Five Years

Today, it is exactly five years since we arrived in France.

It was the start of our new life.

To quote Goethe, "Be bold and mighty forces will come to your aid".

We were bold and France did the rest.

There are no regrets .... just reassurance.

On that day, five years ago, we set off on a great adventure.

We left our children and grand-children behind in Adelaide ... but they wished us well.

Since then we have experienced France in all its moods, shades and nuances.

Like all newcomers, we encountered frustrating, bureaucratic complexity,  but got through it all .... and learnt patience.

We have always been assisted by acts of  generosity and selfless friendship, from the French and fellow expatriates.

We found a magnificent property at an affordable price and it is our continuing joy to live here.

We are happy ... 

Tomorrow we head off to Paris to meet our good friends and share the excitement and pleasures of this great city.

France has been everything I'd ever hoped for.

It has its faults, of course, but these pale against the joie de vivre we encounter everywhere.

Autumnal Colours

 

The regular morning mist lifts and the sun, revealed, moves on its low trajectory across the southern sky.

There is much less heat, but there is a brightness and a soft clarity of light which illuminates the garden.

Many flowers and shrubs have preformed their annual disappearing act, or have been pruned.

But some are refusing to yield to the austerity of winter.

Walking around the garden, diminished in its scope and vibrancy, I find joy in these hardy blooms, these last flowers of the year.

The colours of autumn, from top to bottom ... salvia, wild cyclamen, maple, rose and heather.

Armagnac Festival

The annual armagnac en fête at Labastide-d'Armagnac in the Landes department is held over the last weekend in October. 

It didn't happen last year because of Covid restrictions, and this year inclement weather dampened the celebrations. But it was still an indulgent affair. 

In fact, despite the smaller crowds and fewer producers, it was one of the most enjoyable festivals we've attended in our five years in France ... it seemed to be as much about the spirit du pays gascon (of the Gascon people) as the spirit of its famous liqueur.

We arrived after lunch on Saturday, having briefly lingered at a fabulous winery called Domaine de Pellehaut, about 15 minutes north of Lasbatide-d'Armagnac.

 

After security staff checked our pass sanitaires (vaccination certificates), we bought two tasting glasses and walked somewhat awestruck into Place Royale. 

More than two dozen local producers had stalls around the perimeter of the 13th century town square. We strolled and we looked and we considered. We had not a clue which of the armagnacs was best, we chose mainly on the look of the bottle ... and the seller! 

We tried new armagnacs and old armagnacs, the latter being smoother but much more expensive.

 

But it wasn't just about armagnac; producers of wine, cheese, oysters, charcuterie, pastries, confectionery and much more were on hand with generous samples to savour.

 

Local potentates, some in medieval gowns, many wearing Gascon berets, assembled on the church's portal to officially open the festival ... in a scene that looked like a renaissance painting.

We noticed a large crowd had gathered around a man putting a flaming torch to a huge bucket of armagnac, into which copious amounts of lemon and orange peel and sugar had been added. 

One of the gathered throng told me this was an ancient practice to reduce the alcohol content and produce a gloriously fruity drink of about 15 percent . This compares to the usual armagnac level of 40+ percent. 

 The flamer of armagnac then scooped up the liquid into a large jug and, leaning forward to the crowd, poured it generously into people's tasting glasses. It was divine.

The famous English cartoonist, Perry Taylor, who made Gascony his home in 2004, was on hand to sell and sign copies of his work.

He is well-known as an observer and recorder of quirky French life, and draws in an attractive and commercially successful style.

He seemed absolutely in his element, enjoying the atmosphere, surrounded by his art and with a bottomless tasting glass in his hand.

When we got home, we unpacked our purchases. As well as armagnac, we had bought floc, wine and champagne. We won't be cold this winter!

 

We will definitely be heading back to Labastide d'Armagnac  next year.

A Wedding in Galapian

We attended the wedding of our dear friends Richard and David in the tiny village of Galapian, where they live, in the south-west of France. This event had been postponed from May of last year due to Covid. The ceremony was held in the Mairie across the road from Richard and David's village house to which we retired for a wedding lunch.

The food and wine were supplied by Richard and David.

Richard and David have been together for more than 50 years. They retired to France 18 years ago. Their wedding was a joyous and unforgettable event.

Lunch at Chateau Carbonneau

Sunday, a midi, we accompanied our friends, Kerrie and Graham to the picturesque village of Gensac, about a 15-minute drive from their home in Port-Saint-Foy-en-Ponchapt. From Gensac, which is a stone's throw from the Dordogne River, we travelled about a kilometre east, turned off the road and drove down a gentle slope along an avenue of mature trees.

This was the magnificent 19th century Chateau Carbonneau.

We parked under a shady, exotic tree where dozens of weird, tennis-ball-looking fruit had dropped and were strewn on the ground. With the Chateau's vineyards as a backdrop, two couples were seated under a giant conifer which I later found out was a Sequoia Gigantea, or a Californian Big Tree.

Kerrie and Graham had been to the Chateau before and knew the owner Jacquie, who showed us to a table in the cool shade of a stately chestnut tree. What a magnificent site for an alfresco lunch.

Our lunch platter was a work of art and a gastronomic delight. It consisted of charcuterie (cold meats), paté de compagne, two types of cheese, olives, crudites, fruit and dips. The accompanying bread was superb.

For pre-lunch drinks we had the house semillion bubbles, followed by a claret, a wine that sits between rosé and red and is served chilled... apparently this style is all the rage in France this summer. We continued with a bottle of Classique, the Chateau's vin pour tous les jours, a smooth and very enjoyable blend of Merlot and Cabernet Sauvignon with a dash of Malbec. After lunch, I took a walk around the Chateau to admire and record its beauty. The following shots were taken in the grounds.

There is a very warm and welcoming tea-room at Chateau Carbonneau, specialising in delicious scones, cakes and pastries. I particularly loved the spiral staircase.

There are five themed chambres d'hôtes and an exquisite conservatory. After a satisfying lunch in such salubrious surroundings, we came away with a more convinced view (if indeed it needed re-inforcing) that retiring to France was the best decision all of us had ever made.

A Day in Bordeaux

 

It was exciting to get on a train for the first time in two years.

But of course, there was someone in our seat.

He got up and moved quickly though, without protest. I don’t think we’ve ever boarded a French inter-city train and not found someone sitting in our seats!

Anyway, the scenery beyond the window was familiar, so Cliona read. The gentle vibration of the train lulled me to sleep.

We left Gare St Jean with a 3-euro TBM ticket and promptly jumped on the C tram, only to realise we were going in the wrong direction.

We got back on track, skirting the river and going over the Pont St Pierre. We disembarked by the huge, crumpled lion. Our right-bank hotel is not flashy, but it’s adequate and clean.

We took the tram back over the bridge, forsaking a walk because of the rain. We got off at St Catherine and walked down the mall.

While Cliona checked out Galerie Lafayette, I went into a bistro and had a beer. I read a few pages of Private Eye until it was time to link up and walk to the lunettes shop where I had made an appointment for 3pm.

I ended up buying a very expensive pair of driving glasses ... well, I should've anticipated that multi-focal lenses with polaroid tinting wouldn't be cheap.

Cliona went into one of her favourite shops down at the southern end of the pedestrian mall, near the Place de la Victoire. I sat on a concrete bench and cooled my heels, watching the destitute carrying on loudly in the street with the unself-conscious bravado born of poverty ... you know, when you've got nothing, there is nothing to lose.

Yet, they all have dogs. Sometimes multiple dogs. It is the same in every French city. I am always puzzled and perplexed to witness this ... maybe one day someone will explain to me how it works.

There are homeless people here, and beggars, some sitting on cardboard, others prostrate on the ground, arms outstretched, with a hat or a cup in front of them. They are rendered immobile by hopelessness.

In contrast, fast-food delivery riders, black guys on chunky bikes with large back packs, whizz by in all directions.

This end of the mall is neither chic nor elegant ... with cheap eateries, kebab and falafel joints, Cambodian take-away and Chinese-run supermarkets.

Suddenly, the skies opened, forcing me to shelter under the giant stone archway that is the Porte d'Aquitaine. The wet paving of Rue St Catherine glistened and caught the moving reflections of its human traffic.

Cliona came out of her shop and we got the A tram back over the bridge. In the hotel, an ice-bucket from reception allowed us to enjoy a chilled Gruner Veltliner in our room, before we headed out to dinner.

To get to the restaurant we’d booked, we walked through the Place St Pierre, by the old church. Its ancient, cobble-stoned square was packed with terrace diners.

The Melodie is in the Rue des Faussets, Bordeaux’s street of restaurants. We sat at a tiny table, in the entrance corridor, and were given the 20-euro-a-head, three-course menu.

The entrés and main courses we chose were very good, but it was the desserts that took the prize. I had chocolat fondant. Cliona had creme brulé.

When I went up to pay, I solemnly lent forward to the waiter and said, "I must tell you something about the desserts."

"Oui, monsieur?" he responded nervously.

"Were they chef-made or bought in?"

"They were chef-made, monsieur," he said.

I paused for effect ...

"They were the best desserts we have ever eaten in France, in five years living here," I said. His expression changed from trepidation to triumph and he fist-pumped the air.

He said, "Our chef has a reputation for making the best creme brulé in Bordeaux."

It was only 9pm … so we headed for the Bar à Vin, reputedly one of the best in town.

We sat on a comfortable sofa and were served by a bending, fawning young man wearing a creased apron, definitely not the clichéd French waiter you'd strike in a classy Brasserie … an upright, snooty old man wearing a starched apron.

C had a glass of Bordeaux Cremant and I tried the Chateau Haut-Chaigneau Lalande de Pomerol … a bit of an indulgence.

It was a happy and appropriate end to our day in the City of Wine.

Lalandi pines ... before and after

 

We got a team of tree-fellers in to cut down a patch of 80 year old Lalandi pines obscuring the view of the valley.

It's made the world of difference.

the lower patch of Lalandi

the upper patch of Lalandi

the lower patch after tree felling

the upper patch after tree felling

The change has opened up the vista and created a whole new feel for Ellesmere's garden.

It's let light and air through to our other trees and given us a true sense of being on a hilltop.

The early morning sun now comes streaming in, bathing the south side of the house.

my raised-bed potager 

We plan to engage the same team next year to fell the remaining Lalandi on the eastern side of the house.