FRANCE 2015 Chapter 15

This week I have published a batch of pictures separately so that those of you who kindly print this out for other friends can possibly print only the text which will save a few sheets of paper

It was Thursday before we thought that the weather was settled enough to go for a day’s outing. In fact, it was one of those days that just get better and better. We hadn’t really planned a route but settled for something in a more or less southerly direction, avoiding, as far as possible, places that we had already visited. For anyone who wants to find our route on the map, we left here, Vabre Tizac, went on to la Salvetat Peyrales, then to Crespin, followed by St Just sur Viaur. Here we made a short detour, which put poor ‘Jane’ into a dreadful state and she kept imploring us to ‘turn around when possible. When it became quite obvious that we were not going to turn around, she tried to recalculate the route but couldn’t and insisted that the road was closed. And still we went on. She was right, of course. The road was closed, but this is what we had detoured to see. A few years ago, the road would have dipped down below an impressive railway bridge, before descending into the valley below and up the other side again. However, that part of the road is now closed for two reasons – one is that there is a wonderful new double-lane highway a few kilometres away, and the other is that the railway bridge is undergoing major repairs and driving under it could be quite hazardous. And the repairs are not before time either! Built in 1902, this steel  girder bridge was the first steel bridge built in France. As modern bridges go, it is not very long, being only 460 metres across with the central cantilevered arch making up almost half of that distance. The River Tarn rushes along over numerous small rapids, 116 metres below. After more than a century of use, the steel is showing signs of rust and other decay and is due to be out of action until the end of the year. Meanwhile, passengers wishing to travel from Rodez to Albi are transported by bus.

After admiring the bridge we returned to the route ‘Jane’ had planned for us and continued on to Requista where we had lunch sitting in the shade of an umbrella at a pavement café. We got talking to an elderly person whom Neels thinks was a woman and I think was a man, but who was quite entertaining for a short chat. We will have to think about that one for a while!

Having finished our lunch, we debated whether to start the return journey from there but eventually decided to carry on a bit further, to Brousse le Chateau. This is listed as one of France’s most beautiful villages and we can certainly see why. It is a beautifully restored and maintained medieval village set in a horseshoe bend on the banks of the river Tarn. The chateau is set on the highest point of the village, inside a wall, with a row of houses forming an additional wall outside that. The whole village is absolutely spotless and several houses have brilliant red roses climbing up the outside walls. In fact, the flowers everywhere were just wonderful. It is really remarkable how every inhabitant of these villages does his or her part in keeping the place clean, tidy and full of pretty flowers.

We walked around the village admiring it all and taking lots of pictures before deciding that we should think about turning for home. With the idea that going there and back on the same road gives one two different views of the passing countryside, we decided to just retrace our route and see what we missed on the outward trip. This time we didn’t make a detour to the old railway bridge, so instead found ourselves whizzing over the new concrete road bridge. We rather wondered if this was an ‘anything-you-can-do-I-can-do-better’ project. The new bridge is 570 metres long and 120 metres above the river for a start, but where the old railway bridge is solid and black, and is supported by a latticework of steel girders, the new one appears to float across the landscape, supported on the thinnest of pillars. It is quite beautiful actually.

Shortly after that we came to a turnoff that I had noticed on the way ‘out’. It said ‘Castelmary’ and had the Heritage Site logo on it. So we turned off to go and investigate.  What a strange sight met us! A small hill was at the top end of a rough loop that ended at the bottom of the hill in a magnificent fortified tower. The sides of the loop were houses that had probably once formed the protective walls around the small community. On the hillock were the ruins of a once-great castle, complete with turrets and battlemented walls. Nowadays though the ruins are almost completely overgrown and are obviously neglected. However, in front of the old ruins, is a more modern building and quite the most extraordinary one we have seen in a long time. Because the hill is fairly steep, it is built on several levels but it was the roof and the wall decorations that really amazed us. The roof is a peaked roof covered in split stone as is the style around here – nothing unusual in that, except that the roof was also covered in extra little four-sided peaks dotted all over it like horns or spikes. Each one was tiled in the same materials as the main roof but on a smaller scale, and because the stones shine in the sunlight, it looked for all the world as if the roof was wearing medieval armour. The walls, too, were decorated with various big and little sculptures and plaques. At the front of the house was a portico over nothing, with a little wooden train on a ledge inside it and a plaque honouring someone but it didn’t say what for – perhaps something to do with the train??

We walked up the driveway which was the only way up to the ruins behind the house, and to our surprise, there was another, smaller house hidden away there also with spikes on the roof. They are the strangest looking buildings I have ever seen.

Friday was another very good day, because apart from being really good weather, we received an SMS that we have been waiting for, for a very long time. It was to say that our new permits are ready for collection so we are planning to go down to Auch some time soon to get them. I won’t be entirely over the moon until I have them in my hand, but the news itself was very welcome.

I think I have mentioned from time to time how much Neels enjoys driving along the really twisty roads and lanes which abound in this area. To show you just what he enjoys I took a picture of the TomTom (Jane) while we were going down a hill recently. The road we were travelling on is indicated in red, so one can easily see what is coming – in this case a couple of really tight hairpin bends.

FRANCE 2015 Chapter 15 (Pictures only)

FRANCE 2015 Chapter 14

A much better week all round! We set off early to go and do battle with the bureaucrats in Auch, this time determined not to return to our friends who had so generously being looking after us. Not because we had gone off them, but we knew we had to get back as we had promised to take our other hosts to the airport the following morning. The first set back was that was simply not an inch of parking in the parking area. After trailing around the area for about four times, we gave up and drove out getting ever further away from where we wanted to be. Eventually we found ourselves in the road below the Catherdral (which is next to the Prefecture, and where we wanted to be) and hey presto! there was a parking space directly below the ‘Escalier Monumental’ – the Great Staircase. I know I have mentioned this landmark before but to re-cap, this wonderful staircase has several flights of steps each about 4 metres wide with twelve flights of approximately twenty steps. Some have more, a few have less but they total 297 steps in all. And you know how I just love steps! As we struggled up them we were hoping that the office would not be closed today as well, seeing that nothing really opens on a Monday here. We took a few minutes to admire the oversize statue of d’Artagnan (of the Three Musketeers fame) who was born in the area before going on.

When we got to the Prefecture, we were delighted to find it open and even more delighted to find our friendly assistant behind the desk. She was so understanding and helpful. After some discussion, it was decided that we would cancel our application for a ten year extension at this stage and re-apply for a one year renewal as usual, as the card could be ready within three weeks. Most of the delay was our own fault, and I have to admit to it. In the first place, the address they have used for us for the past five years is not where we are currently staying so when the Gendarmes went to find the people who had applied to stay in France for ten years, we were not there. Then they went to the local Mayor’s office, but we had neglected to leave our contact details with our friend, the Mayor’s secretary so she couldn’t tell them where we were. After that, we further complicated things by not getting in touch with her again for some weeks, and so it went on. So we can hardly blame the bureaucrats or the system, however convenient that would be.

So our return to the Aveyron was a much more pleasant trip than when we went down to the Gers. It was a lovely sunny day but not too hot, so driving was a pleasure. We made good time on virtually traffic-free roads and were in good spirits all the way.

The next morning was an early start for us in order to get our hosts to Rodez airport in time for their flight to the UK. It is not far – about 45 minutes drive, but we decided to come home a more scenic way and soon found ourselves cruising through the spectacular Aveyron Gorge, with river on our one side and towering cliffs on the other. The day had started off rainy but cleared a bit and allowed me a quick snatch of sun to snap a picture as we were about to drive through a tunnel along the road. Quite weirdly, it was raining again at the other end of the tunnel.

The rest of the week passed uneventfully. Our house purchase is going ahead and we are being guided through the process by a local notaire who fortunately has an English speaking assistant. We have had one meeting with her this past week and will no doubt have another in about two weeks time. Their aim is to get all the preliminary work done before we leave, as the final signing off can be done by the notaire himself. And then we will be the proud owners of a holiday house in France!

FRANCE 2015 Chapter 13

Aah! I have just realised something that could account for the week we have just had. It is Week 13!

After much thought and debate over last weekend, we decided that our first course of action wold be to contact our friendly Mayoral secretary and ask her advice – again. However her first working hours of the week were on Monday afternoon so we had to wait until after 2 pm to phone her. She was a bit horrified to hear that we had not got any further and suggested that we visit the Gendarmerie in Nogaro in person. At this stage we didn’t even know why the police were involved, but made plans to drive down on the Wednesday – her next working day, for her to check that all our documents were in order. She also phoned ahead to the Gendarmerie to say that we were coming. Then she started talking about having to be fluent in French; to having to spend more than half the year here and possibly passing some sort of oral test  on France. We were obviously shocked at all this until she pointed out that on the temporary extension of last years permit, was written ‘Carte de Sejour’ and not ‘Titre de Sejour’ and explained that we were having to jump through all these hoops because it  had apparently been changed from a request for a visitor’s permit to one for permanent residence. We were horrified but didn’t want to appear to be and spoil a rather nice (and helpful) friendship. Anyway she insisted that it would help to go and see the police and get that out of the way even if it turns out to unnecessary, so off we trotted to the police station in Nogaro where we found a very bewildered young policeman who hadn’t the foggiest idea why we were there. However, after a phone call to the appropriate section of the Prefecture in Auch, he laboriously took down all our details and thanked us for coming in. It was quite an unsatisfactory meeting really as we didn’t really know why we were there and he obviously didn’t know why we were there, but anyway, it was done

When we planned the drive down to Espas  and Nogaro, the idea was to spend Wednesday night with our friends, the, next morning, go off to Auch; find out what on earth was going on and then continue on to Vabre Tizac. But we found out that Ascension Day is a holiday of note in France and no-one was working that day . Don’t worry, said our friends, Stay an extra day and you can go on tomorrow. So on Friday morning we packed up all our stuff, said our goodbyes and thank you’s and set off for Auch. Only to find that the Prefecture was taking a long weekend off and they were still closed!

We now had a problem. Not from our friends’ point of view as they had already assured us that if anything went wrong we were just to return to them. No. We were now seriously running out of clothes. When we packed on Tuesday evening, I had looked at the weather forecast and seen that the expected high for Auch on Wednesday was going to be 34 degrees, dropping to about 25 the following day, we had brought a change of knickers, socks and shirt for one day and had not even contemplated putting in a cardigan or jacket. How wrong could we be! The whole trip down was overcast and quite cool, but not really cold. The next day while we were here with our friends was reasonable but chillier and Friday was downright freezing! Washing doesn’t dry very well in that sort of weather and seeing that I hadn’t a wrap of any sort, we decided a trip to the big supermarket was essential. There we found a fleece for me and knickers for both of us but finding an extra top for me was not easy. Supermarket clothing is designed for sylph-like French and even the largest size of the rack was not going to fit, but in the end and in despair, I settled for a t-shirt and was glad to have it as it is warmer than the two cotton shirts I had with me.

The next thing was our cell phone. Who on earth carries the chargers around for a one night stay? Not me, anyway. I knew it wouldn’t run the battery flat in the time that we would be away, but I hadn’t bargained on being away longer than one night, or on the number of phone calls we would have to make to let various people know that we were staying on; not coming back or whatever. Luckily our friends have a phone which is as ancient as mine and the charger plug fitted. Phew!

It hasn’t been all wasted time though. On Thursday morning we managed to fit in a brief visit to my cousin who we wouldn’t have otherwise seen this time round and on Thursday afternoon we visited a couple who are selling up and returning to Britain to live in already furnished accommodation. If and when the house sale goes through, we will need furniture for it and this was a good opportunity to acquire some items at less than cost price.

Friday, as I have described was a day to forget and on Saturday we visited another of the local friends who is Dutch and hilariously funny. She talks quite a lot but is so entertaining that the time flew and certainly took our minds of all the nastiness of the day before. While we were at her house, our host ‘rotovated’ her vegetable patch – a bit like ploughing it up – in readiness for the new seasons planting.

On Sunday there was a garage sale at the house of another lot of people who were selling up before moving back to the UK. How I wished that our house- buying plans were further advanced than they are. I could have picked up a load of real bargains! In the end, I settled for a set of six coffee mugs and a coffee pot on a tray, and three books, one a huge English/French dictionary, one a lovely coffee table book on French villages and another book on living in France. For all that, we paid eleven euros, which I thought was a bargain.

I am sorry that there are no pictures this week. Put it all down to us being somewhat distracted. Our visit to the Prefecture has now been postponed until Monday and once again we will hope that someone will be able to sort our problems for us.

FRANCE 2015 Chapter 12

And still we wait! In spite of the week seeming to have flown by, all it really means is yet another week without our permits to stay here. Both of us are getting quite despondent about the whole matter as there seems to be no-one that we can approach to find out why everything is taking so long, or whether anyone is doing anything at all. The house purchase is in limbo as it can only go ahead when we have permission to stay and the exciting part like going to second-hand sales and car boot sales to see what ‘treasures’ we can pick up to put into the house has had to be put on hold. What a good thing we have delayed our return date to the 28^th June.

I say that the week has flown past but we have done practically nothing all week. We roused ourselves out of our depression on Wednesday to work on the car which was a much needed job. Ever since the mice got into the engine compartment of the car before last year’s trip to France, the three speed interior fan has had only one speed – flat out. So first of all we researched the matter via the Internet and found that most people advised buying a new fan motor. Not good news at all for my Mr Fix-it! More bad news was that he would have to remove the whole dashboard of the car to get to said motor. The online car parts sites were even worse. They informed us that a new motor would set us back about 300 Euros. Too much! Then we discovered a wonderful person (on line) who pooh-poohed all the above and gave a completely different diagnosis for the problem, which, if it was correct, could be relatively easily be fixed.

No sooner said than done! In minutes we had the car in the driveway and parts strewn around to enable us to get to the part we needed to remove. It took a while and some contortions but eventually it was out. The whole job was made a lot more difficult because the car was originally designed for left-hand drive and our car is right-hand drive and as the fan motor sits more or less above the steering column, one needed double jointed hands and wrists to get it out and to replace it. After some time it finally got done and the repair worked, so we could put it all together again and now we have a three-speed fan again, just in time for summer! I am glad that we were alone on the day as I can’t imagine what we must have looked like when we were trying to extricate the thing. Neels was half kneeling on the ground next to the car with his upper body in the driver’s side foot well, twisted around so that he could see up into the works behind the steering wheel, while I was lying on the passenger seat on my back with my head also in the driver’s side foot well, shining a torch vaguely in the direction of where he wanted light. Thank heavens no-one was around with a camera!

Thursday started off misty but, as so often is the case, brightened up and turned into a brilliant afternoon. Now all fired with enthusiasm for ‘doing things on the car’, we went to hunt down a second-hand car parts shop in one of the industrial areas of Villefranche. (We get to some really exciting places, don’t we?!) After a while there, without buying anything in the end, and as we were already on the road to somewhere called Monteils, we thought we may as well enjoy the good sunshine and carry on.

We didn’t think the village of Monteils was anything special but they have a most lovely park with a river running through it which I imagine would be packed with people over the weekends. The lawn between the trees is all beautifully trimmed and certainly looks an inviting place to picnic. We took a different route back which brought us through Sanvensa which we had bypassed on a previous occasion.

This small village is built in an oval shape around what was previously the grounds of the chateau and its church. The name is a corruption of St. Vincent, original patron of the church. Today, the chateau and the church are quite separate and the houses have spread beyond the original oval but it is a dear little village with pretty flowers wherever they can find place for them.

Friday the 8^th May is a Public Holiday in France, it being the commemoration of VE day. (Victory in Europe) There are bound to be ceremonies all over France and wreaths laid at all the war memorials in honour of the fallen. But it is not all serious stuff. Some of the bigger centres have brass bands and other activities going on. In Vabre Tizac, for example, they organised a sponsored run as part of the day. There is a path that leads down to the village, next to the house where we are staying – one of those ‘five minutes down and five hours back’ kind of paths – which formed the first half kilometre of the run. What a way to start! By the time the ‘runners’ got up to us here, they were puffing and panting and reduced to walking, and this was only the beginning! Actually, I later found out that some people had done a single lap of the route while others, made of stronger stuff, had completed a double lap, As this included doing the steep uphill section twice and I must have seen them on their second lap, and now feel they were fully entitled to be puffing and panting. And all of this was going on in the rain too!

This afternoon when the two men went off to play cars with a friend down the road, I took my embroidery and sat out on the patio in the shade. It was heaven! Whenever I looked up I was confronted by the fifty shades of green that I wrote about before only now they have become even more intense. Masses of birds were twittering and calling; a raucous crow had a lot to say; and once again, down in the forest in the valley, the cuckoo was striking the hours. Some sort of beetle was making a continuous rasping noise but it was not unpleasant, while two huge birds of prey that possibly have a nest in the same forest as the cuckoo, flew up and up and up, soaring higher and higher until they were out of sight.

I am sure I have said this before, but I am always struck by the number of blue flowers that we see in France. Perhaps we notice them because there are fewer of them in South Africa. Our own Spring flowers seem to be more reds, oranges and yellows while here we see blue, mauve, purple and violet. Perhaps it is because blue is my favourite colour that my eye is drawn to them but whatever the case, they are very pretty.

Hold thumbs that we hear about our permits during this coming week.

FRANCE 2015 Chapter 11

The rain that started last Sunday afternoon continued all night and on into Monday. What a bore! On Tuesday though it had cleared up and we went off to see the little house that we (as a family) have bought. We haven’t been given the keys officially yet but we know where they are kept so could let ourselves in and have good look around without an agent looking over our shoulders. While we were in the house, there was a knock at the door and there stood the village Mayor, to whom we had introduced ourselves a week or so back. He introduced himself again – in case we had forgotten that he was the Mayor, perhaps – and chatted away for a few minutes. Very friendly and welcoming and not at all put out by the fact that our French is still not fluent. We explained that the house was to be used for holidays for ourselves and our family, which I think he got the gist of. Why does one’s vocabulary always desert one at the time it is most needed!

The rest of the week was rather quiet apart from Friday which happened to be the 1^st of May. It is a tradition in France that on the first day of May, a spear of lily-of-the-valley flowers, known as muguet here, is given out to friends and family as a token of future good luck and happiness. It’s a charming tradition that I thought had been going for centuries but apparently it was only started in the early 20^th century when the flowers were sold to signify the beginning of Spring. So I did a little more research on the plant and discovered, to my horror, that the whole thing – stems, leaves and flowers – is extremely poisonous. What a strange gift for good luck and happiness! It is growing in the garden here, and I did consider picking a piece to take upstairs, where we had been invited for lunch, but I am now very glad that I didn’t. Instead we were treated to a magnificent meal by our hostess. Is everyone around here a wonderful cook? It certainly seems like it.

On Saturday it was again ‘out with the ladders’ as the two men battled with the last piece of the porch cover. Once again it was a ballet of balancing one foot on each of two ladders for one of them while the other juggled heavy power tools without falling off the narrow ledge at the end of the porch, but they got the job done. Let’s hope the next bit of DIY is less nerve-wracking to watch.

On Sunday we were taken along to a wine tasting in Villefranche. More of a wine show than a tasting really. There were about forty stalls in a large hall, most of which represented wine growers of the area; a couple from a bit further away. There was a also a display of pocket knives which are made here in Villefranche; a stall of olives and olive oil; one selling chutneys and jellies to accompany your meat and other savoury dishes; a stand of dried ham and sausage; one with the biggest chunks of nougat I have ever seen; another of macaroons and various sweet loaves, and finally, a stand selling wonderfully aromatic spices. When I say ‘biggest chunks of nougat’, I really mean that. After all we are used to seeing and buying nougat in neat little bars, cellophane-wrapped and very hygienically displayed. These were huge cakes of the sweet –probably about twenty centimetres high and thirty in diameter. And not just one, or two of them but a whole lot on the table and who knows how many more out of sight. I had never realised just what a popular delicacy it is here in France. .After doing a circuit of the hall, another circuit had to be made, stopping at some of the stalls to try their wares, and to buy some of the product, and then we went around again in case we missed anything!

On the way home, we did a slight detour through Morlhon so that I could at last get a close up view of the church with the lacy steeple. It really does exist and is not just an optical illusion and is old but not ancient. In fact it was built just after the First World War, but has lovely stained glass windows done in the classical style. Old style windows always have such wonderfully rich colours and these are like that. I imagine that the concrete steeple can be attributed to the fact that there was a shortage of iron and steel after the war and this made a good substitute. It is certainly novel even if it does look a little strange above the lovely old red stone walls

And so we have come to the end of another week.