Electrics, gas and credit cards

Well, we've kind of settled down to thinking the electricity will stay on but one of the consequences of the power cuts was an alarming explosion.  We were cooking together on the gas hob the next day when there was an almighty explosion and a smell of singed hair!  When we gathered ourselves together, checked that neither of us was injured apart from Jon losing the hair on the back of his hand, we found the reason. In the power cuts we'd had to use a cigarette lighter to light the gas hob and it had been left close to the hob. The heat from the hob made it explode but fortunately it didn't hit either of us. Quite a fright though.

As to the credit card, a rather tame ending to the story.  We got fed up of waiting for it to arrive at our neighbours' and asked at the bank.  It had mysteriously arrived that day (!), addressed to us in England and sent to our local branch (which we'd suggested but were told it was impossible).  The young lady who has been very helpful all along was clearly delighted, and so were we.

How bizarre

Ambika's first day with us.  It's 5pm and she's dying on her feet having left home about 4 am, so I drag her out on a bike ride. The weather was glorious and we are pedalling along when we hear a man's voice singing a repeated phrase from over in the vineyards to our right. It's lovely and peaceful and then we hear a brass instrument on the left. We're getting nearer and nearer, and when we're very close to the music we see a track leading into the woods. Naturally, we head for the sound, pushing our bikes and wondering what we will find. 
Well, we found Michel playing his horn, with his white gloves on (naturally).

He didn't seem to mind us listening so I opened the conversation with (in my best French) "I suppose you are banned from practising in the house?" - my little joke! Very seriously he answered that he was allowed but that it was so much pleasanter out in the woods. We were loving the whole bizarre situation when he offered to play for us and suggested I video him.  So I did.

Electricity woes

On Thursday the power went off in the afternoon. We were expecting Patricia and Mike for dinner here later and had the meal all planned. As the afternoon wore on we went out and bought a couple of torches and began to think up alternative ways of cooking.  Sure enough we ended up toasting bruschettas individually over the gas ring (fortunately we have a gas hob) and browning the cheese with a blowtorch. 

Jon used his soldering blowtorch.

The roast potatoes became mash.

Mike's trying to figure out what on earth he's been offered while Patricia's admiring the electric lights in the house opposite.

During the course of the evening, Mike noticed that other houses in our street now had lights showing - it was just us who remained cut off.  The consolation was that it was very atmospheric eating by candlelight.

The next day I tried to ring EDF but failed the second instruction on the automatic answering system - I think they wanted some detail from my bill and all our bills are in England anyway. Finally got our neighbour Evelyne to ring for me and we discovered there was a second trip we had not known about.  Reset that and we had power again!  Feeling a bit stupid but relieved.

Now we were expecting the arrival of an Australian family we met in the hotel in Derby the night before our flight out. This time we planned a barbecue with oven-roasted potatoes.  They arrived at 4.30 and guess what?  Lights out again about 6pm.  Ah ha.  We know what to do now, don't we? Reset trip no.1, reset trip no.2 - no way. Both trips immediately turned off.  Our newly-made friends spent an hour or more trying to track down the fault, removing fuses and pulling plugs but the trips simply wouldn't reset.  So another scratch meal by candlelight. More mash. At least this time we had two appreciative young children who thought it a great adventure going round a strange house by candlelight and torchlight.  But two guests sleeping downstairs couldn't use the toilet, shower or basin, as the waste water has to be pumped out and the pump's electric.  Poor things were on a big, but rapid European trip and had hopes of showers and hair straighteners, phone charging and WiFi but EDF said Non!

Our unlucky Aussie guests enjoying the daylight next day

We tried the trips again before they left and then rang EDF again.  This time I managed the automatic questions better but the result was that the fault lay in the house, not with EDF.  Managed to get an electrician to call at 11, and the darn trips obediently reset! So it's a mystery.  And remains so, as the power has stayed on since.

Now the next problem to tackle is my Carte Bleue which the machine ate and the bank can't send the replacement to me as their system says there is no no.5 in our road.  The bank says we don't exist so we have to have it sent to the same long-suffering neighbours.  Only it hasn't appeared yet, after nearly two weeks and we're beginning to fear it may have gone to England instead!

On the trail of the Visigoths

For a week or more, Patricia, whom I know from Thursday French, and Mike have been camping on the site at Villegly, the next village to ours and we have been spending some time together.  Three of us went on a walk called Sur les traces des Wisigoths last week. In a local village near the start of the walk, we were accosted by a very enthusiastic man called Louis who had uncovered thousands of artefacts locally and created a museum to exhibit some of them.  He insisted that our walk to a necropolis of some 44 visigoth graves would be incomplete without a visit to his museum.  We were to call at his house on our way back and he would come and open up and give us a guided tour.
The graves are very impressive, dating from the 5th or 6th century and resting, as they mostly do, with their open mouths at ground level. There are large ones and small ones, and just so many it's astounding.

The largest, the sarcophagus from which now rests outside the museum

Mike and Patricia inside the church of Notre Dame de Lauzes

After the walk we stopped by Louis' house and he rushed out excitedly to tell us all about his findings. There was no end of fragments of Roman pottery and brooches, pins, door hinges made of bone (using the hole up the middle) and jewellery.

There were many amphora about one metre tall, used for selling wine and several miniature ones about 25 cm tall.  These rested in the neck of a full-size one and contained a sample for sales purposes.

 A pile of Roman coins was accompanied by an anecdotal tale of an old man who had discovered a treasure trove of coins which he kept in a large urn, and gave a handful each to three village women. I didn't gather how this particular handful came to be in the museum - it was hard to keep up as he was desperate to tell us as much as possible in a short time.

Heritage weekend

The first weekend we were here was Heritage Weekend, apparently a European event, though I don't think I've noticed it in England. All manner of buildings and artifacts are open which are not normally accessible and many paying ones are free. We went to Montolieu on the Saturday where there were loads of craft stalls and workshops. Among the most impressive was a conglomerate of local blacksmiths working on a joint artistic design.

One of the two design boards

They had five furnaces going and a design chalked on wooden boards.

The communal forge

Each wrought iron piece was worked on separately, holding it periodically against the drawing to check the curves were accurate.

Checking the curve

It was a weekend's work so we didn't see the finished article unfortunately.

On the Sunday we went to Malves, the next village to us, where the chateau was open exceptionally. Only last month when a plaster ceiling was removed, a wonderful painted wooden ceiling was revealed, as fresh as new and dating from the 17th century.

Here you can the fleur-de-lys some of which were painted over.

The circle is symbolic of the countryside and the square of industry.

There were other painted ceilings also and even frescoes on the walls of an attic room.
Interestingly, on the most recently discovered and best ceiling, the guide pointed out rough green painted patches in places, which date from the revolution and covered up fleur de lys decorations as symbols of the discredited aristocracy.

Later we visited a tiny roadside preRoman chapel with frescoes on the walls but in a sad state of disrepair. Often when attention is drawn to such things, the most important first step is to repair the roof to prevent further damage and it often stops there for lack of funds.

The little chapel with its lovely new roof

Ancient wall frescoes

World music day

This was started in France in 1982 on June 21st as a day when performers, both amateur and professional, were encouraged to make music in the streets and to give free concerts. It was taken up enthusiastically and has since spread to 110 countries. (Including Great Britain - did we know?)
In our village here it took the form of a concert given by schoolchildren and the local school of dance.  We went into the lower town of Carcassonne to catch a concert by the municipal orchestra and choir who were set up by the river on Friday evening. The standard was not great but the most bizarre thing was when a woman came out of the choir and approached a man in the audience (seemingly her dance partner) and proceeded to perform a very complex and intricate dance as the orchestra performed a piece of modern music. They then hung around like dancers after a country dance, waiting to see what the orchestra would play next and whether it would be suitable to dance to.  Apparently not, as when the next piece started they kissed and went back to their places.

And since I've just accidentally deleted the picture of the dancers, all I can show you is the view as we returned.

Rustiques museum

Another triumph over a French attitude towards times and appointments.  We wanted to see the museum but it is only open on Tuesdays and Fridays from 10 - 12.
Duly there at 10 am (one of us by bike, even!) the museum was firmly shut.  A notice on the door informed us there was a village walk at 10 am starting from the campsite, but omitted to mention that the guide was one and the same person who led the museum visits.

Le guide, a Belgian who speaks 7 languages.

 We waited for 15 minutes then asked.  "Oh, he will be leading the village walk.  You'll find him easily somewhere in the village.  Try the chateau or the church".  OK, we wander around as suggested but no luck so we went to Trebes to find a coffee. At 11.30 we thought we'd just try our luck and return to Rustiques to see if they had ended up at the museum by any chance. Just giving up for the second time as there was no sign of life, they all suddenly appeared accompanied by the old man whose 40 year archeological collection founded the museum in 2001.

Jean Nicoux,the archeologist, and part of a statue

And here was another surprise.  In such a small place we expected a very rustic dusty collection of disorganised exhibits but far from it.  He had been a meticulous collector and recorder of his finds; everything was well documented and fragments of pottery placed on photographic reproductions so you could see what the whole thing would have looked like. 

M Nicoux describes some of his finds.

The old man was easy to understand and eager to tell us all about his collection of mostly gallo-roman pottery, coins etc, but also some prehistoric tools and so on. One item was a small piece of gold jewellery with a phallic symbol which he explained the Roman women would wear to illustrate their husbands' virility. He had nearly missed it down in the ground until a sudden ray of sun caught it and made it glint.

We also heard how it took him 25 years to get permission to excavate two niches outside the church, which turned out to contain the remains of 9 and 4 bodies, on top of which were remnants of statues presumably destroyed during the revolution and buried in there.

All in all a worthwhile visit and now on to the next thing, as today is the National Day of Music.  All over France there are concerts and dances and soirees, so we're off to find some.....

Rustiques - a tiny village with a big heart

Last week this little village of 500 inhabitants celebrated the opening of its signed tourist walk. We went to join in with Marie-Renee and Michel and were surprised to find many of the villagers in costume to introduce us to various of the historical waymarks on the way round. There were lepers, aristocrats and peasants, Roman soldiers and so on.

Two rather jolly lepers

Round we all went, from site to site, learning about the ownership of the chateau, hearing from an 87 year-old about his experience of the resistance in the seciond world war, looking at photos of women washing clothes in the stream, one of whom still lives there, seeing the site of the communal bakery - every 24th loaf had to be given to the seigneur in the chateau.

Mercifully brief introductions (mostly)

We had invited our friends to eat with us after this event and so had prepared a complete four course meal but our plans went awry. The procession ended up at the village hall, led by the brass band and we were swept up and inside for "aperos".  Having taken a quick look and decided to head back, we were spotted and told it was out of the question, so we ate beautiful canapes and had a drink or two and staggered back about 8.30, unable to eat more than the starter and dessert. Next day we shared the main course with our neighbours so it all worked out well!

House valuation

One of the two estate agents has come back to us and it appears we have lost about 30% on the house - so far! We're not too surprised but its hard to find anywhere smaller we like better, and when we look we come back to realising how much we love this one so our hearts are not in it for moving. It's just a pity the village is not more lively.

Passing it on - French inheritance laws

Today we went to Toulouse to see an English-speaking lawyer about what happens to our house out here when either or both of us die. French law is very different from English in this respect.  We had read up about it and it seemed that in our particular circumstances we need do nothing special, but we keep reading dire warnings so thought it best to check up.
We are joint owners of the house and the way the law operates here, if one of us dies, their half will be inherited equally by our two boys and the surviving spouse.  So the survivor will retain ownership of 1/2 + inherit 1/3 of the other 1/2 - ie 2/3.  The boys would own 1/6 each. Fortunately we didn't have to go into what happens if there are other children from earlier marriages - things get even more complicated!
This all sounds very odd to us English but apparently the rest of Europe is similar - its we who are the odd ones out.
Anyway, after due deliberation, and finding out that we had correctly understood the situation, we have decided to leave things as they are, but at least it feels tidier somehow to have made a fully-informed decision.

Hens' nests in training

One of our favourite road signs brings out the childish in us as we can't help translating it literally into English - as above.  It actually says "NIDS DE POULE EN FORMATION".  The nids de poules, or hens' nests are potholes.  Formation usually means training but probably here has the meaning we are used to in English.
Our other favourite is PARKING SUBMERSIBLE. We didn't actually see it immediately after the recent rain storm of June 8 which flooded us and many of our neighbours but, judging by the debris the day after, it lived up to its name.

And more expense!

Now we have a new noise coming from the van. Investigations - badly bent suspension arm, due to the knock we took. €353. The only good thing to come out of it was finding excellent and friendly service locally.  Lovely friendly team of guys who didn't seem to mind dealing with people who largely spoke gibberish. Fortunately we have adopted a common French attitude towards their vehicles, which perhaps has come about due to the incredibly narrow streets in many villages, which is simply to shrug their shoulders at scrapes and dents - c'est la vie.  We are now proudly Gallically dented and scraped - and out of pocket too.

Oh la la! The expense!

While Fredi and Seb were here, when returning one evening we ran into a large road grid which had been left sticking up so that we hit it hard with the front wheel, making a huge hole in the tyre. Job for the blokes, when you've got two of them on hand, so Fredi and I carried on our conversation in the back of the car until the spare wheel was fitted.  When they'd gone back we went to replace the tyre - €97 - and were told we must replace the other front tyre too, as there was too much difference in wear otherwise - €194.  At this point I remembered that there had been an offer on when we bought the originals (which were only necessary because French law requires vehicles to adhere to their original specifications and our van had wider tyres when we bought it). Suddenly found ourselves delighted to be able to claim a reimbursement - 25% of the wrecked tyre price. I've filed the paperwork so if it works out that'll be €170 - only! Thanks very much to the jokers who lifted that grid out and were probable watching when we hit it.

I'm back!

I came back to France this time determined to maintain the blog from time to time so here we go.

We started off spending a week with friends visiting us from England. We tried to warn them that the weather wasn't up to the usual South of France standard but I don't think they quite believed us. Fortunately we had clothes to lend them.............

Fredi and Seb suitably attired for the South of France

Of course we still got out and about and had a lovely time in spite of the weather,

Better weather for the cherry festival

 but saperlipopette  was it cold! (that's my latest and favourite French word, from the local newspaper and translates as Zounds or Struth)
Since they went back last Thursday we've been to dinner with Marie-Renee and Michel, our friends from Pennautier, and at the weekend visited two gardens taking part in the national Open Gardens Day. One was in the grounds of an old water-driven forge near Montolieu, the book village (like Hay-on-Wye)

and the other was the restored gardens of the Abbey of Fontfroide. It was actually sunny for the latter, this being Sunday, and not only were the gardens lovely, but there was a quintet playing classical music under the trees.  My customary detailed examination of the local papers (!) meant that we were able to time our visit to include one of their performances.

Quartet Dolmitia +1

Jon was more interested in the design of these chairs with seats and backs made from sprung steel.  When you sit on them they give and are almost bouncy. Amazingly comfortable.

This week we have started to follow up on our constant feeling that the house is over-large and the village not the most lively.  So we have approached two estate agents to request valuations.  We need to know how much we are going to lose by selling, and this is just part of trying to make things easier for the boys if we still own property out here when we die!  Cheerful subject? 

To be continued.................................

Springy seat