Squiggles on a map mean something!

This morning, after a wonderful walk through the old town of Nice and the flower market, we set off in the car for Monte Carlo. We took the low road from Nice which was absolutely marvelous. The houses that are built into the mountainside are magnificent and the colours of the water, sun and flowers were wonderful. We arrived in Monte Carlo and went straight to the palace but Prince Rainier was busy at the time and we really did not have the time to wait for him so we went for a little walk ourselves. The photo shows Alison on a terrace near the palace, looking over the harbour and the city. Then it was into the car to slowly head home (we did not mean to be quite so slow but that is how it ended up.) We stopped in the wonderful little village of Eze which is a medieval village just clinging to the side of the mountain above Monaco. The village is really owned now by two incredible hotels and the guest rooms are all the little old homes that have been magnificently transformed. We would really like to stay here next time but it would take Gord's whole pension for one night. We settled instead for lunch and then set off home. Now this is where it gets interesting! While I had read the map, I hadn't actually accounted for the topography, and surely the shortest way between two places is the most direct, right? Well, not always, especially when you have the Maritime Alps in the way. We set off for Grasse, which is a city built on the side of the mountain, and then continued up. Remember now that I have not always driven a stick shift, well actually, I have been driving standard for about a week now! Anyway, I made it through the 37 roundabouts in the town, a couple of wrong turns, a dozen or so times starting up hill at traffic lights and I thought we were home free. We were really impressed by the mountain that looms behind Grasse, impressed that is until we found ourselves heading up it. We had about 100 kms to go before our next town but these 100 kms were right through the Alps. Every time we made it through one pass and thought that we were done, we had another pass to climb to right in front of us. For ages I was changing gear about every 30 seconds. We just loved the road and were grateful that we had been ignorant of the conditions for we never would have attempted it. We saw some wonderful villages, a little church sitting atop a mountain, (see photo, it is in a village called Castellane) a perfume stand in absolutely the middle of nowhere for all those smelly hikers I guess, but the most amazing sight was the cyclists that we saw up at some of the summits. It made our drive in the car seem awfully tame. Sometimes the road was so narrow that they suggested we honk before we attempted to go around the corner, it was interesting to say the least! We were not really afraid, except when we were up at 3500 feet in the clouds and thought that it might stay that way and decided that we would spend the night in one of the little villages if the visibility got bad. The colours of the trees that were changing were wonderful as they were highlighted in the sunlight with the brilliant blue sky behind them, and we both felt that it was a once in a lifetime experience. (When Gord reads this I certainly won't ever be allowed to do this again!) We were quite happy to get back on the level and eventually made it back to our little home after turning the three hour drive into a six hour marathon. It felt good to be back "home" to the welcome of this little house.

Keeping up with Aunt Ethel on the Cote d'Azur

On Thursday Morning Alison and I set off for the French Riviera. Nice, which was our destination, is about a three hour drive from here. We went down to the Mediterranean at Antibes, which is a delightful old town about 30 kms west of Nice. We managed to find a parking space, always a near miracle, and wandered around the old town and the ramparts, the city walls, that are right at the water's edge. All these little Mediterranean towns had terrible trouble with Saracen pirates and so they were all fortified (they seem to have got their own back by the terribly inflated prices, almost contemporary piracy). We stopped for a slice of Socca, a Nicoise (ie from Nice) tradition of a crepe style food made out of chick pea. It is really delicious and tastes a little like popcorn and pancakes together! Then we set off for Nice along the wonderful road that runs along the beach. We managed to find our way to my Aunt's place, not with any help of the non-existent road signs, and before we knew it we were in her charge and we were off. Charge was the correct word as Alison and I tried to keep up with my 85 year old aunt as she wove her way through the streets of Nice. We managed to follow her to the beachfront to catch a tourist bus that she planned for us. We had a marvelous hour and a half tour through the streets of Nice. We sat in the open top of a double decker bus and were constantly ducking the overhead palm trees and other vegetation as we sat in the warm sunshine. ( I know its hard to duck under the palm trees but there we are.) We got back from our lovely rest and we were off again, dashing madly through the streets of Nice which were now crowded with shoppers and workers returning home. Alison and I were carrying our overnight things but we could not believe the pace that our dear Ethel set. It was hilarious. she wove us expertly through the rabbit warren of old Nice until we arrived back at her little pied-a-terre, a little studio apartment that she has had for the past 25 years which she is now preparing to sell as she does not want to stay there alone anymore. She has given the keys to Gord and I to use freely over the next few months. It is in an amazing location just half a block from the old port. The vegetation in Nice is quite different to our home in Provence as the weather is much kinder and I think that we are going to be very grateful for a retreat away from the wild mistral winds of Provence once in a while. Actually, Alison and I could not get over the amazing array of flowers still blooming, the fragrance was wonderful. Nice is a very interesting old city that has had a radical transformation over the past few years and the area that Ethel's place is in is very trendy, quite an upswing from its former notorious days when she first bought in the area. We bought a little dinner to have in the flat and collapsed into bed at the end of a full day. Well, almost! The bed is what the French call a lit-armoire or what we would call a Murphy bed, in that it folds into the wall. It is supposed to unfold into a bed but this one had been put away for quite a while so that while part of it did unfold, the bottom part wanted to fold right back up again. Fortunately for us, it did stay open when we finally got over all the laughter and actually laid down on it for a well deserved rest!

The French Markets

One of the most fun activities to do is to go to the various markets that are held daily in one or another of the villages and in most of the local towns. Market day is extremely popular with both the tourists and the locals alike. The biggest difficulty is getting a place to park as the French do not adhere to strict parking rules at the best of times. Finding a ledge to put our car, anywhere near our house, is just one of the daily challenges we face, but on market days the towns are more than imposible. Take, for example, our experience on Monday. Alison and I have not yet (nor do we anticipate the time actually ever arriving) had enough of the local markets...( think of a homing pigeon or a lion going in for the kill) so we set off for Cavaillon. Now we made our first mistake by taking time for a leisurely breakfast before starting out so that by the time we arrived we were in the midst of a veritable sea of cars. I was quite pleased with myself as I managed to negotiate fairly close to one edge of the market until I realized that I had just worked myself into a dead end street that ended with a barricade right at the market, with hundreds of people in front of the barricade and wall to wall cars around me. A lovely local sensing my predicament helped me turn my car around (okay I know I made that sound easy but remember it is stick shift and a rental car which is at the moment is still bereft of the local identifier which is masses of scratch marks down either side). I was then faced with what to do as I was facing the wrong way on a one way street with no exits. The local then told me it was fine for me to drive the wrong way down this major street in the middle of the city, actually what he said was nothing, but shrugged his shoulders and pointed back the way I had come. I crawled back the two blocks, to the consternation of the passersby, and was almost ready to give up at this point, but.... there were bargains to be had so we pressed on and by the time we found a spot I was more than ready for my cafe-au-lait.!

The markets range in size from a couple of dozen stalls to more than a couple of hundred. The goods are as varied as the sellers, from fresh produce to grandfather clocks, underwear to toys, lots of cheeses, smoked meats, rotisserie chicken and paella and loads of lovely linens. (I think that it is a physical impossibility for Alison and I to walk past a linen stall without taking a closer look.) The prices are usually good, but not always, and you do have to be wary. The price is generally as stated and there is little room for haggling, which is actually good because that gets very stale after a while. Generally the less english that you hear as you walk around, the better the prices will be because then you know that this is where the locals shop. There are often some colourful entertainers, a one-man band, complete with tambourine, drum, trumpet and who knows what else, or a couple of guys on guitars. Already some of the stalls and the sellers are beginning to look familiar as you see them in different towns on different days. You need to be there in good time because by noon some of the smaller stalls have sold out of their breads or farm produce and they are beginning to pack up. Every time we go to a market we see something new and I think that this is part of the reason for going, but also the hope that at this one you might get a real bargain. In the bigger towns, sometimes the regular market is combined with an antiques market. On Sunday we were at one such market in Isle sur la Sorgue which was fascinating. We saw very interesting furniture, old china and silver, stalls of antique linens and unusual things like vintage clogs, old toys and some marvelous books. These are all usually pretty pricey but such fun to look at if one has the time, and after all, we do! So if it takes all morning to buy a little bread, a roast chicken and some olives, c'est la vie... and I can't think of a better one right now!

A little taste of Provence

Okay, so I have been holding out on you all because I have been a little afraid that we would be swarmed with visitors if I let the secret out but I can't hold back any longer.... the food here is absolutely amazing! Breakfast starts with grapes picked fresh from the vine that morning, the brioche, croissants and pain au chocolat picked up at the bakery down the street earlier, and the nuts, honey and yogurt from the market, and of course, cafe au lait! Lunch is simple, just a fresh baguette, some wonderful soup, a choice of a couple of cheeses from an absolutely unlimited selection, for Gord, some smoked meat, maybe sanglier (wild boar) or rabbit (not my style!) and some olives or tapenades, washed down by a glass of wine (more my style). Don't even think about dinner before 7:30, the earliest the restaurants open for dinner. Then it is usually a fixed price, three course affair. If you are lucky you will be served an amuse bouche, a little sample of something delicious to wet the appetite and to accompany the aperitif du maison, which really means the drink speciality of the house. The first course (entree) can be a selection of appetizers, maybe three or more, then the main course (plat) and of course dessert or cheese, or both in the finer restaurants as the cheese course is supposed to help with the digestion. Dessert can often again be a little sample of three delicacies, perhaps a creme brulee and always a chocolate delicacy. (I know, I know, that is why we have 27 stairs to our bedroom and I have to run up and downstairs 74 times a day or we will have to pay for our "excess baggage" to fly home!) The French have a mandatory 35 hour work week and a self imposed 30 hour meal week. Apparently they are the country in the world that spends the most time eating and sleeping, sounds like a relaxing place to be doesn't it? Not only are the restaurants outstanding but the general emphasis everywhere is on freshness and quality. Even the vegetables at the supermarket are picture-worthy, the selection of breads, pastries, cheeses, pates, desserts and so on is quite endless. The supermarket is totally overwhelming with choices that we are never going to be able to sample in just 7 months, though we will give it a really good try. There is a different village market every day of the week where you can buy cheese, olives, tapenades, vegetables, fish, smoked meats and the most delicious rotisserie chickens and paella. While we have limited cooking resources (no conventional oven) we have not suffered so far. It really is an awful lot of fun to try the different things. Not having the best grasp of the language can be very entertaining too; I am still not quite sure what was in that last soup. Well, that is enough, we will valiantly struggle on in our adventure with food as we try to enjoy all the 'cultural' aspects of this place!

Fontaine-de-Vaucluse

The other day Gord and I went to Fontaine de Vaucluse which is the source of the river Sorgue. The water actually comes out of hidden springs deep in a cave in the rocks. This is one of the most visited sights in France and Rick Steves (the travel guide) says that unless the springs are running then it is highly overrated with a saturation of souvenir shops and crawling with tourists. With that warning we went to check and were delightfully surprised. For one thing, the tourists had all crawled back home and we are at the right time of the year to have the place to ourselves. We walked up a wonderful rocky path following the river, that was a most magnificent emerald green, to the cave where the springs come from. There were towering white cliffs, topped with a ruined castle, and hundreds of birds that looked like crows but definitely did not sound like them. The massive abundance of water was not in evidence (I guess it was waiting until I hit the autoroute - see last blog) but the cave was magnificent. The springs are so deep that they have as yet been unable to get an accurate reading of them. Notice where Gord is standing, right at the very edge of the bottomless springs and about 100 metres inside the barricade. I am sitting on the barricade preparing my French so that I can tell the gendarmarie that mon mari has found the bottom of the springs! There is supposed to be a very good paper museum on the way up but it was closed due to the obligatory two hour lunch break, (have I told you about the hours here? - everyone, and I mean everyone stops for at least 2 hours at lunch, my grocery store is closed for three hours and with lunch, the post office is only open for five hours a day!) so... we decided to go home and have lunch ourselves!

Sunny, no, Sloshy Provence

Okay, so now I get it. I understand why down the middle of all the little village streets there is a trough, or in the case of the Rue du Four, actually two troughs, one down each side. These are for the "sudden and heavy downpours." Let me explain.

Yesterday I said a temporary goodbye to Gord who was flying to Paris to head home to Canada to join his siblings in celebrating their Mom's 90th birthday aboard a cruise bound for Bermuda. Now I have been saying goodbye to Gord all my married life but I was uncharacteristically unhappy this time. Not only did I not want to be apart for the next two weeks but I really did not feel good about being left here in a country where I know no one, hardly speak the language and am not crazy about driving standard on these narrow roads but c'est la vie! (Fortunately my dear friend Alison will be here in a couple of days or I would have gotten on the plane with him.) After I had dropped Gord off at the airport, I stalled in Marseille for as long as I could as I was not anxious to go back to an empty house nor was I very excited about driving the motorway alone. Anyway I headed back around 3:00pm. It had been a gloomy and wet day, quite appropriate to match my mood, but about halfway through my driving the sky got very black indeed, I was surrounded by thunder and lightning and then the rain, rain like I have never seen in my life. The speed limit is 110kms and I was trying to keep up to the red tail lights of the truck in front of me but I quickly lost him. I was afraid to go too slowly but I could not see a thing, not even the side of the road to pull over. After what felt like an eternity, I did manage to see a rest stop and joined many other cars and trucks, but not before I had seen two accidents and then passed another one later on. When I safely stopped the car I am not sure if the flood was inside or out of the car at that moment but I decided that I might just wait there for the next two and a half days until Alison arrives because I was not in a hurry to go anywhere. After about 30 minutes the worst of the storm was past and I set out gingerly for home. While it was no longer frightening, it was interesting. One of the little villages that we pass through had turned into a river! I hadn't even noticed the slight incline to the road while driving before. I drove through intersections with the water coming to the bottom of the car doors. The water gushing down our steep street was incredible, both sides were pouring water (I had not realized that we had waterfront property until this moment.) The tiles on our roof are U shaped and they all point down to the road and we have no gutters so I was absolutely soaked just getting in the front door. It felt so good to be home but now I was very wet and I immediately headed up to our bedroom to get changed only to be met by a leak in the roof in our bedroom! The water was coming in at the windows too but closing the shutters fixed that problem and a couple of buckets temporarily fixed the other one.

Well, I guess I never was one to do things by halves and so the rain here is similar in personality. This morning I flung open the shutters to blue sky and sunshine again so I guess all is forgiven for now, but now I know why the troughs are in existence.

Walking in the French Countryside

There is a definite feeling of autumn in the air, the nights are cool and when we wake up in the morning I think that our house is cooler inside than out, but then the sun comes up and we have had day after day of sunshine and clear blue skies. This afternoon we set out on a long walk. As Goult is built on the side of a hill, all our walks start off by going down the hill somehow (sadly what we go down we have to come back up!) The road sign says that the distance from the main road in the valley is 2 kms to the village centre so that is the incline that we take when we start walking. Today our path, more like a dry stony riverbed, went straight down the hill. We came across about thirty serious hikers on their way up when we were on our way down. The average age of these hikers was about 92 so, as the path was very narrow, we let age go before beauty. Obviously all this fresh air is very good for the constitution! When we hit the road we decided to take the safe route rather than risk losing our way through the back country. We walked for almost an hour on the road and a sum total of three cars passed us. The country around is beautiful and very fertile. We passed vineyard after vineyard and a couple of little wineries and many fields of apple and cherry trees that will be lovely in the spring, as well as field after field of lavender. (Gord can't believe all the lavender... "is it really just grown to be put in drawers to make underwear smell worse? there has to be more to it than that!!") The grapes are almost all harvested now, (though we did try some delicious black ones that were just begging to be picked), and the leaves are turning a lovely golden colour.

While we were coming down the hill we thought that we heard the sound of dogs in the distance. We heard them again as we walked the road but this time they were definitely accompanied by the sound of gunshots which made us glad that we had chosen the roads instead of the hills. We were not sure if the hunters were after wild boar or the red-legged partridge, both popular sports at this time of year, but were hoping that they were not interested in les touristes Canadienne! There was not a single cloud in the sky which was a brilliant shade of blue and before long we were shedding layers until we were down to our t-shirts. We walked to the next village, about 4 kms away, but as all the villages around us are on the top of hills that makes for some definite hill climbing. The air is so clear here though that once on top you can see for miles and you can't help but feel healthy breathing in all the lovely clean air.

On our way back up the hill we ran into one of our neighbors who we have taken to calling "the crazy woman" for her eccentric dress and the fact that she is always surrounded by any number of dogs and cats that she walks with and is constantly calling after. We said hello and introduced ourselves and told here that we would be neighbors for the next few months. She was every bit as colorful in person as we had expected! Her name is Marie-Johanna (pronounced marijuana) and she had limited English but appreciated the word-play on her name and was very up on the english expletives, at least on one of them, which she used liberally.

When we got back to our little house we were very warm after our climb back up the hill so I had to settle on the terrace with a chilled glass of rose, and observe the slow pace of the village. It is Provence after all!

La Maison du Four

I thought that I would tell you a little about our house. As you know it is called Maison du Four which means 'the house of the oven' because the ovens (which are through a little door by Gord's left hip) where used many years ago by the villagers to bake their bread. It is important to spell it correctly though because maison du fou means house of the fool! It is right in the heart of the old village and is unusual for an old village house because it is completely detached, almost all village houses are stacked in side by side and half on top of another etc. It looks to me that at one time there was another house attached to the right side of the house as there are almost no windows on this side but now the treed area that you see is a tiny public garden and we have a kitchen window (behind the bushes in the picture) that looks onto the garden. You can see that we have light grey shutters that actually function. All the houses have shutters that people really use, we close all the lower level ones at night. The window at the top of the house on the side is our bedroom and we have another little window on the front with no shutters. You can see the part of the terrace that we have on the left side of the house. It has lovely wrought iron furniture with an iron canopy which is covered in wisteria which will bloom in the spring and a wonderful grape vine which is covered in very sweet green grapes that we are trying our best to 'harvest'! The terrace is L shaped and on the back part is a small pool with a wave machine so that you can swim against the current but it is currently being repaired for next year and it is much too cool to be tempting right now. The house has two sitting rooms, two bedrooms, two bathrooms and a little kitchen. There is a circular staircase in the centre of the house and the rooms are all off that. There are stairs everywhere! Seven stairs to get in the front door, two stairs up to the kitchen, about 12 stairs up and then a couple down to get into the first bathroom and 27 stairs to get to the top floor which is our bedroom with ensuite

bathroom. All the floors (except our bedroom) are a dark red terrcotta tile and all the walls are painted white so it has a very clean feel to the place. I don't know how old the house is, I heard once that it was 300 years old but I have also been told that it is older but it has been very well modernized and the heat and electrical systems are brilliant considering the age of the building. Everything in the house is tiny! The dishwasher (a very slick Italian model) is about 15"wide, the washing machine is about the same yet takes a remarkable load for its size. It also takes about two and a half hours to do a cycle! We have no dryer so everything has to be hung on the rack that we put on the terrace, a bit of a task with sheets but we are developing some tricks.

The kitchen has three gas rings and one electric and a microwave/convection oven that I am slowly learning to use. It is a bit of a challenge but we don't intend to have any big parties so it will be just fine for the two of us and a couple of visitors. The house has so much potential and I could go nuts decorating it but I have my wonderful, moderate husband who is trying his best to restrain me and remind me that we are only here for a few months. It really is a wonderful home and we are very, very grateful to have found it. We think that it is the perfect house in the perfect village for us at this time!

Avignon

Yesterday we said goodbye to our second set of guests, Gord's cousin Tom and his wife Lynne, and we went off to Avignon, the closest major town to us. We needed to get a cel phone to use for emergencies. After visiting five places and being told that it was not possible to get a cel phone in France without a contract (just the sort of thing I love, being told something is impossible just makes me want it more!) we finally found an angel in the disguise of a large, dark, french woman who spoke perfect English and was able to help us. Our French is coming, Gord is doing especially well, but when it comes to something technical like a phone we needed all the help that we could get. Then we took a look around the lovely city of Avignon which has a beautiful old wall that circles the old city and of course the famous bridge, actually called Pont St. Benezet. The bridge is incomplete after it was damaged in a major storm in the 1668 and only four arches are left but it once was 22 arches wide when it was built in 1172 - 1185. The most annoying aspect of the bridge is that while there one cannot help but sing the aggravating children's ditty "sur le pont, Avignon..." which dates back to the 15th century. (Is there anyone who actually knows more than the first line?) Avignon was also the home of the popes for 68 years (1309-1377) and they did enough building to last for the next 700 years. The city was interesting but we are oh so very glad not to be living there but in our sleepy little village instead. We came away with a sigh of relief for the peace and quiet of this place. Avignon, lovely to visit but we would not want to live there.

Taking out the garbage.

Okay, okay, I know that I have been accused of having far too much fun with very ordinary events but taking out the garbage here is something else. We have been here a week now so it was necessary to clean up after ourselves and we had discovered that the closest place for our refuse was about a block away. After spending quite a bit of time at the cottage where we have to actually take the garbage to the dump and throw it in the landfill we are careful to recycle all that is possible. So Gord and I carefully tied up the bags as instructed, separated the paper, plastic and glass and set off. First the walk is only about two minutes but to get there you have to go through two, that is two, eleventh century arches, that are too narrow for a car to pass through (that is unless you are Gord with me shrieking in the seat beside him, but that is another story). Then the garbage bins are behind a wall that tells you that you are actually standing on the ramparts of a medieval castle. (I am not sure that the princess ever had to throw out her garbage in the same way but I can't help feeling really classy tossing my rubbish on the castle ramparts). Once we came through the arches, the breeze that we were enjoying on our terrace, became a howling gale, as we were now standing on top of the open hill, right next to a large windmill, I mean, they put that windmill there for a reason. We tossed the garbage in the appropriate bin but when it came time to put the paper through the correct chute the wind caught at my pile and sent it flying. Gord set off madly trying to collect it all and I dropped the bag of plastics to run and help him. Now the bag of empty plastic bottles was devoid of its anchor, me, so it also took off and we had bottles, bags, papers and newspapers flying in all directions with two crazy Canadians chasing around the medieval castle ramparts after them. We did manage to corner all the unwanted flotsam but not without a great deal of laughter. Once we had congratulated ourselves on a successful end to the chase we took a moment to look around. We were standing on the top of the hill, next to an old windmill, with a 300+ degree view of all the valley below. It is just beautiful up there. So next time you just drop your garbage off at the curb, think about us taking ours out to the castle ramparts!

Just another morning...

I just wanted to give you a glimpse of life here this morning. I am sitting here at my desk in our bedroom that is on the top floor of our house as we are sleeping up under the eaves. Our whitewashed ceiling is sloping and comes to a high point in the centre of the room. It is supported by lovely old timbers that have been painted pale grey. The sloped ceiling on one side of the bed is too low for Gord as he would constantly bang his head but it is just perfect for the slightly shorter one of us. We have an ensuite bathroom, and again, you had better not stand up too quickly or again you would bang your head. The whole floor is recently re-constructed, although the actual house is several hundred years old, so it has a wonderful crisp fresh feeling to it.  The windows are wide open as it is a glorious morning and the white linen curtains are swaying in the breeze. The sky is a brilliant blue which contrasts beautifully with the bright green leaves of the tree right outside our room with its dark brown seed pods (I have no idea what kind it is as I have seen one like this before). There is practically no sounds but the breezes and the church bells. There are two faces to the clock and the hour is rung out twice, about three minutes apart according to the corresponding clock. Our house is at the top of the village through a nearly impassable dead end road so there is very little traffic and just the occasional tourist walking by with a camera round his neck. 

(There has just been a knock at the front door and Gord ran down to answer it and seemed to have a conversation in French, he is doing so well, I am really impressed but he would say that it is a near impossible situation.)

The best part about this picture is that there is absolutely nothing that has to be done today. We have friends arriving tomorrow and we would like to go into town to get some supplies but the day is ours to enjoy. We are feeling an immense sense of peace and are thrilled to be here.

Old Marseille & Cassis

Today we said goodbye to our first guests. We have loved having had Chris and Jeannie come with us to help us get settled but we took them to the airport early this morning. We then drove down to the old port and harbour of Marseille. To me the port area of Marseille has always been infamous for its crime but we found the place quite charming, sparkling blue waters and clear cloudless skies helped with the picture too. We arrived in time to see the fishermen setting up to sell their nights catch and watched as others took the time to mend their nets. Then we walked through the old part of the town that doesn't feel like it has changed for a hundred years. The streets are so narrow that neighbours could open their shutters and practically reach across the alley and touch the other side and these are now two way streets. We reached a wonderful plaza high above the city and had great views to both the city and out to the Meditteranean too, to the prison on Isle D'If, make famous by Alexander Dumas who  used the setting for his novel The Count of Monte Cristo.

After spending a couple of hours walking all around the old city we took off for Cassis, a lovely little antidote after the busyness of the city. Cassis is a charming little town at the base of magnificient cliffs, right on the sea. It is not so popular with tourists as it is a little out of the way but the French love it and especially flock there on the weekends. The place was full but we did not hear an English word spoken.  Families were out in full force enjoying the sun and soaking up the rays on the beach and spilling out of the outdoor cafes. There must be thirty outdoor restaurants and they were all full. We enjoyed a great lunch by the water and then took an amazing drive up over the cliffs over a road that is often closed due tp high winds. In fact it said that it was closed but we decided to take a look anyway because sometimes our lack of french is actually a convenience. Apparently a lot of people were having trouble with their French too because there were quite a few people also enjoying the amazing sights.

France - first impressions!

Well, we are here and the reason that I did not write the first day was all I could say was "oh, boy!" The emotions were running a little high and in every direction. Actually, "oh, boy" was really the tame version. I have decided that this year will be the year of extremes, high and very low and I experienced all of them almost simultaneously the first day. The house is amazing! Gord felt that there were no real surprises as I had prepared him well but I tend to be overly optimistic (what is that you say... quelle grande surprise!) and the reality of it all, dirty dishes, tiny kitchen that made my cottage kitchen look like a gourmet test kitchen, 27 stairs to get up to our bedroom on a spiral staircase that is so tight that I could not move a chair through our doorway, etc, but then we went and sat on the terrace in the sunshine and listened to the church clock chime out the hour, and eat the sweetest grapes that I have ever tasted from the arbor right above my head and smell the bonfire in the valley below... then I thought that I was actually in heaven. We are so glad to have my brother Chris and his wife Jeannie with us to show us around. For those of you who don't know, Chris is my older brother and we are living in a village that is just 9 kms away from his favourite place on earth, so you can imagine how thrilled he was that his little sister got to move to "his" spot! They are very gracious to us and so much fun to have. Chris wants you to know that for a full 24 hour period I was feeling quite overwhelmed and for once was not "master of my own universe" but he wants to assure you that I am now back to being my old self. Unfortunately, the quiet period that he was enjoying is now over and I am now bubbling again and  alors, c'est en francais!! 

I have to stop now as we are going to walk 5 minutes into the village to buy vegetables for our dinner tonight, we walked into the village this morning to buy our fish from the fish vendor who comes to our village once a week to sell fresh fish. We had better start early as we have a convection/microwave oven left over from the first world war and Jeannie has been trying to figure out how to operate it but we may be having dinner at breakfast at this rate.

England and the GPS

  As a leaving present, our kids, Allison, Jordan and Steve gave us a GPS (Global Positioning System). This little tool has been just wonderful and we really enjoyed the GPS (Going Places Silly) when we crossed over the states and through Canada and almost without exception it proved to be a valuable asset... until we reached England. There the GPS (Getting Places Scrambled) proved to be a little more difficult. The troubles started as soon as we were leaving Heathrow airport. Chris, the older of the siblings and therefore infinitely wiser, wanted to use an old fashioned map, where Lydele, the younger and therefore infinitely more technologically attuned wanted to use the GPS (Get Places Sooner). Unfortunately, although England is a lovely place to visit, for the past several hundred years its inhabitants have been leaving in droves and taking the names of the cities with them. Thus there are similar names all over the world to the towns in England. Therefore when I, Lydele, otherwise known as "the teckie" plugged in Gloucester into the GPS (Gee, Perhaps Somewhere else?)  we were directed to Gloucester, NSW in Australia which was precisely 16,943 kms away! The voice that we use is "Karen" with an Australian accent so we decided that perhaps she wanted to go home. Needless to say that on this one occasion, I listened to my big brother and followed him instead, but not before we had spent half an hour traveling around Heathrow airport parking lots.

Here in France we do not have the same problem, the names are so impossible that there is only one of them anywhere in the world. There will be other problems though, and we will let you know how it goes!

The English Wedding

Well before I can get to life in France I have to tell you about the English wedding. Gord and I, as well as my brother Chris and his wife Jeannie, travelled to London on our way to France to attend the wedding of my cousin Sally's son James and his new wife Sarah. It was so much fun. The wedding was set in the country near Wales in a lovely little village called Bodenham. The service was held on Saturday afternoon in the beautiful old church and the photos were all taken in the very blustery wind in the church yard. The outfits on both the men and the women were really something!  There were many men in kilts and lots of others in tails all with very fancy vests and there were even a few top hats. Likewise the women were very dressed up, quite a few hats but they are not as popular with the younger crowd as to have a bizarre creation of feathers and other fabrics, just stuck on the side of the head.  These are called "fascinators" and as you can see from the picture Sally, the mother of the groom, had on the biggest one there! The "wedding breakfast" (held at 4:00pm!) was in the most amazing collection of marquees (tents) that I have ever seen attached to the lovely huge farmhouse that Sarah's parents live in. We walked through the house into a passageway constructed for the occasion that had silk draping on the ceiling, several functioning chandeliers and a line with clothes pegs for the women, and men to hang their hats and fascinators on before the meal began. Then the passageway led into a huge marquee that was attached to a series of old stone barns where the bar was. In the large marquee that was again swathed in silk, one part of the ceiling was navy fabric with lots of little lights in it that "twinkled" and there was a dance floor under the 'night sky'.  The wedding breakfast consisted of trays of champagne and lots of interesting appetizers including little haggis sausages dipped in mustard! Then is was on to a beautiful three course meal followed by real english wedding cake which is a rich dark fruit cake and loads of wonderful cheeses. It was all really lovely and as the British really like to party it went on until the wee hours of the morning.

(things I have learnt in this blog entry: do not try to add more than one image per entry, I am just not technically capable to move the images around to where I want them on the layout!)