family – Page 9 – Our French Oasis

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

SUMMER DAYS IN FRANCE

The summer season is fully upon us; the children are all on holiday and the roads are suddenly busy with lots of cars with foreign number plates; this summer the Dutch seem to be the most prolific. As a result, suddenly everything takes twice as long to do. There are lines of cars at lights, the beaches are bursting with bronzing bodies, the amusement-parks are full, and the restaurants over-flowing. But after a fairly dismal and wet May, the locals are finally breathing a sigh of relief as the weather is incredible with one long hot sunny day rolling into another – this is the season when the Charente Maritime earns its yearly tourist bonanza and the visitors are here, cash registers clinking away in a thousand seaside shops. The best part after all the hype of the coast and the buzz of cities we drive a mere fifteen minutes to our tranquil little haven!

In lieu of going away on holiday we have decided to take lots of day-trips this summer, to explore our area and perhaps a little more of France in general. It’s a plan that seems to be working rather well; while we have the comfort of having our own things around us, we have so much to explore, so much to do and so many places we have never been; then when we are at home the pool is in constant use, the kids leaping in and out with the refreshing sound of splashing water. Last night the number of children in the house swelled to 8 as friends came for sleepovers. As I am sitting at the kitchen table tapping away on my laptop writing this, there are children wandering up the garden accompanied by chickens and ducks hopeful of some morning scraps. Rory has found a sleeping-bag and as is his wont has quietly curled up in it, semi-hidden, for a day of snoozing. Clara has found a quiet chair in the garden and curled up on someone’s pool-towel, and Bentley is keeping an attentive vigil under the kitchen table; with so many extra mouths then surely there are a few more crumbs on the floor for him! Gigi has retrieved the butterfly net, a notepad and a pen, and is happily writing down all the creatures she catches and then releases; she wants to see how many different species we have in our garden over the summer. The most recent entrant in her tally is a common swallowtail, a white and black beauty studded with blue highlights and a pair of rubies. This is one of those rare moments when one can sigh contentedly and think, yes we are doing the right thing, this is surely what we want for our children growing up – the sort of ‘Swallows and Amazons’ lifestyle so many of us dream of.

Of course it’s 2015 and so our children have their fair share of electronics and computers just like everyone else, but when we have those moments with no electronics in sight and everyone taking pleasure from simple things, I could almost cry with happiness. In much the same way I get a warm happy fuzzy feeling when, trug in hand, the children help me pick tomatoes, cucumbers and plums for lunch, and aubergines and courgettes for supper on the bbq; all highlighted when the 8 years of wisdom that is Gigi looks at me and says “I love living in France, I love eating our own food, nothing could ever be better than this !”. It’s one of those moments when I allow myself to think that we’re doing an OK job of raising our children!

Last week we took to the water 20 minutes inland and rented a wonderful electric boat for an hour’s foray on the mighty Charente. Reclined under a canvas bimini-top, we went peacefully upstream in the glorious sunshine with the children waiting until we were out of sight of the dock so that they could then drive. Roddy and I relaxed as our midget crew took us up and down the river, with swans, cattle, and herons watching us pass by. The odd angler sat contentedly in the shade under the willows, nodding hello at us as we burbled past on silent battery-power. We saw one blue flash from a kingfisher and a small boat zipped by towing a diminutive water-skier who waved at us as she passed, her pigtail flying in the breeze. It was an emerald idyll, disturbed occasionally by squeals caused by minor navigational errors, and we were amazed at how little traffic there was. Roddy remarked that a longer trip could feasibly include a large wicker hamper, a cooler full of ice, and a feast of some sort. I had to agree. I need to find a bottle of Pimms, I think.

This was followed a couple of days later by a trip to the races for an afternoon of trotting. OK, so admitedly half the thrill was betting on which horse would win, but with just 2 euros on a horse, there was nothing serious here and admittedly this was somewhat of a lesson more about betting than it might have been about the passion of the crowd; perhaps not quite the perfect wholesome natural lifestyle I described earlier, but still one of life’s important lessons. “Betting is a mugs’ game” I told the children – and although Jack said, “Mama you could make a lot of money doing this!”, I had to reply, “Yes, you could, but you could also, like the vast majority of people, lose a great deal of money!”, and we proceeded to prove it as we emptied our pockets of coins and the odd 5 Euro note with no reward to show for it – the closest we got was a second place which proved useless as Roddy had put all the bets on ‘to win’. We watched from the stands where the thrill and noise of the crowd as the horses passed the finishing line is almost quite overwhelming and then we watched the last two races from the rails where you can literally hear the thud of hooves and feel the vibration of the ground as they thundered past within a few feet from us. The children’s eyes glowed with excitement, and they squeaked with delight as each trotter flew past feet away.

Today is going to be a simple beach day, however, as the children have had so many very late nights that they need to recharge their batteries somewhat. For us adults that means the beach, but the children are not of an age to sit and sunbathe, so for them the beach means boogy-boards, skim-boards, swimming, and lots and lots of other activities. Lungs will be filled with healthy salt air, Roddy will do his donkey impression as he goes down to the sand, heavily laden with beachware, toys and coolers, and all this will be followed by an early night. It’s a recipe that seems to work well. I am off to make lavender shortbread to take with us for the all important 4pm gôuter, along with some fresh picked plums from the garden. I love cooking with fresh lavender flowers when they are in season, it gives such a gentle flavor and is a little bit out of the ordinary which always works for me! Plus the kitchen and all of downstairs takes on a real Provençal smell which lingers for hours. It’s a real reminder of this wonderful time of year.

July 22, 2015July 23, 2015 by ourfrenchoasis

LA FÊTE NATIONALE – LE 14 JUILLET

Yesterday morning dawned grey and a little cooler than it has been in recent weeks. It seemed a good time to spend a couple of hours digging in the vegetable garden; I took out the peas, which had long since turned into Triffids and then started on some of the weeds which had taken up residence and developed their plots of land into sprawling communities of jungle. I felt a little like Jack amongst the beanstalks as I cut them all down. I sewed some more baby spinach seeds and planted out some tiny lettuces to keep us going through the rest of the summer. Roddy found it funny to ask if these, too, were going to turn into skyscrapers.

A light drizzle started to fall; not enough to do any REAL good, but enough to make my hair completely frizzy and to send me into a panic – not about getting frizzy hair but because I didn’t mind that I was getting frizzy hair! I’m someone known to go to great lengths to avoid getting wet hair, is this a sign of getting old and letting all my rules turn to ruin? It’s a family joke that if I return to the house in the car and it is raining that Roddy will miraculously appear at the car-door with an umbrella, and I have been seen on many occasions running across a road with a bag, a book, or anything else to hand above my head in a sudden shower. Yet here I was, standing in the vegetable garden with Gigi, laughing at my frizzy hair, and I didn’t care – I fear this is indeed a reason to make me panic!

A few hours later clear blue skies returned, and the sun once again became an overpowering force which sent the chickens fleeing for some respite under the hedges and trees. Cats forgot about chasing lizards for a while and slept contentedly in the coolness of the house, Bentley moved away from the heat of the mat outside the front door and sidled into the shade, where he too lay semi-asleep with an ear open in case someone should pick up a lead and mention a walk. My hair had been washed, dried and all signs of frizziness gone and all crazy thoughts of not minding firmly banished!

Yesterday was La Fête Nationale, or as it is commonly called – Le 14 Juillet. This is the French National Day that commemorates the storming of the Bastille on 14 July 1789. One of the highlights is the oldest and largest regular military parade in Europe which is held on the morning of 14 July, on the Champs-Élysées in front of the President of France and other French officials and foreign guests. Elsewhere in France it’s a day much like any other holiday, where people do their own thing and enjoy a day off from work. In the evening most towns and villages across the country have fireworks and then often a dance. Naturally, we were off to sample the pleasures of ours!

But first dinner – some food on the grill, friends joining us with a most beautiful gift of a box of French patisserie. The children emitted that infectious excitement that they always feel when there is anything akin to a party, and the sight of the patisserie raised those levels a little higher as they debated which to choose when it was time for dessert. As darkness fell the table was groaning with leftover goodies and small faces were beaming in sugary delight. The chickens had even been treated to a few prawn heads and Bentley had found some delightful pick-ups under the table.

As has been the way of things in our village for many years, once it was dark everyone was invited to gather at the Mairie to collect their lanterns. These were beautiful paper creations in an array of shapes and colours, containing a small candle which the Mayor lit for each and every one he handed out. At a little after 10.30pm the procession set off led by Mayor. We wound our way like a stream of fireflies through the old streets, past leaning houses that had been built centuries before the storming of the Bastille and which could no doubt tell many tales if only they could talk. Toddlers and tiny children, their lanterns almost as big as themselves, tottered along amongst the adults. Our own children had long since disappeared into the crowd, running ahead to somewhere near the front where they could be with their school-friends. The night was clear and still with a vault of glittering stars over our heads as our procession of 200 people or more wound our way through the village, lanterns ablaze. It was a very primeval procession, the flickering lights and jostling shadows perhaps a lingering memory of that evening so long ago in 1789 when the first night of the new federation might have echoed to the same ghostly mutterings.

Culminating at the Salle des Fêtes, the processionary throng stopped for the firework display set against the backdrop of the ancient 12th Century Chateau Fort. It was at this stage I had the feeling that I was in a scene from a film rather than real life, as the setting was almost surreal; huge searchlights beamed around whilst we waited for the fireworks to begin and when the first colours burst overhead a real sense of drama overcame us all as the display unfolded and more rockets and flares soared above the battlements. Incongruously, the music from Star Wars blared out across the field, perhaps relieving us of any surfeit of excitement we may have felt being too close to history!

As the last glowing pyrotechnic sank away downwind we wandered over to the Salle des Fêtes and the bal populaire or dance commenced. Elderly couples dancing a-deux swirled gracefully amongst younger adults, teenagers, children and toddlers. Our children swayed in and out of the crowd and time blurred into a sea of movement and flashing lights. In the early hours of the morning we wandered home, everyone content and happy and feeling a part of a very small, but very special little community – we are very lucky and very grateful to have found ourselves in such a friendly village.

July 15, 2015 by ourfrenchoasis

A TALE OF CONTRASTS

“Variety is the Spice of Life” – so they say, and in my case it certainly would appear to be true!

The summer holidays are here, the children have finished school and with the long hot sunny days the grass has turned brown from the lack of rain. The kitchen floor tiles are permanently marked with wet foot-prints as children wander in and out from the pool. Wherever I go I seem to stop to pick up a bikini-bottom, a swimming-towel, or a pair of goggles – all dropped here or left there; but I don’t mind too much, these are the signs of summer and the children are winding down from early starts in the cold wet rain of winter and spring. People drop in for supper, always casual at this time of year, with plenty of fresh produce from the garden, and either friends of the children are always here or our children are away at other people’s houses. There are tents on the lawn, and screams from the pool; it’s all part and parcel of having five children and I love it!

Early morning is the peaceful time; the soft golden hour between 7.00 and 8.00am is a favourite time of the day to wander down the garden to watch the ducks lumbering across the lawn as they wake up, wings flapping as they learn to fly. It’s akin to watching giant amphibious aircraft struggling to leave the ground. Much noise, much effort, and little to show for it still. The cluck of contented chickens foraging in the flower beds for breakfast competes with Fritz as he improves his teenage morning crow; being a small bantam rooster, it’s a quiet crow, almost tuneful but not too overpowering. Our potager is now hugely productive thanks to our well and the ancient, but incredibly effective pump, without which I would feel supremely guilty about endlessly watering, a necessity considering we have had no rain for weeks. When we first arrived here I looked at the huge old tank, the rusty pipes and archaic system with doubt and dread, now in the height of summer I have come to love the old pump, it groans into life with the press of a switch and I have learnt what an incredibly valuable commodity it is.

The aubergines are growing fast, their vibrant deep purple fruits fattening each day and the watermelons are now the size of small footballs. Admittedly, some of the garden is now somewhat overgrown, but it’s a dense sea of green with beautiful colours – a strong piece of kitchen garden with an organic life of its own. One or two of the lettuces have taken to adulthood (there are only so many you can eat) – Roddy has suggested one variety should be called ‘New York Skyscraper’, so vertiginous are its heights. Each morning I expect to find it toppled, a small tiny axe lying beside it. Potatoes lie in wait under a dark brown loam, and some of the larger courgettes have turned into marrows, lying hidden like anacondas under the jungle of leaves and flowers. Everything, of course, tastes just tinglingly delicious.

We are feasting daily on tomatoes still warm from the sun, peppers, lettuce, cucumber, those courgettes, those freshly dug new potatoes and sweet carrots; all accompanied by our terrace-beds of herbs and the freshest of eggs from the chickens; it seems like such a pure simple life which in turn fills us with energy. Until around midnight, at which point someone turns off the energy and I wilt into bed, satisfied but worn out.

Bentley loves the French summer sun – he spends most of his day lying in the warmth on the doormat! The kittens are now 10 months old and although they hunt together at night, during the day they are completely independent. Rory loves nothing better than to curl up somewhere in the house, usually in one of the childrens’ bedrooms, where he buries himself deep on a chair under cushions or surrounds himself with a duvet so he can hardly be seen; there he sleeps, content and undisturbed for most of the day.

Clara, by contrast, likes to follow me around, and whenever I go near the vegetable garden at the very far end of our garden she magically appears at my feet from the bushes and her lizard-hunting. Rubbing around my legs, she purrs continuously as I stop to pick tomatoes or a cucumber. She often stops and lies at my feet when I pause for thought – I think I have never known a cat like her.

The calm of this semi self-sufficient summer lifestyle is in complete contrast to the vibrant life of the coast a mere fifteen minutes away where the summer season has started in earnest. Already the roads have double the amount of cars and our village is buzzing with life and traffic; holiday-homes have opened their shutters and our little bakery is no longer a 30 second wait for one’s baguette; sometimes you have to wait a scandalous minute or more to be served! The beaches are busy and the hotels are filling up, and the camper-van season has started on the country lanes. All of this is good though, as the financial life-blood of provincial France sorely needs this artery-opening season – without a good, successful summer, households go cold and hungry in winter. Roddy and I suspect this is why the local attitude to the tourist and visitor here is respectful and courteous – it is a refreshing attitude compared to those places which have a 12-month tourist season. From what we have seen, the local population do really seem to happily put up with any inconvenience that might occur, content in the knowledge that by being busy now, they can enjoy the rest of the year sleeping on their wads of Euros, tucked away under hard mattresses.

Earlier in the week friends took us to the Luna Park at La Palmyre. As it’s name suggests, this park is only open at night, from 8pm until 2.30am. There’s little point in getting there until it is dark as that’s half the fun; the neon lights and electric atmosphere pulsate against the night sky, and considering sunset is not until around 10pm at this time of year, it means a late night! We arrived somewhere around 10.30pm and left in the early hours, several dozen Euros lighter but laden with soft cuddly toys and other winnings from various stalls! It was all a complete opposite to our life in the village, with its quiet country lanes and fields of yellow sunflowers. In the dark of the night as children weaved and bobbed amongst the throbbing lights and excited rides, I had a glimpse of a totally different way of life, where one can imagine shady deals taking place behind the bumper-cars and illicit kisses being stolen behind the cardboard cut-outs, where danger may lurk in the shadows; a delicious blend of excitement and surprise. Of course, nothing happened, and the children had a great time; and so did Izzi and I, as we chaperoned the small people from one stomach-wrenching ride to another, and from coconut shy to the splash of the duck-catching stall.

As we drove home, small people asleep within minutes in the back of the car under a great sprawl of stars above a sleeping landscape, it was astounding to think that the pulsations of the fun fair are a mere fifteen minutes away, this is the home of ClubMed here, a zoo, hotels, waterparks and campsites. It’s not somewhere I would want to go every night, or even every week, but very occasionally it is the greatest of fun! As we hurried home our headlights picked out the nightlife in the marsh, where eyes glowed behind rushes and where dark forms scurried from shadows across the road – I knew in the morning I would be back at work with the hoe and the pitchfork – a complete Freudian contrast to the evening.

July 9, 2015July 9, 2015 by ourfrenchoasis

A SLOWER PACE OF LIFE? YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING!

“We will have more time on our hands”

“It will get less frenetic soon”

“When we have more time”

I seem to utter these phrases several times a day, or perhaps I am just trying to convince myself, but I do know that we really will have more time on our hands soon; I really do hope so. Right now, I feel as if I am being pulled in every direction. The weather is beautiful, with long hot sunny days and it’s not getting dark until well after 10pm. This has a downside though, as we are working until well past 10pm each and every day. We’re up against a few deadlines and nothing bar nothing seems to be going our way at the moment.

Our guest house has a deadline and we are frantically trying to get it finished, but it seems to be a case of one step forward and two back as we hit problem after problem; below is a little glimpse of what it looked like when we bought the house, and what it has gradually turned into.

The pool is still not finished as it has also suffered a few setbacks. Arguing with customer relations on the phone is not my forte in French, and even Roddy struggled to break down the obstinate defenses of the seasoned pool shop campaigner who fielded his questions and demands with an increasingly frightening use of French terms which seemed to have no direct English translation.

Jack finished school this week on Tuesday and has been reveling in not having to get up at the crack of dawn any more. Millie finished last Friday, but returns to school today and tomorrow for her Brevet exams which I’ll explain later; this has been a revision week at home for her. The two youngest girls still have another week much to their annoyance, but it’s hardly doom and gloom, they have their big school fête to look forward to at which I thoughtfully volunteered Roddy to run the barbecue! There are dance performances, games and singing, and with much practicing replacing standard lessons at school the excitement is building amongst all the little ones. They also have a day out touring the marsh in the Marais on their bicycles next week and it should be a fabulously novel school trip. This morning they went to school on their bikes as they were spending a good part of the day going over road safety, safe bike handling and so on. Of course, when you’re 8 or 10, this isn’t boring – this is super-exciting stuff; in fact anything that detracts from normal lessons is super-exciting, at least that’s how it was in my day and I think that is one of the few things that hasn’t changed! Roddy trundled down the road with two children, two bikes, two large school satchels, helmets and various other accoutrements, muttering under his breath about Don Quixote, donkeys, and windmills. I rather think his foot suddenly developed a limp again just for the spectators.

What is also exciting for us is the fact that Izzi is home from University for the summer; it’s fabulous to have all five of the children together again and it’s just plain NICE to have her home. She has taken over the role of head-cook and part-time housekeeper whilst we live in this temporary whirlwind of deadlines, and in turn this allows me to get bitten late at night in the garden by mosquitos as I deadhead, weed and water. The bats whirring sibilantly around my head are very much my friends in reality, of course, but I have to worry about them too, I have had a fear of bats ever since I watched a highly unsuitable horror movie when I was a teenager. Roddy confidently announced we had two species in the garden, and surprised at his knowledge, I asked which sort – the answer was typical and to the point – ‘big ones and little ones’.

Mowing the lawn at 8pm yesterday evening Izzi called me in to supper. What awaited was not a quick snack thrown together, but a beautifully presented delicious meal, including a much needed glass of wine. Best of all, she is managing to cater for all seven of us with a lot of our produce fresh from the garden; no one could ever ask for a more thoughtful beautiful daughter, Izzi darling, you are the best, Thank You xxx

Amidst the chaos of the last week, it turns out that our four Faverol chicks appear to be three males and one female – which is not the result we had wanted! As I had promised our neighbour’s son, who also happens to be best friend with the girls, a female and a male chick, I wasn’t going to go back on my promise. So we have advertised the other two males for sale as we cannot keep another rooster; it would be much bigger than our dear bantam rooster, Fritz, and would no doubt beat him up quite severely with so few females to go around. Roddy did mention that we had some perfectly good casserole dishes and a bottle or two of good red wine which could be used to rectify the situation, but this has appalled the children who vehemently stated they were going to a good home instead. As a result, however, I was persuaded (although it took very little persuading, to be frank), to purchase two new laying-hens. So we now have two beautiful white Sussex hens; Églantine and Astrid – regal speckled-white ladies amongst the shadows under the lime trees. Along the way when my back was turned Millie also managed to squeeze a young female white Silkie into the hen basket at the same time, whom she has named Constance. She has been wanting a Silkie for five years, and her dream has finally been fulfilled. We had to trim the feathers around her eyes yesterday and I can see she is going to be the pampered pooch of the hen house! Roddy stomped his feet at first and then muttered that Constance looked a little like a poodle!

Then, just as I thought I was finally in control, Millie dropped a bombshell. We were just returning in the car yesterday evening, halfway down the drive, when she casually mentioned she needed her passport to take to school with her tomorrow for her Brevet. “But I don’t have it” I replied, “it’s in England being renewed, I sent it off a couple of days ago.”

“What ??????” she wailed, “You cannot be serious ???? OMG !!! I have to have it, I have to have a piece of official identity with a photo, nothing else will count, Mama my life is finished, I won’t be able to take my Brevet – Mama how can you have sent it away, Mama…” I felt about as small and useless as a snail, but right then I didn’t have any other answer, which really wasn’t helpful in placating a distraught 15 year old who truly believed she would now not be able to take her Brevet.

I’d best explain a little. The Brevet in France is similar to GSCE exams in the UK; they are taken in several subjects at the end of College (MIddle School), and most children are usually 15 when they take their Brevet. Some leave school for good after this, for others it is the exams that decide if they are able to move on to Lycée (High School), but there are only three years of Lycée and four years of College here. The exams are sat right the way across France on the same days at the same time, by millions of pupils. During the past couple of months they have sat several mock exams (the Brevet Blanc) but now everything comes down to two days. I phoned Roddy who was not at home to ask him what we should do, although he had no clue either.

Just as I was preparing to ring the school and beg, plead, grovel (this was not a time for pride), Roddy called me back. Rather sheepishly he told me he had found an envelope on the dashboard of his car, and in it was the said passport which was meant to be on it’s way to the UK and Her Majesty’s Passport Office for renewal. He had completely forgotten to go to the post office with it on Monday when I had given it to him. Never again will I swear at my husband for forgetting to mail a letter; it’s true there have been other occasions when I have taken his car and found a letter sitting on the passenger seat under a long-forgotten coat which I had assumed had long ago reached it’s destination; and there have been occasions, I have to admit, when I have been more than just a little annoyed (with maybe even the odd swear word uttered), but never ever again will this happen – for this time he has truly saved my bacon.

Peace has been restored and I did not have to grovel and beg at all! So to any readers from France who have children taking their Brevet today and tomorrow I wish them the very best of luck, or as a French lady said to me yesterday, we don’t say good luck to someone we say Merde!

In the meantime Izzi and I are off to Bordeaux today to collect her best friend who is visiting France for the first time ever, now if only I can find the time to show her around! Meanwhile I am still dreaming of those long lazy summer days reading a book under the shade of a tree, drink in hand and the occasional dip in the pool when it gets too warm – sigh, we will have more time soon!

June 25, 2015 by ourfrenchoasis

GARDENER, HOUSEKEEPER AND CHAUFFEUR NEEDED AND WANTED!

Here we are rapidly approaching the longest day of the year, and time flies by – why can’t it just slow down ? I’d like to press the pause button just for a little while whilst I catch up. So many jobs, so much to do, and not enough hours in the day. Last weekend was wet and grey; and while it was not much fun for us, the garden and vegetables loved it; unfortunately so did the weeds!

The runner beans are smothered in blackfly; if anyone has a natural organic way of getting rid of them please, please let me know. I have tried washing-up liquid and at the moment am squashing them by hand (yuk) and then hosing them off with water…. it’s a wee bit time consuming, to say the least, but I don’t want to lose the entire crop just as the beans are developing.

We have never had grapevines before and we have much to learn, so at the moment it’s rather a case of discovering as we go along; lots of research on Google and lots of help and advice from friends for which we are eternally grateful. In the winter I nervously pruned them, but much to my relief they survived and are flourishing – now onto the next stage. We were up and out early this morning, training them along new wires, trying to tame them.

Even though I’m feeling a little trampled, I’m rather in love with my garden, and once the lawn is mown I think it manages to look good, weeds included.

The scent from the flowering Magnolia Grandiflora is incredible and as I duck down low to mow underneath the perfume is succulent and clean; no wonder it is full of bees. I pulled the branch below downwards to take a look (and to take the photo) and was amazed to see the stamen loose, sitting in the petals like matchsticks.

The mixed flowering-hedge along the drive has also come into its own,

and the terrace, totally unlike the rest of the garden, is a place to linger. It is also the one place where I strive for perfection – that means it is weed free!

It’s not only plants that are growing at lightening speed; so are the chicks, now nearly three weeks old and they scarcely resemble those little yellow fluffy newly hatched bundles. We are fairly sure we have two male and two female, time will tell!

There is little, that can beat fresh food straight from the garden, especially when it is totally organic. I am immensely proud to be able to give the children a simple lunch entirely from our garden and potager, red-currants, our first cucumber, lettuce, baby carrots; whether the goodies are eaten within an hour or less of being picked, or cooked whichever way – raw or thrown on the barbecue, everything just tastes so much better for hard work and good fortune – it all tastes delicious, especially the eggs thanks to our laying hens.

Everywhere around us now, food is being grown. Fields of barley and wheat swim uphill and down dale in the landscape….

Maize and sunflowers – another month of Charente Maritime hot sun and they will be bursting with corn and bright yellow flowers.

I have decided I need a cook, a housekeeper, a gardener and a chauffeur for the children – wishful thinking! In the meantime I am forcing myself to take a break every now and then; the guest-house can wait, and the summer kitchen (a project that has been thought of but not even started yet!) can also wait; the weeds can grow a little higher but the children won’t be at butterfly catching age forever. One has to take the time to walk with them and enjoy their company. Every summer day is precious, and every day I realize how lucky I am.

June 18, 2015June 18, 2015 by ourfrenchoasis

WE HAVE CHICKS!

I grew up on a farm; beef, sheep and arable land. Lambs, calves, foals, kittens, puppies we had a-plenty but we never had chicks. I have no idea why this was; perhaps, and most obviously, it was because we never had a rooster. Our hens were free-range around the farmyard, but they sadly lacked a male counterpart. However, if you have followed my blog you will have guessed by now that chicks have been very much on my mind, not least due to the pleadings of the children! So, when in November we purchased our four laying hens, which were quickly followed by a pair of Pekim bantam hens and a young rooster, I knew that chicks were going to feature in our future – it would be impossible to refuse the children their little piece of animal husbandry and I wasn’t objecting!

So, fast forward a few months to the spring and we had two broody bantams each sitting on a clutch of eggs. Much excitement was followed by bitter disappointment as each batch failed to produce anything at all. Roddy did some forensics on the eggs once it was quite clear they were never going to hatch and it became apparent Fritz had not quite done his job. He was certainly practising several times a day, as we were all a witness to that, but for whatever reason these particular eggs were not fertilized.

A friend then told us of someone who had some fertilized Faverole eggs and we thought as Rosie was still listless with disappointment we’d attempt to be cuckoos and let nature do the rest. The Faverole is a French breed, it all seemed rather fitting. So three weeks ago on a very hot Sunday whilst the rest of the family headed to the beach, Millie, Gigi and I set off on a two and a half hour round trip for five fertilized eggs – no one was going to accuse me of not making an effort to fulfill their dream! We knew Rosie was tired, so whilst we were excited to put the new eggs under her, we were also quite aware that she might abandon them – we were going to just let nature run its course and see what happened. Quite bizarrely, the five eggs turned into just four at the start of Week 2, it is still a total mystery what happened to the egg as there was never any trace of it.

Three weeks after Operation Faverole commenced, there was no sign of movement come the appointed day on Sunday morning at breakfast time, so it was without any anticipation that Gigi and I wandered down to the ‘broody’ coop a little later with some extra food. As we chatted away and nonchalantly opened Rosie’s little upstairs door, feed in one hand and fresh water in the other, it was a complete shock to find a tiny fluffy yellow chick inches away, staring at us in bewilderment! A lot had happened since breakfast, it seemed. The little bundle of fluff stood out against the dark brownish black of Rosie, and over the course of the morning the other three eggs hatched without further ado. For some reason the excitement affected everyone, including dog, cats, ducks and even Roddy!

Yesterday morning we set about redeveloping the duck’s old outdoor run for Rosie and her tiny babies; it’s going to be vital they are kept safe from Rory and Clara, as our two kittens are now almost fully-grown cats and they are both Olympic-level hunters. At teatime Rosie and her chicks were safely transferred from the far end of the garden to their new home just by the terrace in the cats’ travelling basket, and the children took up their positions watching through the slatted walls of the run like tourists outside Buckingham Palace, waiting for a glimpse of the new-borns. After an hour or so Rosie finally gave in to the adoring crowds and let the chicks emerge from under her protective wings into the open air. It really was rather like watching royalty appear on the balcony. There was quite some considerable excitement amongst the crowds which now included four neighbours, attracted by the sound of high-pitched whispering and the paparazzi clicking away.

Having never observed baby chicks and a hen together, I was struck last night and this morning by Rosie’s utter devotion to her babies; she is such a proud, proud mother, and she permanently fusses over them and they in turn follow her everywhere; where Mum goes, the babies follow. I am totally hooked. Roddy remarked that it is like watching four little yellow tugs working feverishly around a great Cunard liner.

Amongst all the madness on Sunday I had also set about making strawberry jam. I’d bought several kilos of locally grown Charente Maritime strawberries at the market on Friday and I wasn’t going to let them go to waste amidst all the excitement. So after the royal Faverole introduction there seemed no better time to try out the first homemade jam of the year, complete with a batch of homemade English scones, fresh from the oven. The timing was perfect for the childrens’ traditional 4pm goûter, which is the hour of the afternoon snack in France. Our neighbours’ son joined in the feeding frenzy, as he is a young French boy who has become a huge fan of ze leetle English scones!

Meanwhile the jobs here are already mounting up as I have spent far too much time standing watching chicks! Yesterday afternoon Rosie led her little line of followers to the little tub of special chick feed, and started Lesson 1 of life. A few moments later and Lesson 2 started – this was the drinking one, and the children fell about giggling hysterically as one small chick’s attempts to mimic mum’s throwing back of the head led to a rash backwards somersault. I can see it’s going to be an entertaining summer !

June 2, 2015June 2, 2015 by ourfrenchoasis

A FOREIGNER IN FRANCE

People who have never lived abroad are often curious as to why others do. And until one actually has done so oneself, it is hard to understand the subtle nuances that can make life in a foreign country so great. The obvious differences such as language, location, and weather, are easy to understand; but often is it the minutiae of everyday life that draws people back to a place they may have only visited once on holiday, or seen film of, or read an article about. Sometimes it is not just a case of having wanderlust or a querying mind, but also a case of loving the quirkiness and embracing the challenge of living somewhere different and out of your comfort zone.

France is a great country – it has so much to offer and so much in its character that to a person living in the modern era its history and culture have much more right to importance than many may think. Whether it’s scenery, art, architecture, weather, cuisine, history or sheer grandeur, there is something for everyone in France, and that is what makes it such a great place to live, whether you’re soaking in the sleek atmosphere of a Parisian quartier, or sipping pastis next to a field of provencal lavender under an azure blue sky.

For us, here in the Charente Maritime, we revel in a pastoral countryside of rolling hills, salt marshes and some truly fascinating architecture, built when France was at the height of its maritime power. In summer, the lie of the land is yellow and green, sunflowers and grapevines, studded with forests of rich oak and chestnut. Rochefort, Royan and La Rochelle guard the coast, and Saintes crowns the inland countryside. In between are the working towns and villages, where French life continues, much as it has done for centuries, with its idiosyncrasies and small rituals of heritage.

Old-style France, the haven where most people who come to live here want to enjoy at its best, is full of matters and ideas you have to get used to. The French like to communicate, sometimes with verbosity and volume. So to start with the greeting game is something you have to learn to play quickly, and well. A “bonjour” in any situation, whether entering a shop or a household, a school crowd or the queue in the post office, is an expected passage of rite. Most French people will also say goodbye to all and sundry when leaving a situation too. Children you know will do the same, instantly breaking off what they are doing to come and dutifully greet you. Manners are important to the French, drilled into them at an early age, and they are amused at the casual tourist who does not play the game. This also extends to the ‘bisou’, the traditional peck (whether one, two, three or even four) on the cheek which is actually a very simple gesture of both affection and civility. We currently live by the ‘two bisous’ rule, one on each cheek, delivered only once a day to someone when you first see them, and with an obligation to those you know perfunctorily. Strangers get a handshake first time round – it is best for them to offer you a cheek the next time before disgracing yourself with eagerness because he is so good looking!

Part of France’s heritage are its markets, whether it’s a weekly produce affair in the village square, or a daily one in a larger town or city. French people live in rhythm with the seasons, and this is especially important when it comes to food. Vegetables and fruits are eaten at the appropriate time of year, and you should know your varieties of strawberries and make note of your beans. It is easy to step back 30 years in time at a market-stall and talk serious recipes with your fellow shoppers. Yes, there are huge super-markets in France, but the traditional way to buy food is not losing pace at all. Seafood, meat, plants and fruits, charcuterie and cheese – all can be bought at the street-market at the best possible prices. Last week I counted the cheeses on my fromagier’s stall; there were nearly a 100 of them – in a small village. Neither WholeFoods nor Harrods would come close to the selection or the knowledge of my ‘cheeseman’.

Another big difference one finds strange in France is the pharmacy – whereas in many countries it is usual to be able to stock a first aid kit at the modern supermarket, in France band-aids and antiseptic sprays are about the limit of the items available. Pain relief, cough medicine, cold remedies – they must all be bought at a pharmacy, and what’s more they are behind the counter and only available on request! However, they always carry a fabulous range of beauty products, slimming products, anti-cellulite creams and much sort after face creams – it is almost certain that the pharmacy will be able to make you presentable enough for the catwalk! (Personally I think this is why husband’s on holiday are happy to wait while their wives spend ages in the pharmacy, they love ogling the huge adverts of girls massaging their slim brown thighs with creams that promise miracles, but that’s another story and I am getting side-tracked!). In the autumn during mushroom season there is nearly always a board showing which mushroom is safe to eat and which is poisonous and if you are unsure you simply take the fungi of concern into the pharmacist who will confirm if indeed it is safe to eat. So many of life’s problems can be solved in a small French Pharmacy!

Other foibles one must get used to is the fact that at 12.00 midday, or perhaps 12.30pm, everything closes. The French do lunch. Whether you’re a factory worker, a gardener, a board director or the school mistress, everything stops for lunch. And while there are indeed MacDonalds and filled baguettes to be found, probably 80% of France sits down to a proper lunch, complete with dessert and cheese. The traditional menu de jour typically has three courses. Even children at school get indoctrinated into this, and as I write this blog a small note beside my elbow informs me that today at our small village school of just 67 children, our two youngest will be eating cucumber salad, followed by fresh grilled fish from the Charente Maritime with organic rice and tomatoes, and then end their meal with a chocolate pannacotta, all served à la table and always with French bread. The menu for the month is sent home with each child and local produce is always listed as well as what is organic. The French lifestyle of foodiness also crops up again at some stage in the afternoon, typically when the children get home from school, when goûter is served – cakes, biscuits, sandwiches or fruit – something is always put in front of children at this time. It has got to the stage where our children’s friends even congregate in the kitchen like a flock of homing pigeons at the vague time when they know something is going to be dished up, and mutterings of “goûter ?” become very audible. It is expected, even if we are the ‘foreigners’.

Coming home with the shopping raises another foible that some people find difficult to get used to – carrier bags. The French do not offer free carrier bags for the shopping – if you forget to take in your own bags or are on vacation you can buy a very sturdy large bag for 2 euros, they last for ever and are quite capable of swallowing half a cart load of goodies. Many a time I have tried to walk in a dignified fashion out of a shop, clutching pens, notebooks, magazines; or the bakery carrying baguettes and croissants trying hard not to drop anything, all because I forgot to take a bag with me.

There are many other areas of difference between France and the rest of the world, but it would take a whole book to go through them all, so I hope you’re happy with a brief taste of some of the things we enjoy most, and find so refreshing, between our native country and the one we now call home. I think the reason you are reading this is because you know this anyway, and love France almost as much as we do. Have a great week x

May 19, 2015May 19, 2015 by ourfrenchoasis