer

I think this is my favourite time of year here. 

After the exhuberance of the Easter Parade / Corso, featuring floats conveying gigantic Devils chauffered by Mad Hatters...

shabbily statuesque Wolves...

 and hysterical nuns in Citroen 2CVs....

very suddenly, everything changes and within two weeks there are poppies in the hedgrows...

 flowers in the market...

 

 

and on the balconies... 

blossom on the trees...

buds on the vines...

tables on the pavement...

ducklings on the Etang...

 
and optimism in the air!  What will the summer bring?  A home to call our own, we hope...

Making Friends

There are lots of articles written in magazines with titles such as "Living France", "Moving To France" and "French Entree" encouraging new arrivals to get out there and mix with the locals.  Evidently, it's important to make friends, learn the customs, mingle, integrate.  To this end there are plenty of tips given such as 'why not drop into the Mairie with a bottle of whisky and a hello for the Maire' (I think in many countries this might be filed under 'corruption' but whatever); 'remember to greet passers-by in the street with a cheery 'Mesdames, Messieurs'; 'pop a petit annonce up in your local Spar / Bar seeking people to skill swap / chat with'; 'make sure to introduce yourself to your neighbours and invite them for an apero' etc. etc. 

Jolly good. So how have we progressed with these convivial suggestions?  Upon first arriving in Marseillan and forearmed with such advice, we did a quick recce of our neighbours.  Alex was concerned.  

More than likely we had (1) Russian pimps opposite (swarthy man seen with two mobile phones and two blondes counting money at his kitchen table = dodgy), (2) Irish terrorists on the run next to them (well connected man with Irish accent = no further justification needed), (3) a Belgian tax evader next door (quiet chap with beard and house keeper = highly suspicious) and (4) a certifiable nutter on the corner (lanky bloke fond of wearing a trilby, playing show tunes at top volume and polishing his garage door with a kleenex at midnight = say no more).  How were we going to make friends with this FBI fodder??  

We decided bypass our neighbours and head straight for the Mairie.  Encountering the Receptionist was an experience similar to fronting Siberian Border Control - a woman surely better employed by the defense forces as Interrogator or possibly Attila the Hun as Operations Manager - we did eventually manage to prevail upon her to post our petit annonce seeking nice people to chat with.  This yielded Didier, a very amenable bloke who manages a garden centre and whose wife has a shoe shop. We've been meeting for some weeks now, but Alex is still convinced he is a bull fighting fan, possibly even a secret matador (poster of corrida in living room = more than likely).

Previously, our Clermont petit annonce put us in contact with a talented stand-up comedian who has made several TV appearances on On n' Demande qu'a en Rire and has turned out to be a good friend, albeit almost certainly involved in international art fraud (tubes of acrylic paint seen in his living room plus roll of bubble wrap in garage = QED). Check out his one man show -

http://www.dailymotion.com/fr/relevance/search/yass/1#video=xt2g3c

Joining the gym has proved interesting and yielded much 'contact' with the locals, if not exactly friends. Charmingly, each new arrival to the work-out room greets EVERY SINGLE other person in the gym with a 'bonjour' and three kisses to the cheeks.  Yes, right in the middle of a set up comes Jean-Claude and the kissing commences.  By the time he's got through the kissing, his lips have had a good work out and his gym session is half way over.  Still, it makes one feel wanted.

Music has proved to be the most fruitful way of networking and having real fun, and we have Alex to thank for that.  

His piano playing for a couple of local bands has made for some memorable nights and jolly parties; last week, courtesy of singer Kerry, we spent a fabulous weekend at Chateau Les Carrasses celebrating St. Patrick's Day in true French style - wine tasting.  Unaware of local traditions, we turned up in head-to-toe green wearing our sparkly hats, tinsel wigs and flashing sunnies expecting a knees-up to "C'mon Eileen'. I guess you live and learn.

What of the neighbours?  Well, whilst the French are very keen on politesse it doesn't prevent them from being cold and rude if it suits. And it does suit a couple of our neighbours - their loss, we have decided.  As for the Belgian tax exile he is simply a kindly retired Belgian with a penchant for cleanliness; turns out the Irish terrorist is a friendly, helpful, well informed business man with loads of local insight; the Russian pimp is actually a talented musician who plays Django Reinhardt type jazz and has back-up singers.  The trilby wearing, tissue wielding nocturnal nutter is just a nutter.  Every village has one.  

Word on the street, though, is that a couple of Australians are moving in opposite.  Will the Mairie succumb to a case of VB?  Will 'Mesdames, Messieurs' be replaced by 'G'day Mate'?  Will the truculent Ghislaine be tempted to drop in for a cold one and a barbie?  Worst of all, will our proud claim to be Australians (very impressive to all French) rather than ten-a-penny Brits be brought under scrutiny??  Sleepless nights ahead at 5 Rue Auber....












http://www.lescarrasses.com/welcome-f.php

Lazy French?

There has been ever such a big kerfuffle in the news lately over the 'lazy, overpaid' French workers who "talk too much".   According to American tyre tycoon Maurice Taylor, France has "beautiful women and fantastic wine, but no idea how to run a business", and thus saying he turned down the French government's request to bail out the ailing Goodyear tyre factory in Amiens. 

Apparently the "so-called workers" at the factory spent the majority of their day lunching (!!!), talking and taking breaks.  The French Minister for Industry claimed Mr. Taylor does not understand "the French way". 

Hmmmmmm.

We've been here nearly a year now, and I have to say we are having Mr. Taylor type struggles with "the French way".  No.1 culprit - LUNCH.

Apparently, one gets accustomed to Lunch and actually starts to get into the swing of it.  

I think it might be too late.  

Having spent almost my entire working life accepting lunch as dunking a cracker into a tin of tuna whilst sitting at my desk  (okay, there were some notable exceptions during the rock 'n' roll years), the swing hasn't kicked in yet.  

It drives me / us crazy.  Everything closes for Lunch.  Work starts at let's say nine-ish, goes on for maybe three hours, then it's time to close up shop entirely - bring in the stands outside the shop, roll down the shutters, lock the doors to the bank and the post office, switch off the lights, turn on the answerphone and ignore the world for possibly FOUR AND A HALF HOURS while you Lunch i.e. eat three or four courses, have some wine, a digestif, a coffee followed up by a nap. Yup. Return to work let's say around four-ish, maybe five, and close up again at seven. 

What's the point? Why even bother working?  Obviously the most important part of the day is Lunch because its clearly advertised on the horaires d'overtures.  And, by the way, all opening hours are different, rarely are the advertised hours adhered to and there is usually a weekday of closure thrown into the bargain, often Mondays to tag onto Sunday when absolutely EVERYTHING is closed - all supermarkets, shops, DIY outlets, garden centres, even petrol stations. Oh, and  did I forget to mention that the supermarkets, DIY centres etc. also close for Lunch? Yes, true. Imagine Coles or Waitrose closing for two hours everyday so the staff can down a three-courser!?!!  Need some paint or liquid nails? Sorry mate, Bunnings is closed, Lunch Time you know. 

Eventually this becomes charming, or so we are told.  Right now the feeling of panic as the clock ticks towards noon and the cold realisation that nothing more can be realistically achieved this day is anything but charming. Perhaps, though, everyone is working super hard during the three hour morning?  

Not here at the Mairie they aren't.  We are clearly disturbing their personal phone calls and ipad photo sessions when we turn up with the idea they might be able to make an appointment for us to talk to someone about starting a business.  The Police close for Lunch as well.  Maybe there's no crime during Lunch - it's entirely possible.

On the positive side, the locals have been very encouraging when we have mentioned our business idea.  They think it could be a bit of a goer and best of all - as it's rather seasonal - it would mean we would only have to work half the year and have the rest of the time off!  How very French.  Actually, now you mention it that sounds quite appealing. Maybe we're getting into the swing of things after all.........