A month in France

After years of planning and anticipation, France is now a reality, though at times it seems unreal.

We retired, consolidated our savings, packed stuff, sold stuff, gave stuff away. Our furniture is in storage awaiting shipment here at a later date.

We said goodbye to children and grandchildren. Hard hugs, flowing tears, constricted throats at the airport.

Singapore Airlines Premium Economy Sydney to Paris, then a Blacklane Mercedes to Versailles, then a Citroen C4 to Roanne, then on to Castlemoron sur Lot.

We have people on our side, which is smoothing the transition. My second-cousin-in-law Karim has rented us his holiday house here in the Lot et Garonne and facilitated the opening of a bank account.

We also have the irrepressible John Dislins from Pleasehelp.fr to make things happen.

He and his team have already done much to assist us and will be in my corner for the Carte de Sejours.

Now, with Christmas behind us and 2017 about to unfold, we take stock of one month in France.

It has been every bit as good as I'd hoped.

When there are sunny days, we go cycling to St Livrade in one direction, or to Clairac in the other.

We pass broken down stone structures covered in blackberries. We pass magnificent Chateaux. The one near Granges lies abandoned and mouldering, but the one near Fongrave is superb. It has been faithfully restored and now offers luxurious holiday accomodation.

Our cycle route takes us between the river and its flood plain, skirting expansive farms that stretch away to forested hills crowned by the odd Bastide village, such as Laparade.

These are the vast acreages on which massive irrigation structures sit like great, steel stick-insects, poised, waiting.

And dotted around this agricultural landscape are farmhouses with pigeonnieres and soot-black timbered barns and industrial-sized polytunnels running off into the distance.

And then there are days of cloistering cold and fog, keeping us at home with a fire in the insert. As the weak sun slowly moves in a low arc towards afternoon,  the neighbour's farmhouse and orchard emerge out of the murkiness. We eat a simple lunch of cheese and cornichons on a baguette.

During those years in Adelaide, whilst plotting our escape, I would occasionally read the negative experiences of expats in France. I sometimes feared the journey might be better than the destination.

I needn't have worried. My fears were unfounded.

We just love it here.

Fog

This morning was particularly foggy. At 10am, you couldn't see beyond 50 metres. As I took the first shot, I could just make out a pair of ghostly figures walking across the ploughed field. The large clumps of turned earth would've made it heavy going.

By midday, the sun was burning up the fog.

By 1.30pm, the fog had all but lifted to herald a sunny day.

At the close of day, we are treated to glorious pinks on the western horizon.

Our first Christmas in France

Here are some photos and words to celebrate our first Xmas in France.

We respect and pay tribute to this day's long culinary tradition. We have done our best to follow it.

The lunch began with the opening of a bottle of Alfred Rothschild demi-sec champagne and some oysters which I had bought from the Marenne/Ile d'Oleron farmer at the St Livrade sur Lot Friday market.

Cliona did a wonderful job setting the table with exquisite lotus flower napkins ... and at 2.30pm we opened proceedings with a tranche of foie gras d'oie, and a glass of Chateau Grand Mayne 2013 Sauternes.

We followed with roast chapon, which is a large rooster, neutered at a young age and fattened on a local farm. Cliona slow-roasted the bird to perfection and made two stuffings, bread sauce, gravy, roast veggies and apple-flavoured red cabbage with cloves and nutmeg.

This was accompanied by a Grand Vin de Bordeaux, La Marquise d'Alphonse de Gamage 2012. It is a Merlot-dominant blend, with 15 per cent Cabernet Franc and 15 per cent Cabernet Sauvignon.

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We concluded the meal with a slice of Buche de Noel, which I bought from the local Boulangerie/Pattiserie in the main street of the village.

Colombages

These medieval houses are found in narrow, cobblestoned streets in the old centres of towns along the Lot, and, I assume in many other places. In Castelmoron a few of them have survived, and in Clairac, down the road a piece, we came across this wonderful example.

There was a plaque explaining that this house was built in the 15th century, constructed over the ruins of en even older house, dating back to the 13 century. It boasts some timbers salvaged from that more ancient structure. Wow!

The style is called colombages or half-timbered, and incorporates small, thin, red bricks placed at angles or in horizontal clusters. 

A long-abandoned Chateau on the way to Clairac

An invigorating cycle on a mild, sunny Sunday.

The route takes us along the river on a narrow country lane bordering the expansive horticultural land that is typical of the Lot et Garonne.

On previous occasions we noticed this abandoned Chateau, set back off the road, about 200 metres from the river.

It is such an imposing, romantic structure I can't resist but investigate.

Two large towers at the front connect to the main part of the house. You can close your eyes and hear the sound of a horse-drawn cab carrying members of an aristocratic family up the long driveway.

Tall iron gates bar the way into the Chateau proper, but a curious visitor can get up quite close. I walked around the perimeter and saw, through a dirty window, the curve of a grand staircase.

You can imagine exquisitely-dressed women descending these stairs with grace and poise.

You can picture men in full-bottom wigs occupying these many rooms, filled with Louis XV furniture.

Now, this grand residence, bearing maudlin witness to a finer age, sits mouldering and empty.

The St Livrade market

Every Friday morning the medieval streets of St Livrade fill with stalls and crowds of people.

I was very happy to see again my old chum, the Marenne oyster farmer, and make a new chum, the French-Moroccan olive seller.

The fishmonger was shuking scallops into a big tub. He was laughing at this crazy guy with a broad, toothless grin. Gesticulating, the looney claimed he was from New Zealand. Could have been!

The butcher, moving around behind a glass-fronted display of charcuterie, served a long line of serious French women clutching baskets.

There were North African women in headscarves and occasionally I caught bits of Arabic.

We intend to make this market our regular Friday outing.

early morning

The frosty pre-sunrise morning breaks over the neighbour's farmhouse and freshly ploughed field. He and his mates have been pruning the adjacent plum orchard for over a week.

The moon was out and glowed bright above the western horizon.

Luxury along the Lot

We went for another bike ride today but found the road to St Livrade a tad busy, with cars travelling much too fast for a quiet country lane.

On the way back, we took the designated bicycle route along the Lot. It was quieter and much more enjoyable.

We saw some beautiful houses with manicured lawns and gardens.

It was a mild, sunny winter's day, the soft blue sky becoming more cerulean in its reflection.

The fog and the cold ...

We are settling well into village life. Here are some photos from our outings over the past couple of days. I am happy in France, and sanguine. So far, everything is working out. With patience and empathy, we are tackling

the issues that arise.

Castelmoron sur Lot

Trump

I feel a mixture of revulsion and anxiety. I fear for the future, for my children and yet unborn grandchildren. I am now worried that nuclear war may destroy our planet before runaway warming does. I cannot believe that decent, intelligent people didn't prevail, but that the  god, guns and glory brigade did. The malaise felt in the United States is the result of unchecked capitalism, and the desperate poor turned for a solution to a phoney who exemplifies the problem.  Are we now reading the closing chapter of a book that opened with the assassination of the Kennedy brothers?

I am glad I am moving to France. I am sure tens of thousands of thoughtful, angst-ridden Americans will be contempating a similar move.

Goodbye Viv

Before I left, I had to decide about Viv, my 1955 VW Beetle. After much agonising, I decided to send her to England, where I knew I could get a good price. The harsh fact of the matter was ... I could not leave her here or take her to France. 

It was hard to bid adieu to Viv. She brought me home in the well under the little oval window as a newborn from Brisbane's Mater Hospital with three siblings jammed across the back seat and Mum and Dad in the front.

She'd driven me safely on many roads, to many destinations, over many years. Goodbye old girl, you've served me well.

Moving to France ...

Retirement can herald a Golden Age. It affords many people the opportunity to pursue something unattainable during their working life. For me, it is the long-held dream of living in France, conceived 40 years ago on a July day in Paris, walking around wide-eyed in broad, sunny boulevards with trees in summer leaf, overlooked by Haussmannic architecture of five storey buildings whose apartment balconies featured wrought iron lace underscored by ornate corbells. I was a 20 year old country Queenslander wandering aimlessly through narrow, cobblestone streets with nineteenth century stone facades rising from footpaths that were part-blocked by cars parked nose to tail.  Some of these cars were small and odd shaped and had names such as 2CV and R4. Everywhere there seemed to be exotic food shops with mouth-watering creations. Smart outdoor cafes had small circular tables with wine-red tops and matching wicker chairs. Bakeries were window-dressed with beautifully crafted pastries, the like of which I had never seen before.  Wherever I looked, there was beauty and style. It was overwhelming, this first impression of Paris, this first experience of France. It cast a spell that changed my life. It's been that way ever since, through these intervening years, every time I go back.

Now, health and super permitting, I want to live out my days there.