ourfrenchoasis

WHAT’S IN YOUR SUITCASE?

When we moved back to France I said, “I’m not flying any more, never again!”, and yet last week I was once again on an aeroplane for the fourth time in a year, but I don’t really count FlyBe as proper flying; for a start from here they are small turbo-prop planes and secondly, they’re only short flights. For no sooner are you up, than you are back down and there’s something rather comforting about the familiar route; taking off from La Rochelle we always get the most stunning views of the Île de Ré, and FlyBe is really just as good as any private tour of the island from the air. From there we head north over France, sometimes hugging the Atlantic coastline, and sometimes tracking further inland. Brittany or Normandy always feature in one form or another and then it’s across the English Channel, cruising over my beloved Isle of Wight, and then swiftly down into Southampton. The airports are small and friendly and it’s all very easy.

This time around the security checks set me thinking. I wondered whether if I was the person sitting behind the screen watching the bags, whether I’d be able to play a secret game with myself and spot the tourist, or the student, the businessman, or the ex-pat returning home.

Surely we would have been very obvious as the tourist and the student; I was taking Izzi back to University and even though I will miss her like crazy I knew it was going to be such a fun trip, just the two of us. Most of her summer loot was stuffed into three big suitcases as checked baggage and our cases contained 12 bottles of local wine, a few jars of traditional French pâté, and plenty of books – all squished in with a pillow, two saucepans and a healthy dose of student files and artist supplies. Not withstanding two large pull-alongs as hand baggage, cameras and our handbags!

It’s lucky that there are no limits on wine between European countries and that it happens to be that time of year in France when every shop, supermarket and market stall is celebrating the Foire aux Vins. Shelves are bursting with bottles of red, rosé, white and sparkling and there is plenty of champagne and the local Pineau Charente.

Whether one buys wine by the bottle or by the case – and the French do the latter rather well – it’s important to think of the process in the same way as one would stock up on wood for the winter ahead; it’s a necessity that won’t go away and a chore that must be born with good grace if one is to entertain any frenchmen without a trace of embarrassment. Of course, as in this case it’s wine, it means case after case at crazily low prices, with special offers and remarkable values; for after all, a life in France means a good glass with a meal is a must, which is surely one of the great pleasures of living here!

My few days stay in England was something of a whirlwind; staying with family, visiting friends, plenty of laughter and much catching up with news and life. There was the requisite trip to Ikea in order to personalize Izzi’s student house for the forthcoming year. We found ourselves amongst hundreds of other students with their lists, dutiful parents all towing shopping-carts full of duvets, pillows, sheets, kitchen-ware and knick-knacks. Then it was back on the road, all the time reminding myself “Drive on the left, drive on the left!” even when distracted by wild ponies as we drove through the New Forest.

There was one slightly panicky moment when we crossed a toll-bridge over Southampton water, and when we stopped at the automated pay booth that only took coins, I realized with horror that I had no English coins – only Euros! Izzi came to my rescue, but her purse was neatly tucked away in her luggage in the boot of the car and so she had to jump out, frantically signal to me to turn off the engine so she could open the boot, and then rummage around in her suitcase to find her purse in order to find a single 50p coin; behind us the queue of cars grew longer and more impatient, and I was acutely aware of being in a hire car. Worse, I couldn’t even pretend that I was a foreigner! Slightly frazzled by the event, we drove away into the traffic, with me repeating the “Drive on the left” mantra! Definitely in need of a good British pub meal to recharge our batteries.

After shopping and unpacking, there was the obligatory meeting with the landlady of the accommodation, and then after organizing the replacement of a broken English mobile-phone with an amazingly helpful cell-phone shop assistant (incredibly, it was still under warranty), we finally found time to enjoy a little bit of Bournemouth – a really rather pretty seaside town in the south of England on the Dorset coast.

The seafront is lined with iconic British beach huts and these Cath Kidston ones are the best I have ever seen.

The Lower Gardens in Bournemouth provide some welcome green space in the heart of the city.

Back at the airport for my return journey I had just the one case, but I surely won the prize as the most obvious ex-pat. For my suitcase was stuffed to bursting with English cheddar cheese, Marmite (which to any English person who has grown up with it is one of life’s absolute necessities), English magazines, Club Biscuits at the request of Millie, and Jelly Tots for no other reason than that I always say to my children, “I love you lots and lots of Jelly Tots”; they never understood why I say this, and actually neither do I, but at least I was determined to show them what Jelly Tots were! The hunt for the latter took us to four different shops before Izzi spied some in a little old-fashioned sweetshop where we snapped up several packets much to the surprise of the shopkeeper who looked at us in a bemused fashion as we grabbed them like over excited children!

On board the plane I opened up Hello Magazine and settled back in my seat to catch up on a year’s worth of celebrity gossip, and an hour and ten minutes later I was feeling totally enlightened on the completely unnecessary knowledge of who is doing what, with whom and where, when we touched down in the warm sunshine of La Rochelle and a pleasant temperature of 25 degrees Celsius. Back to France, back home and back to driving on the right-hand side of the road! No more reminding myself to keep to the left; now I had to change my mantra to “drive on the right” and rummage around in my purse for some Euros for the tolls instead of English coins!

September 16, 2015September 17, 2015 by ourfrenchoasis

A MYSTERIOUS MAGICAL GROTTO

As promised I am continuing my series of local Artisans and I have to admit these are as interesting for me to write about as they are for you to read and for that I have to thank you, for without you all reading and being so encouraging I would not have written the first article or continued with so many and I would have missed out on so much local knowledge, for I have learnt so much in the process. This week I bring you a group of Artisans, extremely talented sculptors…

Last week, late one afternoon, Millie and I decided to have a walk through the woods at Port d’Envaux and see if we could find any of the legendary statues and carvings of the Lapidiales sculpture group, who hang out deep in the greenery each summer. We’d heard rumours that this was a real adventure, and it turned out to be not only that, but also a very interesting experience.

We parked the car in a deserted lay-by where we saw a quarry a little way down a track, and hopped out for a quick look. Two other people were wandering around in what was obviously a deserted attraction, and it seemed our luck was out for the year. Port d’Enveaux lies by the River Charente, and is a popular destination for canoeists and kayakers, but the stone carvings seem strangely lost in the general tourist blurb

We slowly ambled down to the tin-roofed area and ducked into what was once a sandstone quarry, now cloistered with a tin roof and wooden columns for events during the summer season.

Deeper into the hillside we went, slowly losing the light, and then on a wall we came across some remarkable paintings, obviously by the hand of someone very in tune with our ancient ancestors. It should have given us a clue to the talent that awaited us….this was no ordinary graffiti…..

Dispirited, we left, vowing to return next year, but as we moved down the road and around a corner in the car, we realised we’d stopped at the wrong place to start with, and there was very much life deep in the forest, and in a clearing next to the road a busy group of people were hard at work turning stone into art !

Amongst the artists were several monumental works and scaffolding ran around one huge piece which was busily being photographed by a man in a straw hat. Beyond him, we saw a path leading downwards into a gully, with a signpost indicating a route to follow. Millie and I decided we’d do that first and come back to the clearing later.

As we descended the path, we became aware that we were in a veritable cathedral of stone-worship, and any thoughts of mere touristic curiosities swiftly left my head as I looked on the first carvings, the start of a series of steps into a story of stone, each sculpture or grouping by a different artist, all following the natural theme of the life of mankind.

The green dim light coming through the canopy above us gave the whole scene a surreal grotto-like atmosphere, and with barely a whisper of birdsong to disturb the silence we both grew silent in contemplation of each artist’s individual act of worship to both the stone and the story-line they followed. The scale of the carvings was immense in places.

The rise of humanity by an Indian lady was a combination of so many different ideas, and as we passed from birth to life,

we took to the earth again, following the hollow into and under the hill. Here it became dark once more, and various groups, images and figures gazed and watched us from every corner.

To my western eye, Dali and Hieronymus Bosch seemed to lurk in every dark shadow, as contorted figures and morbid representations of life, suffering, temptation and sorrow sighed with the evening light as we went deeper into the darkness.

As we came out the other side into another part of the quarry, the emphasis by the artists seemed to have shifted towards that part of life that begins to wonder what lies at the end of our earthly sojourn. Each artist seemed to bring to life their own national cultural thoughts, and we saw works from Senegal, Russia, England, Kenya and Argentina amongst many others.

One brave soul had created an imaginary temple opening into the hillside, and Millie and I were both glad the door did not truly open.Amidst the temptations, a life-size woman escaped into an Escheresque opening,

and a monumental, detailed and freshly finished work by a New Zealand artist, Paora Toi Te Rangiuaia, towered up a complete cliff-face, and swept me back to the Bay of Islands and all the imagery I once looked at there. The gleam of paua shell in the figure’s eyes seemed oddly at ease in the dark subterranean light.

Finally we turned out of the dark and started back up the hillside to the clearing on the other side of the quarry, and it became apparent that the sculptors here were now creating their own visions of hell, eternity and the life thereafter.

A mythical city in the sky, presided over by a huge head of stone, quickly led to an expected vision – hell, and the damnation which occurs in it.

Exhausted somewhat by our journey through life and its tribulations, Millie and I crested the low hill and came in to the workshop and its attendees. We dawdled, and watched fantastical shapes being craved, with eyes carved and hair straightened on heads, and sinuous curves being sanded by loving hands. There was the steady chink, chink, chink of tools and mallets, and the scene looked as if it could have come from a place far long past, in an age when woodcutters and masons joined forces to shape sandstone for new churches a 1000 years ago.

A gentle sculptor showed Millie the ear she was perfecting,

carving with a tool unchanged for 500 years. After it became obvious that Millie was fascinated, the lady broke off a piece of sandstone, offered Millie an awl, and taught her how to carve her own name.

Finally, as the sun fell, people started packing up, and I fell into conversation with a sculptor from the UK who briefly told me the history of the Lapidiales group, and what it represented. Artists from all over the world have been meeting here for over 20 years, and what has emerged in terms of work is simply a mutual understanding of talent, and a growth of sculptures all related to the inherent motive – to understand, teach and reflect on the destiny of man. Whether it is the works of stone, or the traditional music and plays, or even the rapport that the group establishes each season and each night with their audience, it seems there is something for everyone, and the site has enough energy and is respected enough, that during the 8 months of the year that it lies unattended, no one comes to desecrate or vandalise. I’m keen to come in winter and see how it all feels then, away from the green light of summer.

As we left, we had time to admire some finished statues and carvings in the workshop clearing, and some of the work that had taken all summer to complete was simply astounding in design, complexity, detail and a skill. Alongside a stunning Celtic warrior in the fullness of life,

was another, caught in the embrace of death and legend

Our New Zealand artist had also contributed to the circle of carvings, and his offering once again told volumes about patience and the depth of his truly unique talent.

It seemed a long way from the land of Maori, here, deep in a small wood in the Charente Maritime, but I thought it must have been a journey of thought bravely followed. I felt a sense of great achievement attained from a mutual gathering of spirit, a kinship that gathered each year to worship stone and produce art designed to last for centuries.

There is a giant end-of-summer party this weekend as tools are packed and the grotto and clearing are then left to nature for the winter – there’s a child’s workshop one afternoon and I know all of mine will want to go.

September 10, 2015September 10, 2015 by ourfrenchoasis

IT’S TIME TO GET SERIOUS

It’s that terribly sad time of year when the children have returned to school and suddenly summer seems to be nearly over. There was no gentle slide towards the impending autumn; rather it happened overnight in the blink of an eye. One day everyone was swimming, with long leisurely lunches outside, and everywhere one turned holiday-makers swarmed like wasps over hot pavements. Then the next moment the children were back at school, slipping back into their routines as if the long summer-break had never happened. Suddenly the traffic is a little lighter, and the tourists have halved in number; and quite co-incidentally the weather has dropped by several degrees. To be honest though, I don’t actually think it’s the slightly cooler days that have made it all feel somehow different, it’s the fact that in France La Rentrée doesn’t just apply to schools; it actually applies to almost everything – restaurants re-open for business lunches, businesses re-open, government offices that have run on a mere skeleton staff return to full capacity, and in short France goes back to work and gets serious again. It’s a system quite unlike anything you may be used to, but it seems to work.

The two youngest girls and Roddy walk to school on these lovely sunny mornings, gallantly trailing their pull-along bags; nearly every French child at primary school uses a pull-along and it certainly makes a great deal more sense than carrying backpacks groaning with books which are almost the same size and weight as the child carrying them. As a result each morning and afternoon the old narrow streets of the village reverberate to the unmistakable sound of school-bag wheels rolling along the pavements.

I drive the older two children to their school some 8kms away. Once again we’re back to our school routine and once again admiring all the area has to offer. I relish how lucky I am to have such a beautiful early morning drive each day following the church steeples from village to village. On the way home yesterday I stopped and took some photos, trying to capture the very essence of what makes the school run so special and why I never tire of it.

This morning it was such a beautiful day I took the time to dawdle again and take a few more photos. It was one of those early mornings when you just want to be outside; the air had a definite coolness to it, and the sultry humid air of mid-summer is slowly waning; it’s being replaced by something just a little fresher.

I noticed this new sign in a nearby village, Roule ma Poule, it’s a new Salon de Thé due to open this coming Saturday; Roule ma poule does not mean ‘roll my chicken’, which is the literal translation, but is rather more an expression similar to ‘Let’s go!’. It should’t be confused with ça roule ma poule which in total contrast means more “are you okay, little one ?” in a casual way, with perhaps a wink! Roddy – who is pretty fluent in French – read an amusing expression last year which he had understood was just a local term for ‘bad weather’; he happily went around repeating it to all and sundry last winter, thinking he had a grasp of the local patois. Unfortunately, little did he realize that in fact what he was saying, was indeed very local, but also extremely rude (but that’s another story!). In short beware of odd phrases, they don’t always mean what they say at all!

Still, summer may be fading, the sun may be just a little weaker and the nights a little cooler, but the days are still beautiful; with solar-heating the pool is still around 30˚C and I am hoping there will be much splashing after school and at weekends for at least another month, if not two! To confirm that the holiday season is not totally forgotten some of our favourite friends are coming over to visit from America at the beginning of October; yesterday they phoned to confirm they had booked their flights and we couldn’t be more excited – I cannot wait to share our little corner of France with them.

Our vegetable garden is still producing wonderful food. We still have lots of carrots, plenty of melons, loads of peppers, an abundance of courgettes and aubergines, and a few lettuce. The grapes are ripe and soon it will be the turn of the persimmons and olives. The tomatoes were hit by an end of season late blight which took hold in a matter of hours after one particularly strong storm accompanied by an overnight downpour. But I can’t complain as the freezer is stocked with homemade tomato sauce and ratatouille, it is Roddy who has labored over the tomatoes with some dedication at the stove and the freezer is looking very healthy. The hedgerows are overflowing with blackberries and sloes and our fig tree is heaving with fruit – right now we’re getting a trug-ful a day !

The rest of the garden is still looking relatively good despite a tough summer for plants with searing temperatures and very little or no water. The Japanese Anenome have come into their own and are flowering in all sorts of corners that otherwise lie forgotten.

Last night for the very first time I made confiture de figues. In Italy it is a firm favourite and I have eaten it several times before, but never made my own. It is delicious with cheese and I am going to try it out on several friends who are coming for a bbq on Sunday. My many little sous-chefs here confirmed that it tasted fab while warm, so it’s looking good !

In other news, it’s been a difficult summer for the chickens that has seen us back and forth to the vet several times; I can almost hear the vet clap his hands together as he sees les fous Anglais (crazy English) arrive at the door for yet further medicine for their chickens; these are drugs that costs 20€ a go for a chicken that cost 11 euros! However, suffice it to say that not all has been a success and there is sadly now more than one cross at the end of the garden. But we have treated a respiratory virus that seemed to plague several of them with (fingers crossed) complete success.

Out of the eggs that Rosie sat on so patiently and hatched we kept one faverolle chick who we really hoped would be a female; it was lighter than the rest of them which we had given away but alas, the remaining ‘she’ is very much a ‘he’, who we have named – and I have no idea quite how this came about – Falafel! He is now thirteen weeks old and very cute; he has taken to following me around the garden cheeping wherever he goes and for some bizarre reason he thinks the two ducks are his parents. For the time being there is no fighting between him and Fritz and so for now his home is assured with us. He does sleep separately from the others and much to his dismay, Evie still thinks he is there just to be chased, no matter what we do to stop the fun and games….

Talking of ducks, Penny and Adrian are thriving, but – and it seems there is always a but – Penny is not a lady, alas, but a male! We have two male ducks and not the couple that we thought we were given! We didn’t have the heart to rename him so he is now a male duck called Penny! The two of them went through their teenage stage of being a little standoffish and aggressive, but they’ve now settled into a happy domestic partnership who once again eat out of our hands – tame and as gentle as can be. I guess as there is no dominant male any longer life is easy!

September 3, 2015 by ourfrenchoasis

WHAT MAKES THE PERFECT FRENCH HOLIDAY

For so many summer is drawing to a close. Whether we want to admit it or not the garden is showing a tiny hint of autumn. The biggest indicator of change though is in the supermarket; gone are the huge displays of sun-shades, parasols, beach-toys and flip flops that once greeted us as we walked in. Instead they have now been replaced by back-to-school special offers, of which there will be more on that next week – but I can’t think about ‘La Rentrée’ for a few more days. In fact, that’s why I am keeping this post short and sweet as I want to spend as much time as possible enjoying the last few days of the holidays with the children. I am one of those few people who really hate it when they go back to school, the children laugh and play at the school gates while I stand there sadly with tears in my eyes!

All of this has set me thinking about holidays, or more importantly – how people really like to spend their time when they come to France. According to the latest statistics, France is still the world’s number one tourist destination with some 85 million visitors a year. I wonder what is it you love most of all, or what are you dreaming of if you ever get over here?

I am assuming you want everything to be quintessentially French…

Maybe you’ll be touring beautiful towns and villages, enjoying the local architecture

Stopping at a local restaurant, where even the French sparkling-water, Badoit, comes in it’s own special bottle with matching glass

or whiling away a few hours on a terrace, shaded from the sun, watching the world go by

Maybe it includes a little retail therapy, always in a stunning location of course

and I am assuming somewhere near the top of everyone’s list is at least a taste of locally-baked croissants and pain au chocolat ?

Perhaps a little more indulgence with mouth watering ‘macarons’; you are on holiday after all!

A few nights at a delightfully understated but incredibly comfortable little boutique hotel, perhaps? I fell in love with this little hotel on the île de Ré with nothing more than a tiny brass plaque for it’s name and a discreet doorbell for entry

Even the luxurious Clarins Spa has an unpretentious façade. A day or weekend here would certainly revitalize both the mind and body

Perhaps your idea of perfection is exploring historic ruins and ancient buildings like the Abbaye de Trizay built in the 11th Century

Or perhaps your thoughts are more coastal themed; the lure of the water and golden sand; or if you just can’t stand the crowds, away from it all on a boat, viewing France from the sea

Or is it all about the local markets for they certainly are an integral part of the French way of life? Fresh baguettes and seasonal fruit and vegetables which at the moment means figs and grapes!

Or maybe it’s a mixture of everything; perhaps a month touring the coast and then moving inland with nothing but a suitcase, a car and a few euros for meals. Stopping wherever appeals. I think I could happily spend a little time in a place with such a charming name as this

I should just add that this lovely photo of the sign was spotted and taken by Gigi, our nine year old, she has good taste!

August 27, 2015August 27, 2015 by ourfrenchoasis

FÊTE DES BATTAGES – “THRESHING FESTIVAL”

After another scorching week of crop-scorching weather the heavens opened last night with a most breathtaking thunderstorm. At one stage our terrace turned into a river with water running in a torrent down it, Roddy was wondering whether to spey-cast across the stream for newts and frogs.

By 4am the thunder had ceased and poor Bentley finally stopped shivering with fear – at dawn the odd down-pour still persisted but the garden had hungrily soaked up every drop of water and sat there contentedly in the weak sunshine, glistening like a frog with a fat stomach. Everything looked that little bit greener finally after such a dry summer, and after a week of sand and sea, boating and swimming, it was time to spend some time locally again.

We searched for unused raincoats amongst the cobwebs in the boot-room, and headed off to the Fête des Battages in Trizay, not entirely knowing what to expect except that it was a threshing festival and a real old fashioned farmers market! By the time we arrived we didn’t need them anyway as the heavy black clouds had completely retreated and once again blue sky was visible. We hoped the ‘agriculteurs’ would be in good voice, despite the dreadful forecast for the maize harvest which apparently is going to be one of the worst on record here after the lack of water.

On display at the fête was an old threshing-machine from the 1950’s and not long after we arrived they fired it up and demonstrated how it worked, much to our delight. An ancient granny of a tractor served as a power source, and a drive-belt snaked some 30 feet to the threshing machine, driving in turn a spiders-web of belts, pulleys and baffles – Heath Robinson would have been proud. How much incredible hard work the harvest used to be, and how much more dangerous. After the corn had been cut it was tied into bundles and then passed by hand into the threshing machine which sorted the grain from the stalks. The grain was gathered at one end in bags, the chaff gathered underneath, and the straw came out the other end were it would end up passing through an attached baling-machine. Hetty and Gigi were engrossed for a good half hour, and it seems the rest of the crowd were too. We had to drag the children away eventually.

Modern day combine-harvesters (or simply ‘combines’) operate on the same principles and use the same components as the original threshing-machines built in the 19th and early 20th centuries, but they also perform the reaping operation at the same time. The name ‘combine’ is simply derived from the fact that the three steps are combined in a single machine, something many people simply gloss over.

Growing up on a farm, I remember harvest-time as one of the best parts of the summer. Our bales would come out in rows of three with another three on top. If the weather looked fine, my father would always leave them out for a couple of extra days for us, and we used to canter around the fields on our ponies jumping them; there was only one rule – if we knocked one over, we had to get off and pick it up. We take modern farming methods for granted, but in the 1900’s everyone saw so much change. My father grew up on his in family farm in Sussex, he was born in between the two world wars and he saw all of this great change, which included horses being replaced by tractors, and then the step up to modern-day farm equipment. I remember him upgrading our bright red Massey Ferguson ‘combine’ for one with an enclosed cab; aside from cutting out the dust the cab was also silenced and this in turn meant he could listen to the cricket whilst combining – a vital part of an English summer!

In fact, today somewhat resembled an English summer day; the temperature stayed in the low 20’s (mid 70’sF) and white clouds scattered like Sussex hens across an otherwise blue sky due to the cooling breeze. A British friend who stayed with us last month remarked that she never remembers bad weather in England as a child in the summer holidays; of course it rained, but I similarly don’t recall the rainy days either – just endless sun, picnics, riding ponies, harvest-time, playing tennis and of course cricket; there was surely never any rain?

Anyway, on that note I wish you all a very happy week ahead with plenty of sunshine hopefully for the last week of August.

August 23, 2015August 23, 2015 by ourfrenchoasis

THE DEMISE OF BORIS

I’m really hoping that someone will tell me we are not the only people to have given their watermelons names. However, I rather fear as this is bordering on the totally insane that we probably are, and therefore it’s probably even worse that I’m actually telling you all about it rather than keeping it a secret!

I know this all sounds rather bizarre, in my defence, I wasn’t the one who named the watermelons, it was the children. I promise it was.

You see, we have never successfully grown watermelons before and so when two started to grow bigger and bigger for some reason they got named and during much laughter at supper one night, Boris and Tom were christened! Boris was the smaller one and a deep dark green. Yesterday was the day he finally got taken out of the vegetable garden to the table on the terrace where seven people sat under the shade of the umbrella, staring, waiting, wondering if he would be juicy, wondering if he would be as ripe as we hoped. The truth is he was utterly delicious – our very first watermelon we have successfully grown and eaten. Tom is next but not for a week or two!

Just to prove we are not completely bonkers, we headed off on our bikes yesterday evening for the very normal and down-to-earth activity of blackberry-picking. Long warm summer days mean the blackberries are incredible this year, and also very early. For our foraging, it’s vital to find a good source away from any commercial farming where fruits can run the risk of being sprayed with all sorts of chemicals as farmers treat their fields, so we headed down to our favourite place, the Marais; untouched by modern farming methods and away from any mass-produced crops, the blackberries and sloes here are very much as nature intended them to be.

Every time we go there (and it is often, we admit) there is something new to see – also some things remain unchanged, the three bay mares still come over as soon as they hear our voices.

It’s awash with insects and wildlife; I’m just an amateur but it is surely a nature photographer’s dream location and I can’t help myself when opportunities arise. The two photos below are of a spotted darter (which seem to be swarming in plague proportions right now) and a yellow-tail moth caterpillar which Millie found amongst the blackberries. We also saw a barn owl out quartering the fields in broad daylight.

The secret to blackberry-picking I have found is to not worry about filling the basket to start with, because in our family it simply won’t happen. The blackberries are so sweet and still warm from the sun and for the first half an hour nothing is saved, everyone picks and eats, tongues and fingers turning purple. The bucket dangles uselessly from someone’s arm and it’s only once everyone has had their fill that the task of collecting them can begin in earnest. Blackberry-jelly, blackberry and apple pie, crumbles with cream in the cold winter months, or perhaps, as I like best, eaten plain, straight from the freezer with some yoghurt for breakfast. Thankfully they freeze well; they’re packed with vitamins, organic and free – what’s not to love about them ? The best part of all is collecting them though, as it is such great family fun.

Of course nothing is ever completely normal with us, and Millie borrowed my camera for some digital therapy whilst I was busy picking. Going through the results yesterday evening I came across quite a few selfies she had taken and then some great photos of us all, I think Gigi is eating as fast as I pick here!

and then some more – how on earth did she manage this? There are some settings I never knew existed on my camera quite obviously, this shot now looks like something from the 70’s…

and then it becomes a water-colour painting, if only she hadn’t chopped everyone’s heads off! I can see I have lots of experimenting to do!

The blackberry-picking and bike-ride was a family affair as always, with Bentley and Evie joining in too. Since Bentley’s offering last week they have finally become friends, and Evie now follows Bentley’s lead on everything he does. In the Marais this involves sniffing scents from a thousand sources and eating delicacies from the local inhabitants!

When Evie had really walked far enough for her tender age of just 10 weeks, she fitted quite snugly under my arm!

We had so much fun that we arrived home long after we meant to and we’d totally forgotten about heading to the local grocery store for some supper. As the children jumped in the pool we wondered what on earth we were going to eat. It was up to Roddy to conjure up something tasty using whatever he could find, mostly vegetables from the garden. Thankfully, though, this is his speciality; I am so lucky as he rarely follows recipes and loves to experiment, so his absolute forte is coming up with incredible dishes from what always seems to be an empty pantry! Soon delicious smells started filling the kitchen and children appeared dripping in the doorway wanting to know what Daddy was cooking that smelt so good.

Here’s what he did. One and a half onions and some garlic were sautéed in a little olive oil with a mixture of Curcumin, sweet paprika and some mild curry spice. Then he added a couple of small chopped aubergines, and then a diced courgette; last came half a dozen freshly picked tomatoes in quarters. Once they were gently cooked he bound them all together with a little cream, let it cool, and organized the pastry in a pie-dish. An egg from the chickens was folded gently into the warm mixture and it all went inside the pastry which he folded over at the edges. A few slices of mozzarella and a little grated cheese and it was popped into a hot oven for 20 minutes. The result was an utterly mouthwateringly delicious far-eastern delight of home grown goodness, washed down with a glass of local red wine – a great way to end the day.

August 20, 2015August 20, 2015 by ourfrenchoasis

BENTLEY’S VIEW ON A NEW PUPPY written by Bentley himself!

BENTLEY’S DIARY

Tuesday 4th Aug:
Hot. Too lazy to come down for breakfast. Lots of noise from the family about something. Bored, so lay in the sun for an hour, had a constitutional and then chased Rory round the garden for 10 minutes. I won on points. Sun crept over the house mid-afternoon so we had some shade on the terrace at last. Wish I could go in the pool, but I don’t actually like water! Too hot for a walk. Door-bell went about mid-afternoon, and amid much noise from everyone else a lady came in with a ‘thing’ – a puppy. OMG. My life is ruined. Snapped at it and hope that’s the end of it. Hopefully it’s not a keeper but only staying a couple of nights. The girls seem far too enamoured by it. Dad cuddled the damn thing. Hrmmph, not happy. If they expect me to sleep with ‘it’ they have another thought coming. However, although it’s very small, it is a girl. Possibilities for a decent date in a few months time, perhaps ? Had snacks under the supper table and went to bed. Forgot to clean my teeth. ‘It’ slept in the kitchen.

‘It’ howled all night. Didn’t sleep a wink.

Wednesday 5th Aug:
‘It’ had laid waste to the kitchen when I got down in the morning. Dad very busy with paper and bleach – good grief, how I hate the smell of that; it takes me back to my puppyhood days. Cheeky thing tried to eat my breakfast, snapped at it again. Hot morning, tried to snooze in the sun by the front door, but pesky ‘thing’ kept biting my ear. Thought I might take HER ear off or something, but Dad was much too attentive. Hopefully she will go back later today to where she came from and leave me in peace. I had to eat my breakfast outside for goodness sakes !

Spent the afternoon in the vegetable patch with mum, snoozed under a tomato plant. ‘it’ has a name, apparently – Evie. The girls still very excited by her, I have no idea why. She’s so small and useless for anything really. She came bounding down the garden at some stage and then started chasing the chickens, especially Falafal, the small cock. Now that was funny to watch, both of them pretty evenly matched for speed but Falafal managed to get the better of Evie. I watched amused as all the family shrieked round the garden after them. That was even funnier. Then she found the ducks, which was a very different kettle of fish.

Ducks 1, Evie 0.

Thursday 6th August:
Not a lot happened. Well, not for me. Evie tried to chew my face most of the day and I lost my temper a couple of times, I admit. She likes chasing my tail too, which is annoying. She learnt not to eat my food, anyway. I tried to keep my distance most of the day but gave up after lunch – she is very persistent. Rory and Clara find her fascinating and Rory seems intent on playing games with her. She, in turn, seems to find Rory extremely exciting and there were plenty of standoffs in the bushes until Rory had enough and climbed a tree. Stupid dog, she really is. It looks as though she’s going to stay, though, sigh. I’ll have to get used to her I guess. It’s very difficult refraining from finishing her food though. Got shouted at already for that. She seems to have some brains though and at least she’s pretty, no longer chasing chickens and no longer chasing the ducks – the latter not for the same reason as the former though.

Full time score: Ducks 3, Evie 0

Evie howled all night in the kitchen. Had to sleep upstairs under Dad’s pillow to cut out the noise. That was fun. Every time Dad went to sleep I’d lick his face…..very amusing.

Friday 7th August:
Pretty much the same as yesterday, though as Evie has now learnt to respect my space, I have a little more time for her. By the time we get around to going out for a drink in six month’s time I might even have got to like her, I suppose. Evie seems to have got the hang of going into the garden. I just can’t understand why everyone is so nice to her, and not to me. Why ? She’s so excitable and whizzes from A to B at high speed, little legs a-blur. At least she doesn’t yap too much, that’s a blessing. She also has stopped making so much noise at night. It’s almost as though she’s settling in, which is a bit much, quite honestly. She chews anything and everything and she likes those dried pigs ears – golly, goes through them like a dose of sweets. She’s welcome to them, eeeugh. I hate them.

Lots more noise in the night. I suggested she slept in the chicken house – that went down well.

Saturday 8th August:
Evie discovered the front garden today when Mum was hanging out the laundry. Massive noise and shouting when she discovered the drain through to the road, never seen people block something up so fast. I had no idea Mum was so good with bricks. I’m pretty sure Evie can get through to the house next door, but we’ll cross that fence when we come to it (see – I made a pun there !!). Otherwise a pretty boring morning – cats, chickens, ducks and me, all targets for Evie in varying amounts of energy and excitement. She’s definitely not keen on the ducks – when they start flapping those wings it’s a different kettle of fish for sure.

Went round to Michel’s for supper, Evie came too for some bizarre reason. I would have left her at home in a box or something. She understands the principals of ‘finders keepers’ far too well for my liking. I am definitely losing out on some scraps, I think. Supper was lots of little things on plates, ideally sized for me of course, but no one would drop anything. Most annoying. And of course Michel and his kids were all over Evie like a rash. No one paid me any attention at all in comparison. Had a long chat with their cat about the injustices of it all, then found out she’s going to be pregnant soon and have kittens. Kittens? I ask you, what is the point of that?? Why is everyone so obsessed with puppies and kittens? Mia and Sophia turned up at suppertime (they’re staying the night with us on their way south it seems), and I thought I’d receive some rapturous welcome from them, but no – it was all Evie this, Evie that. I think I looked a little sad as Dad gave me a slice of salami. Just the one, mind you.

To top it all off, when we got back home Dad went into the boot-room and started some sort of construction project. Much banging and hammering and he came back in the kitchen with some sort of hutch arrangement for Evie to sleep in. I laughed so hard, my sides hurt. What on earth was the point of that ??? Why would you coop her up when she could play all night in the kitchen??

Slept like a log. Not a sound from the kitchen. I’m certain I mentioned a hutch to Dad last week, didn’t I ?

Sunday 9th August:
Much praise for Mia in the morning after her suggestion of the apart-hotel for Evie. I can’t for the life of me work out why mum and Dad didn’t do it before, I’m sure I said something. Anyway, breakfast was cordial as well. Evie had hers in her little dining room in the apart-hotel, which meant I could have mine inside for a change. Great stuff.

Had a great mega-walk in the afternoon. I noticed, somewhat jealously, that Evie came too and was carried some of the way. I mean, what is that about ? It’s called a WALK, not a CARRY ! Duh ! and then she slept when we got home pretending to be tired! Anyway, lovely day, spent most of it lounging round the terrace, even found a roast potato under the lunch table, that was a big score. yum.

Evie spent her second night in the apart-hotel. Everyone else slept like logs. It truly was a great idea of mine. Shhh, I’m taking the credit even if it wasn’t my idea. Why didn’t they listen to me before ??

Monday 10th August:
Today was a pretty unmemorable day really except for a point in time when I woke up in the sun to find Evie lying across my paws, her little face just inches from mine. I’m not going to tell anyone, but I think she’s actually bearable. I’ll let her stay for a while, anyway.

Tuesday 11th August:
Drama today and Evie got wet. Ha ha. Everyone was in the garden this morning doing odds and sods and Evie found something delightfully green and moist to roll in. Never seen so many people in such a state; it’s just chicken-poo for goodness sakes. Anyway, to cut a long story short, out came the wheelbarrow, on went the tap, in went Evie and on went the shampoo. Something along those lines, but it appears Evie hates water as much as I do – good girl. Who wants that wet stuff anyway? Washed, dried and pampered, we slept in the sun together again for a while. As long as she leaves my ears alone we’ll get on, I guess. She does have bloody sharp teeth.

Everyone slept like logs again.

Wednesday 12th August:

All good, nothing to report. Found an old bone today behind the chicken shed but it made too much noise when I munched it too hard and Dad took it away. Sigh. Almost found an egg too but it was empty. Small dog Evie still here so I guess she is here to stay. She found some duck-poo to roll in after lunch and Dad took her away to the wheelbarrow again. Not so much shouting this time as Dad does not take prisoners and Evie had no chance to do anything but submit. I suspect she may not try that again for a while. Summer life is pretty good and the sun is still warm. Rory and Evie had a great game in the evening in the dark, chasing each other through the undergrowth. I think they like each other. I think I may even like her.

Slept wonderfully again. That hutch thing was a brilliant idea of mine.

Some of you may also be wondering what has happened to my Local Artisans series – fear not, it will be back next month when I interview another “local”. August is prime holiday month here in France and locals are either working every hour imaginable in the decent weather, making money from the tourists or are away themselves, so I decided to skip August and return with the next article in September. In the meantime I hope you enjoyed a week in the life of Bentley, something a little different which hopefully made you smile!

August 13, 2015August 13, 2015 by ourfrenchoasis

ESCAPE THE CROWDS – HEAD INLAND

This week our lives turned upside down – we have a new puppy! We drove inland and chose her from a litter of six in the neighboring department of the Deux Sevres at the weekend and she was delivered to us on Tuesday afternoon amidst much excitement. A gorgeous little short legged, broken-coated Jack Russell whom we have named Evie. She is 9 weeks old and a playmate for Bentley; or at least, that is the plan. So far he has tolerated her! As have the chickens, the ducks and the cats, up to a point. Evie thinks everyone and everything is a playmate and is rather surprised when she is given short change by most of the other residents of the property, with the exception of the humans, who she has quickly come to realize dote on her hand and foot! I am sure you will get pretty bored with photos of her over the coming weeks and months, but at the moment Evie is incredibly difficult to photograph. She doesn’t understand the command ‘sit’, and she doesn’t stay still long enough for me to take a decent photo. One minute she is playing and the next she has collapsed in an exhausted heap, instantly sound asleep, as puppies are prone to do. As you may be able to tell I am quite smitten with our latest addition, and I just adore the fact she has black eyelashes on her left eye and white eyelashes on the right one!

Evie has arrived in August, of course; the busiest holiday month of the year. As a result, the roads are crowded and the resorts are bursting with people. Where we live, a mere fifteen minutes from the sea, is very different to the coastline where everyone is drawn to the vast flat Charente Maritime beaches like bees to a honeypot; the long glittering washes of sand are magnetic strips for jaded Parisians and others. There is much action on the water; be it surfing, or bodyboarding, or boating, or fishing, or swimming, and then one can also hire jet-skis, boats and windsurfers; the action is there for all to see and do. However the beaches are packed and as our son pointed out, they are just a sea of colour at this time of year, pimpled with colourful umbrellas and spots of extravagant bikinis; this is after all a major holiday destination which boasts the second highest levels of sunshine in France after the Mediterranean and it appears that this summer it is certainly living up to its reputation.

There are still beaches and tiny secret coves to be found where the crowds don’t go and the locals keep a closely guarded secret, even if some of them do involve a slight trek through vast sandunes and past ruined WWII bunkers subsiding softly into the coastline they were once built to protect.

But if you really don’t feel up to battling the traffic and the masses, it’s a great time to turn the other way and head inland! France is quite a big country and parts of it are very sparsely populated; something that is a part of it’s immense charm and a feature we simply adore. Turning away from the coast and driving in the opposite direction along a good selection of different routes soon brings you to beautiful countryside, where fields of maize ripen under the same sultry sun that wilts sunflowers in the heat. It’s amazing, even during France’s busiest holiday month there are really very few cars on the inland narrow country roads; one sees the odd local, the occasional tourist and some foreign cars, usually with either Dutch or British license plates. We pass houses that look neglected with their shutters firmly closed but they’re just going about that age old tradition, shutting out the sun and keeping the interior cool.

Locals sit in the shade, nothing is hurried, in such heat it cannot be; a game of boules under the coolness of trees, a quiet afternoon fishing by the river. In the country time passes slowly for locals who know how precious their summer is. Far from the maddening crowds the water flows slowly….

There are still plenty of watersports available on the River Charente, albeit with a slightly more relaxed atmosphere. Kayaking is very popular in France and it’s easy to find a spot to hire some for the day.

Without so many people it is possible to really enjoy the beauty of France. This is inland Charente Maritime, still only 30 to 40 minutes from the coast, but a world apart. Here restaurants still enjoy their summer visitors, but they’re not groaning with hordes of tourists; as a result, everyone is charming and everywhere looks so perfect – so perfectly French!

While enjoying a little bit of casual culture it’s also a good time to visit one of the many châteaux of the region. Château de Crazannes is well worth a visit, nestled amongst the trees just outside the village of the same name. Built in the XIVth and XVth centuries and classified as a listed historic monument in 1913, it was one of the first private castles to receive this classification in France. Both Edward lll’s son, the “Black Prince” and the King of France, Francois 1st, stayed here. It is here that the tale Puss in Boots is also based – this goes back to the XVIIth century when the Marquis of Carabas owned the Château and he is indeed the master in Charles Perrault’s tale.

In the grounds, the Roman chapel, the keep, the moat and the dovecote are the remains of an ancient medieval fortress, which used to be a place for the pilgrims to stay for the night on their way to St Jaques de Compostelle in Spain.

The best bit of all for us, of course, is that wonderful stretch of countryside between land and sea right on our doorstep – the Marais de Brouage; where cattle and horses roam and where there is wildlife in abundance. For us it seems untouched by tourism and ignored by most people as they speed past it on the way to their coastal resort.

On the one hand I am glad it is largely ignored, but on the other I am sad that so few people take the time to appreciate it; it’s somewhere where one can walk and cycle for hours on end and not see a soul. It’s a land where one can reflect, a place so near to everything and yet so far from it all; a place full of discovery and a place I will never forget. It’s a good place to call home.

http://www.loumessugo.com/en/blog/entry/all-about-france-7

August 5, 2015August 6, 2015 by ourfrenchoasis

NEVER BLOG LATE AT NIGHT!

This is a sort of News flash and a lesson I have just learned the hard way. Never post a blog late at night, especially after a glass of extremely nice red wine. You see I meant to click preview and accidentally hit publish – horror struck as I watched a half finished post land in all of my followers mailboxes! So this is a plea, if you want to read the blog post Curb Appeal, please actually click on it which will take you to the new updated and slightly more finished version FRENCH GATES AND THEIR CURB APPEAL, as opposed to the original half finished draft. (rather than just reading it in the email). It is now past midnight and having learnt my lesson I am off to bed! Hopefully this little message will almost make things right! Night everyone x

July 29, 2015July 29, 2015 by ourfrenchoasis

FRENCH GATES AND THEIR CURB APPEAL!

Some of you may have seen a photo I put on instagram and Facebook last week of a small French courtyard. What was fascinating about this was not so much the super pretty courtyard, but the fact that it was found behind a most unassuming door in a wall on an unassuming street in a small French village. I really wanted to take a sneak peak with a camera lens behind all of the doors I see in walls, they are so common here, but it is impossible to see what lies on the other side unless you happen to know the owner and are fortunate enough to be invited inside. There is usually a mere hint of what lies beyond, a tree rising high above the wall, perhaps a vague scent of flowers but nothing more, they are hidden away, secretive and totally captivating. Short of attaching the go pro camera to a long stick and poking it over the top of the wall, which for obvious reasons is really not acceptable, there is no way of taking photos. I mean imagine the scenario, you are sitting drinking an afternoon tea, perhaps taking lunch or even swimming and suddenly a plastic eye starts snapping away at the top of the wall, invading on your privacy – you see, sadly not an option!

However, it did get me thinking about gates and driveways, the entrance to the house. Here in France, they are nearly always fenced with a gate or a street door. Sometimes these are left open, but more often than not they are firmly closed, to keep in dogs and to keep out unwanted and uninvited visitors.

Styles vary hugely, wrought iron being by far the most common.

They nearly always have big stone pillars

Some are new

Some are decades or even centuries old

and some have definite driveway envy!

Some offer complete privacy

some are purely functional farmyard gates, I do love the little red tractor here

and some serve a purpose, this is advertising the house is for sale – a little restoration needed, but hey once the garden was cut back so you could actually make it to the front door I wonder what one would find inside?

some are purely functional, neither imposing nor offering any form of privacy

and some I completely fell in love with!

So if you are visiting France this summer, take a little time and look at all the different styles – it cannot be denied, the French know how to do entrance gates!