Literary acquisitions

There are many things to love about retired life in France. One is the time to read ... and the surprising availability of English-language books.

For the second year running, we attended the book fair at Campsegret, just north of Bergerac.

This is a monster book exchange, with proceeds going to charity.

Costing just one euro, there are thousands of novels and books on all sorts of interesting subjects.

After browsing for half an hour, I came away with five purchases ...

1. a biography of Peter Cook
2. a Rick Stein cookbook
3. a beautifully illustrated guide to making a French potager (vegetable garden)
4. Clive James' "Fame in the Twentieth Century" and
5. "The Remains of the Day" by Kazuo Ishiguro

Today, we went to a vide grenier* in La Sauvetat de Dropt and I added to the above list ...

An old French translation of T.E. Lawrence's "The Seven Pillars of Wisdom".

* the French equivalent of an English car boot sale or a collective Australian garage sale

Antique aspirations

A visit to the Bordeaux spring antiques fair gave us plenty of ideas on how to furnish our stone house in Bazens.

It was inspirational, but the prices were higher than I'd anticipated.

At least we can move forward with a better knowledge of the type of pieces we want and how much they will cost.

Duras

We are living in Duras, on the Rue Chavassier, until the 15th of May. This is the day we conclude the contract to buy our house at Bazens.

I take a morning coffee at the Cafe De La Paix, which occupies an ancient, two-storey stone building on the Place du 11 Novembre.

The cafe has an attractive, solid-oak bar, carved at the front and a mauve marble top. There is a narrow, cast-iron spiral staircase, out of use now with a rope across the bottom step.

A painting of Puss-in-Boots adorns one of the front windows and on the first floor, an ornamental iron lace balcony graces a corner room, overlooking the square.

It is a clear spring morning. The only blemish on the vast blue sky is a vapour trail.

In front of me, the Chateau de Duras is perched on a high hill, commanding a 270 degree view of the countryside.

The Chateau draws the eye to its magnificent arched entrance and imposing tower. From where I sit, it is partly obscured by the roof of the main building, a steep structure covered in dirty, burnt-orange tiles.

Traffic is coming into the square. A truck is delivering something for the Terrace restaurant, but the young driver is having trouble backing into the car park opposite the Chateau. Twice he jumps out of the cabin and gesticulates to cars coming up behind him. Eventually he gets a clear passage and reverses in.

A white-haired man parks his beaten-up Volvo station wagon, leaving a German Shepherd in the back.

Behind me, I hear the cafe proprietress sing "Bonjour" to a newly arrived customer. A whiff of cigarette smoke drifts my way. It's the price you pay for sitting outside.

An old couple shuffle up from the direction of the Chateau passing under the bare, gnarly-fisted branches of three, heavily-pruned mulberry trees.

The Volvo man returns to his car, lights his pipe and drives off, his engine making a rattling noise.

Around the edge of the car park, there is a line of tall trees, skeletal and stripped by the winter. In the upper branches of one, a bird's nest sits exposed.

The Cafe de la Paix, with its outdoor tables on the edge of the square, in front of the Chateau  ... well, this is my "idea" of France.

It is like a scene from a French movie, or a song, or a painting.

After the winter ...

After the winter, comes the spring.

 Its emerald-green fields, under a blue sky

Are bathed in warm sunshine.

And driving through beige-coloured villages

We catch a glimpse, in an occasional yard,

Of tulips red and yellow-gold.

Nearer home, orchards of plums have burst into life.

Their black branches, drenched in snow-blossoms,

Herald the valley of the Lot.