A Slice of Ex-Pat(é)

'Blog Migration.

noreply@blogger.com (Le Chant d'Oiseau) — Sun, 12 Apr 2009 20:43:00 +0000

Hello all. I'm simply putting this post on as a reminder that you can join me over at Wordpress, where I've decided to host the 'blog for the foreseeable future. If you click on this link, you'll find me there easily enough. You can also read of our latest adventures via our website here.

So, until the next time......

Au revoir!

TBC (here)

All content © Le Chant d’Oiseau, 2006-2009

Time for a change.

noreply@blogger.com (Le Chant d'Oiseau) — Wed, 25 Feb 2009 12:49:00 +0000

Hello dear reader. For those of you that do follow the 'blog from here, rather than our business website, you may not be aware that I've recently decided to give Wordpress a go as our 'blog platform of choice. It offers a less 'clunky' style, more in line of how I'd like to see our own group of websites develop. I hope you like the layout as much as we do. Not alot has changed, but after a few days of getting to know my way around the Wordpress 'blog systems, I'm more comfortable there, it has to be said. So, if you'd like to continue reading, please point your browser here.

I'll try and publish as many stories for you all as time allows, though with the onset of Spring (it's glorious outside today), we're going to become busier!

Thanks again to you all for travelling with us this far, we hope you continue the journey with us over at Wordpress.

Until the next time, au revoir.

TBC

All content © Le Chant d’Oiseau, 2006-2009

It's a sign!

noreply@blogger.com (Le Chant d'Oiseau) — Sat, 14 Feb 2009 10:10:00 +0000

Just last week, the dog was huffing & puffing from her bed at some outrageously quiet noise that had disturbed her sleep pattern. It could be anything - the bloody dog (usually) has ears like a bat. It could have been la chasse playing in the forest, it could have been the bin men, it could have been birds nesting on the Ailsa Craig for all we knew. But, she shut up and settled back down so we thought nothing more of it. Until we looked out of the door, towards our gates. There was a metal post in the ground, just outside the gate. It hadn't been there 15 minutes earlier. Where the hell had it come from. Stupidly, after Syb had told me what it was and I'd joined her at the door, we both looked skywards. As if expecting the alien mother ship to be hovering above Le Chant on its way to dispense further listening devices (cunningly disguised as metal posts...) along the lane.

Curiosity got the better of the pair of us, so with blank looks in hand, we walked to the gates to inspect our listening device. Standing about chest height (therefore taller than Syb, who is the typical height for a French person), it was rectangular in shape and had quite seriously been dug in. Cemented too by the look and feel of it! Fresh earth surrounded the foot and it wasn't giving much. I wondered briefly why such an advanced race as aliens would still use cement, when there's obviously mind magnets to use? More importantly, where would they get their supplies? I can just imagine the faces of the staff at our local Bricoman as the alien craft glided noiselessly (you don't expect these craft to backfire like an old Renault, do you?) over the barrier after loading up with sand and gravel....What would they mix it with? Banks of cement mixers lining the pristine white walls of the spaceship? You can probably tell Messrs. Spielberg & Lucas had quite an effect on me in my youth?

Anyway, it wasn't quite as alien as it seemed, but puzzling nontheless. Theories bounced around like leaves in a breeze. Could it be a post to tie our poubelle to? It was always falling over when the wind was strong enough? More so - could it be a post for the commune to tie a communal poubelle to? We were enraged! How very dare they? Every couple of miles in the countryside, a communal poubelle is placed. One of those big plastic bins on wheels that swallow horses whole. John & Mary had one at the end of their chemin, and they got it moved as it was always abused, usually overflowing and then an attraction to allsorts of wildlife to come and have a munch. It wasn't pretty, and it stunk. So, we were all fired up to write a strong letter of protest. Why couldn't they put it by the turkey farm down the road? It's hardly ever used these days, plenty of space for traffic and out of our way. This is right outside our gates, fer crying out loud! We couldn't believe that our friend the Maire would do such a thing to us. Then again, the small strip of lawn to the front of Le Chant doesn't strictly belong to us, it's commune land. In reality, our sign shouldn't even be there. Nor our flower box. But, after a previous owner of Le Chant had erected it, and ignored all requests for it to be removed, it seems to be a given feature now, and we mow the grass anyway, saving the commune a fortune! Well, maybe not - but it's the thought that counts.

We decided over a cup of tea that the best thing to do re. our listening device was to have a drive around the lane to see if any of our neighbours had been visited by the mother ship too. So off we went, turned right out of the gates and onwards. Gérard's new bungalow didn't have one, nor did the old hunting lodge next door, but Gérard's old farmhouse, la Vente did! Les Cabanes has one, but not Gue d'Allouette! Bizarre! We decided that this alien invasion merited further investigation, so off we drove around the lanes close by our friends, John & Mary. Here and there, by the side of the road and usually right next to the gateway to houses were more metallic alien listening devices. Not everyone had them mind you, so we were beginning to feel rather special. Smug, in fact. The aliens obviously didn't mind that we were anglais! Which was nice.

John & Mary had one, so did Mike & Sally. Bernard didn't, nor did mammy, next door, but Nicole & Lionel did. There seemed (to us, anyway) no rhyme nor reason to this, so we decided to check our boundaries! We're right on the edge of Mouliherne, and our river behind us forms the communal boundary with Vernantes. None of the houses on the Vernantes side had an alien listening device.

Then, in a flash - it came to me. "It's a sign", I said. "A sign of what?" asked Syb. "No, not in that sense - it's a signpost." "Ah...."

I remembered reading in our yearly commune 'guidebook', that one of the things that our commune planned to waste our tax money on in 2009 was the upgrading of house signs! Even though we have a lovely hand-made wrought ironwork sign right outside our gate, and even though the people that really matter (the postman & the binmen) know where we live, we still have to have a sign!

Just the day before yesterday, Stefan and his father-in-law came and plonked a plastic sign over the top of the alien listening device that proudly says we are now 'Le Chant d'Oiseau'. I think it looks even more like an aerial now!

Until the next time, au revoir.

TBC

All content © Le Chant d’Oiseau, 2006-2009

Adieu Gérard Douaire. Notre ami, et bon voisin.

noreply@blogger.com (Le Chant d'Oiseau) — Tue, 10 Feb 2009 11:27:00 +0000

This is difficult. I've written about people, friends we've made here in France and come to know & love. It's usually good, happy stuff that I write and share with you all. Today's not happy, or good. Today we learned that our good friend and neighbour Gérard Douaire has died. You'll remember (if you've been reading since the start) one of the first pictures I posted on here was one I'd taken of a proud Gérard holding up a panier of freshly baked fouée. I printed a copy off, framed it and gave it as a cadeau to Gérard as both a memento of a fantastic experience he and his family gave us, and also as a reminder of a great day that crossed a cultural and linguistic divide. It now sits on display in his bedroom. The funeral is tomorrow and of course Syb & I will be there, representing our family to pay our last respects to a man who helped us in many ways, some subtle and others in a more robust fashion. We have many memories of him in the short time we've been friends, and I'll relate a couple here.

The first time we met Gérard was one evening shortly after we'd taken over Le Chant. We were walking down to the bridge over the river to the rear of Le Chant one evening and heard a van pull up the chemin behind us. Out got a man with a gun. We wondered what it was we'd done wrong, and were about to put our hands up and plead mercy. It was Gérard, off down to the river in the evening just to hunt for ducks. He spent the next 20 or 30 minutes passing the time of day with us, introducing himself as our neighbour and reassuring us that we were perfectly within our rights to walk the chemin as we jointly had rights of access with him. Then there were the Easter celebrations that I've already described. Gérard took a great delight in showing me how the bread oven worked, and even greater delight in feeding us all the delicacies made a la maison by he and his wife Sylviane. It was this moment in my life in France when I began to truly feel that I could settle here, and feel among friends. It was also the defining point in my desire to build my own bread oven here at Le Chant, so that I could reintroduce a part of the history of the place, lost forever when the bread oven here fell into disrepair and was destroyed.

I have more memories of him than I can remember, often just funny encounters with him, like the time my remote control plane got stuck in a tree on the lane. His expression as he pulled over to say 'Bonjour', shake my hand and laugh at my new toy was priceless. The time he fell over an old decorative chamber pot we used as a planter on our patio. We gave him the broken pieces as a memento, which are still in the border of his garden. That was the time the whole family descended upon us to complete a 'defi', or challenge, as part of his son Ludovic & wife-to-be Sabrina's pre-wedding celebrations. He was a commune councillor. It was he, after seeing how we struggled with the amount of rubbish we collect, that arranged for us to have our bins emptied here, just outside the gates, instead of us having to load them onto our trailer and take them to a commune poubelle 2 miles distant. He also solicited our advice on tourism for our commune as we attract a fair amount of guests. We compiled a questionnaire for him to help understand why folks come to our part of the Loire, and what could be done to entice more to this beautiful corner of France. The dossier is sat on my desk, awaiting attention. I wish I'd finished it for him now.

He was dour and friendly by turns. Irascible, funny and well loved by his family. A proud farmer, a dedicated hunter. A man of the land. A good friend and neighbour.

I'm sure that his passing will be missed by many. It certainly will make a difference to our lives, his not being around anymore.

Vous êtes à la paix, allez légèrement, mon ami.

Gérard Douaire.
1949-2009

Until the next time, au revoir.

TBC

All content © Le Chant d’Oiseau, 2006-2009

Integrating slowly.....

noreply@blogger.com (Le Chant d'Oiseau) — Wed, 04 Feb 2009 09:50:00 +0000

It's taken a while, perhaps too long. It doesn't happen overnight though, so I can't be blamed. Integration, I'm speaking of. In the days after we'd just moved lock stock and barrel, we dreamed of being able to say we were 'integrated', not really knowing what it meant in the full sense of the word. Syb wanted to paint again - just to relax and be able to spare some minutes for herself to doodle, draw and paint. So she'd like to maybe join a painting group, or some such. Or read. She's read maybe three books in her whole life. She blames the kids. You see, when she was able to read unhindered, she didn't really want to. We possibly had, er - other things to do. Then the other things that we did led to the reason why she stopped reading! If you follow my drift? Having kids actually takes it out of you to the degree that you stop reading, which is a shame. Anyway, I digress.

So, there we were standing chatting to François, our friendly local garagiste about having our car serviced, when I suddenly noticed that he had lots of framed prints on the walls of his office. Breaking off from discussing the painful topic of inspecting our brakes (they were making a hell of a squeal when braking in reverse, we could have been mistakenly shot as a boar by blind hunters on Saturdays), I asked about the photos. Yes, they were his work, and yes he does love his photography. Last August, we had our usual big party to celebrate our anniversary of moving to France, and invited François and his wife along with many other of our friends. Hannah had told me that it was François that had taken the publicity shots for Le Pélican earlier in the year, so I sort of knew he was an enthusiast. Anyway, back at the car servicing discussion, François told me that I should come to the next meeting of the Photoclub Vernantais, of which he was the Président! So, dates were offered for the first meeting of the year, which unfortunately fell at a time when we'd had a really big weather hammering. The Big Freeze, of a couple of posts ago. Our car wouldn't start, plus we were snowed in. So, I couldn't attend without being airlifted by Chinook and deposited on the roof of the Mairie in Vernantes, silently mouthing my grateful thanks to the winchman....

So, another date was set and Syb & I duly trotted along on a Saturday afternoon, believing we'd be an hour. Two at the most. Not so, it was well attended, and folks were still arriving almost as it was time to go home. there were faces that we recognised from the villages, shops and so on that you'd never associate with belonging to a photo club. Still, that's rural France for you - so isolated, that any excuse to attend a get-together and exchange body warmth with another human being is good!

Anyway, we enjoyed the discourse, and at the end there was gallette du rois, and cider! We were also introduced to a couple of local enthusiasts who were English. Which was nice. the conversation turned somehow to badminton, as it does - and Syb volunteered the info that I used to play in the UK, in the days when I wasn't beaten into a bent, old-before-my-time ex-pat, and quite enjoyed a knock! So, I was propelled from one circumstance of integration to another in the swish of a racket! Plans were made to meet at the local salle de sports for a knock (just to see how I got on) the following Tuesday. It turns out that François is high up in the badders échelons too. Probably Président. The man's a dynamo, he wears me out. I don't really need the physical exercise of badminton, when I can just admire our Président-For-Hire at work.

Tuesday came, and my two boys and I made ready to have a knock! We arrived at the salle to find it in semi-darkness, with a guy stood looking out at us menacingly from inside the small porch. I got ready to drive off at high speed, while Niall (the youngest, but biggest of us) was sent to ask if there was badminton here tonight! The reply was in the positive, so we parked, meandered and nodded at the menacing man, who turned out to be alone and in need of a badminton partner! Nets were set up, and a quick warm up was had. One by one, people started to arrive, including François. Hands were shaken, cheeks were kissed and the business of having a good workout commenced. Two and a half hours later, and with protesting muscles and joints, I climbed into the car. Well, it was a bit of a climb. The step up was tortuous. These are limbs that haven't seen any serious movement for almost 4 years! Muscles ached where I didn't even know muscles existed! The one saving grace was that my eldest, Liam, was in as much pain as I was! Two days later, on Thursday morning the lads asked if we were playing again that night. The expression on my face was all they needed. Niall was slightly disappointed, yet the look on Liam's face was pure, unadulterated relief! Almost a week later, and our second outing to badminton and all's well. I played less, ran less and felt much better. Last week, I couldn't have co-ordinated my limbs into constructing cohesive sentences like this, so things must be improving! I'm looking forward to Thursday now!

So, in a nutshell, my social life's expanded from doing absolutely nothing from week to week to month to month, to having the chance of a game of badminton with a great group of people two or three times per week, and photoclub once or twice a week too. How on earth am I going to find the time to devote to Le Chant d'Oiseau? The photoclub organises various outings throughout the year culminating in a large, well-attended exhibition in our canton commune of Longué in the autumn. The badminton club has a regular team of players competing in teams against local communes too, though I'm keen to avoid any competitiveness like the plague!

Now, all I have to do is organise Syb's social life!

Until the next time, au revoir.

TBC

All content © Le Chant d’Oiseau, 2006-2009

Bienvenue parmi nous!

noreply@blogger.com (Le Chant d'Oiseau) — Tue, 20 Jan 2009 16:05:00 +0000

A bit of fantastic news to share today with you all! My beautiful baby sister last night gave birth to our newest little nephew. So, welcome to the world Lucas William, may the sun be always at your back and the roads forever clear.

Mum and baby are fine, and are due home sometime this afternoon, so no doubt we'll get our first pictures of him in the next day or so - when we do, I'll be sure to post one or two here. In the meantime - here's one of my little Noah all dressed up ready for duty on Christmas day!

Until the next time, au revoir.

TBC

All content © Le Chant d’Oiseau, 2006-2009

The Big Freeze!

noreply@blogger.com (Le Chant d'Oiseau) — Sun, 18 Jan 2009 16:08:00 +0000

Having escorted all our guests over for the New Year break safely off the premises, we decided that we'd have a quiet few weeks. Well, a quiet month actually. I was determined to do no heavy lifting at all, due to the pain I'm having in both my shoulders now. I have no idea why, I think it's just the sheer hard work of the past few years here - lifting, hammering, pushing, shoving and generally pushing my body further than it should go! So - a relaxing January in store. Maybe catch up on some DVD's that we'd bought for the gites but never watched ourselves? Maybe do those little niggly jobs, like transfer old video's of the family on holiday onto DVD for posterity? Or even just read a bit? There's a jigsaw hiding in the office somewhere that we really should finish.

Oh, how wrong! The cold weather hit us with no warning at all, axcept a bit of frost one morning as we woke. Lovely to see, made the spider webs look oh so pretty in the morning sunlight. temperatures still fairly 'normal', you know freezing or maybe a tad below? Then - BOOM! It hit us. MINUS WHAT? Surely that'd break the thermometer? Minus 16? Never - shake the damn thing and try it again? What was that? The thermometer in the car says the same thing? It can't do - that's too cold for a Renault. It's a French car, and they like the warmth. Everyone knows Renault don't export to Finland? Volvo's stay in Sweden because they can handle the cold, not Renaults! My God! It was cold! It really did dip down to minus 18 at one point. we would have chatted about it with the neighbours if we hadn't been snowed in! yes! It snowed again, like it did in '05 and in '06. Great big flakes of white drifting to earth and settling. It snowed continuously for around 6 hours or so.

Great fun, lovely photo opportunities here, there and everywhere. But Christ - the cold! If we enjoyed a climate warm enough to have monkeys instead of deer and boar, they'd be brass by now! I don't mind looking out on snowy landscapes. I love it really, as you can just sit back, pour another gin & tonic, throw another log on the fire and look forward to relaxing in a nice hot bath in a while. Except that the bloody pipes froze solid in a nano second! No hot water for almost a fortnight! The cold - no problem, no need for icecubes in anything - just threatening your G&T with the cold tap was enough to develop icicles the size of Maori spears!

The problem we had was that even though we were warm inside the house with the central heating, we couldn't have a shower or a bath. Normally, this isn't a problem as we'd just nip over to Héron and have a dip there. Except we had guests! can't really knock on the door with a towel and fresh pair of knickers under your arm can you? Not the done thing - sends out the wrong messages entirely about the kind of establishment we run here!

The only option we had was to use Hibou's shower. Lovely though it is once you're in it, it's the getting there. The risk of frostbite crossing the courtyard on the way wearing only your Crocs and a dressing gown. we know exactly how Scott and his chums felt back in the day. As we went towards the door, we'd utter 'I may be gone some time....' ominously. Everyone would shout at you to close the bloody door, then mutter about how long it'd take to warm up again.

There was no point whatsoever in thinking about mending pipes at this point, as the thaw was a long way off. But, we were becoming increasingly depressed at the potential for water damage once the thaw did arrive. As is the way with all things, think the worst and you won't be disappointed! Yes, the thaw eventually came. The icicles that decorated our barn like something from the Ice Hotel in Lapland melted away, as did the snowmen dotted around the grounds and the roads became clear once more. then the bursts began. For three or four days, we were being woken at daft o'clock by Sheila shouting upstairs that floods of biblical proportions were threatening to float her bedroom over to Belgium. We'd rush down to see a steady trickle of water from some part of the ceiling or other, then turn off the stop tap, clean up the mess and go to bed. Only to wake and repair the damaged ceilings. Pipes were tricky, as when we built the upstairs here, rather foolishly we placed the hot and cold copper feed pipes in the gap between the outer wall and the inner plasterboard - on the northern side of the house. There's 10 hectares of open land where the wind can whip up to speeds an olympic cyclist could earn a knighthood for before it hits the mass of our house. Up the walls it goes, races into the eaves and hugs my precious bloody pipes in its icy grip! Grinning like a loon, probably! I'm steadily replacing swathes of copper with plastic piping though. Each winter, as we're caught unawares by the cold (again), I destroy another little bit of the walls, pull out the broken bits and replace it with something with more guts in the fight against Jack Frost! We reckon that by the year 2025 we'll be free of any leaks. We'll also be dead. Possibly frozen bloody solid!

Oh, the irony of it all was that Hannah spent a fortune to freeze in Lapland, and she could have done it here for nothing!

Until the next time, au revoir.

TBC

All content © Le Chant d’Oiseau, 2006-2009

Bonne année a tous!

noreply@blogger.com (Le Chant d'Oiseau) — Tue, 06 Jan 2009 11:14:00 +0000

Hello all. Welcome to 2009! It was a fairly lively affair here with guests over for the New Year and friends from the UK too. You remember back in the spring, we had a young german girl helping us for a while? Well she and her boyfriend returned to spend the New Year with us. Mareike and Manuel arrived late on the 29th, having driven from Germany through France, and over to Noirmoutier on the North Vendée coastline - just to see the sea! So, even though they were tired, we still managed a beer or two to celebrate their arrival! A little later, but not much, our friends from the UK, Jo & Sam arrived with their family, and our gathering was complete!

It's a 'custom' in Germany that the family sit down each New Year's Eve to watch a little known British short film entitled 'Dinner For One'. It's a quite charming and funny short, and bizarrely, it's in English with no subtitles but with an introduction by a German chappie - in German! The case is all in German and we were given a copy as a present by Mareike to watch at our leisure. We actually sat down as a gang to watch it early on New Year's Eve and everyone laughed and enjoyed it very, very much. It will no doubt become a tradition in our household from now on! We were showered with gifts by our German friends, including a lovely calendar of landscapes from their part of Germany. There were also 5 curious little plant pots of four-leafed clovers, with a little chimney sweep figure made out of pipe cleaners. Again, a tradition in Germany and represents good luck for the coming year! We had chocolates, wine and HUGE bottles of German Pilsner beer too!

Sam & Jo brought with them their son Dylan, and Jo's two teenage daughters, Poppy & Georgia. We've not seen them since Dylan was a baby, and he's now two years old and a proper little man! We were all at one time, members of the same swimming club in the UK, and our kids and Jo's kids all swam competitively together. Sam was also an extremely good swimmer with Olympic promise until he recklessly chased a rabbit over a fence, falling and breaking both wrists!

The New Year celebrations arrived with a 'phone call from lovely friends in the UK who we used to camp with, as well as texts from friends and family back in the UK too. Luckily, as we're an hour ahead, we get to celebrate twice! Much sparkling wine was consumed, along with beer (French & German), and we ate from a buffet of food from around Europe!

Chatting to Mareike & Manuel, we agreed that there aren't that many opportunities in 'everyday' life where we could meet up with German friends in an ancient French farmhouse at New Year and share laughs and good conversation. We feel very priviledged to have made so many good friends over the past few years here. Long may it continue!

New Year's Day saw me lighting up the bread oven, after picking up 5kg's of dough from Morgane & Joel, our boulanger friends in the village. None of our guests had had fouée before, so Syb & I decided we'd treat them to a traditional local delicacy! We were joined for the afternoon by our friends Paul & Anne from Yorkshire, who own a house not too far from us. The oven performed admirably and we ate well. We were stuffed in fact, and only half of the dough had been used! Fouée, I think I've explained before, is traditionally a piece of baguette dough torn off, and thrown in the hot oven to 'test' the temperature, prior to baking for the day. It rises in spectacular fashion, becoming balloon-like in seconds - piping hot. It's then sliced open and filled with regional 'stuffings', like rillettes du mans (rough pork paté), boudin noir (black pudd'n, to you and I), fromage de chevre (goat's cheese), confiture (jam) and various other fillings. We've had some lovely fouée when we've been out & about, many local country and village fayres often have a mobile fouée stand. There are restaurants, often in spectacular underground, or troglodyte, caves. Some of these have their own moulin (mill) to grind the flour used to bake the fouée. Because we had so much dough left, we decided to bake some bread! Mareike & Manuel set to with Syb, creating plaited loaves and bread rolls to bake in the oven once the embers had been raked out.

Here's how they turned out - and yes! They were delicious!

Later, the gang all reconvened to have a couple of hilarious games of Pictionary around the kitchen table!

It came around all too soon that everyone had to leave, Mareike & Manuel for Germany and Jo, Sam & the kids for Calais and a ferry! Goodbyes were said, promises to keep in touch via. Facebook and many hugs were given and received. It's never easy to say goodbye to friends you look forward to seeing, and this was one of those times! Still, we could always do it again this coming New Year?

In the words of the great Freddie Frinton, on 'Dinner For One' - "The same procedure as last year?"

Until the next time, au revoir.

See you next year!

TBC

All content © Le Chant d’Oiseau, 2006-2009

It's all over!

noreply@blogger.com (Le Chant d'Oiseau) — Fri, 26 Dec 2008 09:52:00 +0000

Well dear readers, this could turn out to be the final 'bog entry of 2008, as we're really busy again with gites and family stuff into the New Year. So, I'd just like to take this opportunity to wish anyone reading this a very prosperous New Year, we here at Le Chant hope you all had a great Christmas among friends & family?

In the New Year, I'm hoping to make more time for 'blogging now that I'm able to do it more or less anywhere within range of a wifi signal!

Our Christmas? It went very well thank you, though I'm getting 'curmudgeonly' as time passes by, increasingly so being so far away from family. So, I didn't really want to be dragged out of a nice warm, comfy bed at 07:30 to open pressies before our daughter went to work! Especially after only managing to get into said warm, comfy bed at 2am after wrapping, labelling & ferrying the EU pressie mountain from our bedroom (the wrapping & labelling factory) to the lounge, and under the Christmas tree! Still, sleep's overated anyway!

It was only after I'd spoken with my parents and sisters back in Blighty that I began the chrysalis from curmudgeonly to vaguely happy to be alive.

Christmas dinner went well, Syb having slaved away for hours as usual. To start, we had salmon on a bed of spinach, with a crème fraiche and chives sauce. We had the traditional turkey (dinde) accompanied by a biche rôti, (roasted deer joint). Deer is lovely, a little too rich for some tastes, but we like it. The veg was honey glazed parsnips, petit pois, buttered brussel's sprouts and carrots. Home made bread sauce, apple sauce and a shop bought cranberry sauce. Lashings of gravy, and two kinds of stuffing. One was a pork stuffing, with Grand Marnier, and orange! The other, a more traditional sage 'n' onion! We ditched the cheese board in the end, aiming to save room for pudding. Again, a choice. Mr. Tesco's finest Christmas Pud, or a warm cherry bread pudding made from brioche, with custard and chocolate sauce! Or both!

Steve joined us for dinner this year, as Hannah had been invited to spend the Christmas Eve at his parent's home. The French seem to make far more of Christmas Eve than they do of the Day itself, so Hannah was keen to see what was involved.

Anyway, as Steve's a chef, he loves his food and Syb actually managed to impress him. She now has a list of recipes she needs to give him, after being quizzed endlessly about ingredients, methods etc. He's already in love with cheesecake, and now it's mincepies, Christmas pudding, warm cherry bread pudding and sage 'n' onion stuffing! They do lead sheltered lives, these French!

Post prandial activity this year was Pictionary! We divided into three teams, Hannah & Steve, Liam & Niall and Syb & myself! Hannah & Steve won by a margin from Syb & I! The game was a tad slower than normal to allow fair consultation of the French-English dictionary. That made it fair then for Steve & Hannah. It was no less hilarious, and quite worrying to see how similarly our daughter's mind works to that of her boyfriend! Scary I tell you!

Steve got a sat nav for Christmas from his parents, and we played with it for a while after getting a fix on our position at the front door. When they went to bed, it told him to turn left up the stairs, so it works ok.

We've just had some lovely French guests leave us after spending just two nights here, visiting parents and relatives in the village. La maison de maman is too little to accommodate everyone, so the family thought of us. They've really enjoyed their stay, and they say they'll be back again whenever they need to see family. They're not too far away in Bordeaux, but not really able to drive here and back again in the day after spending time with loved ones. I was congratulated on my French, which is reassuring as I believe I've 'plateau'd' out a bit. It was fair reward for us having worked so hard turning the gite into a winter wonderland of lights, warmth and welcome!

We now have to prepare for an onslaught of various friends arriving on the 29th for New Year. The wind is really howling and Syb's keen to get the bedding washed and dried. I said we'd be chasing bedding around the countryside if she did! So, we've decided to have a lazy day today, and crack on tomorrow. Telly & treats today!

Hannah departs for a sejour in Lapland in a few days time, so we're avidly checking out the weather reports for their hotel location. She's going with Steve, his parents and brother. Hannah doesn't 'do' cold climates very well. If it's less than 25 degrees here in summer she complains it's cold and sits shivering with a jumper on, while we all bask in the sunshine, shirtless. So, after planning to visit somewhere hot (or warm, at least) and sunny with her friend Chloe from the UK, but failing miserably to get their acts together, she plumbed for a holiday with the boyfriend! In Lapland! To be fair though, it was a logistical nightmare trying to organise two 20 year old girls to fly from different airports in different countries to the same airport somewhere hot & sunny. Then to fly both girls back here, and then one of them back to the UK, to the same airport she'd leave her car at....

Lapland it is!

Until the next time, au revoir.

See you next year!

TBC

All content © Le Chant d’Oiseau, 2006-2008

Sleeping In Public!

noreply@blogger.com (Le Chant d'Oiseau) — Sun, 14 Dec 2008 10:15:00 +0000

In the three and a bit years we've been here, the only times we've felt the need to go back to the UK have been for family occasions or for a special Christmas shopping trip to Portsmouth! Each time we've been we've used LD Lines from Le Havre to Pompey. The boat from here to there's a late afternoon one and the reverse is an overnighter. So, as well as packing the usual book/magazine/MP3 player etc. you'll see folks laden down with blankets, sleeping bags, pillows and even huge double duvets! There's a rush for the bar where the most convenient 'berths' are - the long settee type seats with TV's in view. Here you'll see people laying out their beds as if they were camping, setting out their stalls for sleeping their way back to France (after a few pints of draught beer), and saving the money on a cabin. It's actually not as bad as it may sound, though you're aware that everyone's in the same boat (so to speak) and therefore careful to be on your best sleeping behaviour. So, dribbling from the corner of your mouth is definitely out of the question, as is talking in your sleep. Don't even think of letting rip with your first fart of the day at 6am, just as the captain's announcing that breakfast is now being served in the restaurant.....

The journey takes a good 8 hours, so there's plenty of time to get in a couple of jars, read a bit of your freshly printed UK magazines before getting a few hours of precious kip. Those who are unlucky enough to suffer insomnia are destined to walk ghost-like around the near-empty decks, jealously gazing upon sleeping travelers. The shop's shut, as are the cafés and the bar. The lights are dimmed and the TV's muted. It's quite an ethereal experience. You'll meet the same insomniacs walking zombie-like in the opposite direction every 15 minutes or so, you'll nod blindly and stroll on.

Driving in the UK's an experience and a half now. After the relative peace of a French N road, to suddenly be thrown into the everyday cut and thrust of a UK motorway system is horrendous! I can't imagine how I ever coped with it on a daily basis! Still, the journey back up to Doncaster and a friends house where we spent our first night went without too many hiccups and I managed good time, landing there at 1;30am. We were greeted with a cuppa, a warm bed and a decent rest. Nice bacon sarnies for breakfast too - thanks Suzanne!

Saturday was spent in a mad dash to pick up our eldest son, who Syb hasn't seen in almost a year and spend some time Christmas shopping in Doncaster. The trouble with going back after a while is that so much has changed. Nothing appears to be where it was, and if it is still there, it's manic! Still, we managed it, and even some lunch, before heading to my sister's where we'd spend the next couple of nights. Saturday evening found us in a local pub where I'd let various friends know we'd be available for a few beers, via. Facebook! What a turnout! It was absolutely brilliant to see so many good friends turn up to say hello. There were too many to list here, but you all know who you are. So, thankyou - you made our weekend, and we can't wait to catch up with you all again soon!

Anyway, we slept in public just last weekend, having returned to the UK for a family gathering - albeit a small one. You remember I told you that I was an uncle at last? Well a week ago today was my nephew Noah Andrew's baptism. It was held in the ancient church in our old village. The church dates back to a similar period in time than does our local church here in Mouliherne, though outwardly there are no similarities. If anything, the one in the UK looks more 'Norman' than the one here in France!

Now, because my sister had asked our other sister, Leanne, to be a Godparent to Noah, Leanne too had to undergo baptism in order to be able to perform her duties in the eyes of the church. Don't get me started on the religious ins and outs of all this. But, even though my sister shares many of my aetheist beliefs, she wanted so much to do this for our Noah and his mum that she accepted with no qualms whatsoever. The service went well with no real surprises until close to the end. After sticking cocktail sticks into an orange to signify the four winds in a bumpy lifetime (the skin of the orange) with a candle on the top for good measure. (Sorry - the significance of all this was lost on me I'm afraid.) It just becomes clearer to me why I don't believe, rather than why people do. Anyway, the vicar asked my sister who she'd like to present the baptism candles to Noah and her sister. She turned and pointed to me and Syb! I nearly choked! I'd been tasked (quite surrepticiously) with the huge burden of bringing the light to my nephew and sister - I honestly can't think of anyone less qualified to do so than me! But, I (like Leanne) would do anything for my sister and nephew, so all thoughts of blasphemy were put to one side and I dutifully brought the light to stage front and presented my little nephew with his baptism candle. Syb did the same with Leanne. It's a heavy responsibility, and I have no idea how it'll pan out. I'll just follow my heart, rather than any 'true path', and see if it works out!

Afterwards, there was a lovely gathering of family at my sister's house and we had a great time catching up, and watching Noah sleep, eat, feed, play, laugh and cry. We swapped news and gossip like old ladies on a street corner. We held each other, hugged and kissed one another and it was like we'd never been away. It was fantastic to see everyone looking so fit, healthy and happy. Our youngest sister's looking every inch the perfect mum-to-be, her 'bump' compact and beautiful. I'm going to be an uncle again in January - the perfect lift out of the winter doldrums! It'll mean another trip across the ditch though.

Well worth sleeping in public for.

Until the next time, au revoir.

TBC

All content © Le Chant d’Oiseau, 2006-2008

The Bistro Bus.

noreply@blogger.com (Le Chant d'Oiseau) — Thu, 27 Nov 2008 10:19:00 +0000

A few weeks ago, via. an Internet forum I sometimes look in on, I contacted a poor lady on the receiving end of a mauling from one of the less 'accepting' of British ex-pats. She dared to ask a question on there - 'did anyone know of any English-owned bars in the area where she might park up her fish & chip van for the evening?' Quite a straightforward question really but the very first reply was from the kind of ex-pat we ourselves take great pains to avoid coming into contact with. His reply was nothing short of a rant, aimed specifically at this lady and her 'importing' the kind of thing that simply shouldn't be seen in France, namely good old british fish 'n' chips! There's a popular misconception that to be a 'proper' ex-pat, you have to have this huge chip on your shoulder (forgive the pun), about anything remotely linking you to your country of birth. You have to shun your heritage, and your national characteristics to kind of 'prove' that you're properly integrated in your adopted country of domecile. What a load of crap! Just because you choose to live in another part of the world doesn't mean to say that you don't still hanker after a loaf of 'proper' bread, or 'real' bacon! (Preferably both, with 'real' HP brown sauce, please!)

I love French cheeses and their bread is to die for. But, there's nothing beats a good old fashioned 'doorstep' sandwich with a choice cheddar cheese and a dollop of tangy pickle! Just my opinion, you understand? I wouldn't want to foist that on anyone else, as it wouldn't be fair, would it? I love beans on toast, but I'm very fond of a salade campagnard too. I love the french language, and yearn to be able to speak it and understand it like a native. Not because I'm desperate to sever any remaining linguistic ties to the UK, but because it's necessary to our survival here. Both socially and domestically. There are those ex-pats we've met, when we ask them how they find the language tell us "oh, we don't speak it, no need. Everyone we know speaks English where we live." I had the great misfortune to ferry a load of wealthy, retired british ex-pats around some local wine caves last summer. They were all living in Spain, here for a birthday celebration or something and renting a local chateau! Seriously! I was asked how I found living in France, and gave an honest account. It's hard, almost always. But it's lovely at the same time. I asked how they were getting on with the Spanish language, and got that very same answer. They don't need to speak it, as they live in an enclave of English-speakers. They do the social rounds each week. Off to number 42 for bridge and trifle on Tuesdays, then it's 45 on Wednesday for charades, and so it goes on. They import their lifestyles directly from their place of birth, transposing everything into their villas in the sun. They don't rely on their local shops for anything other than the basic necessities, (as they're frequent visitors to Tesco's in Surbiton), they pay their bills by direct debit from their UK bank accounts and life's wonderful.

So, why this inverted snobbishness? What's so wrong with standing in the street struggling to find the words to say how much you enjoyed the meal you shared the night before with your (insert nationality of choice here) friends? Why is it so deeply ingrained (especially with the English) that they tend to seek out their own tongue, yet complain about the proliferation of settlements in the UK specifically for Asians, Chinese, Indians, West Indians etc? I just don't get it. I didn't move to France simply to turn my back on England and everything English, as some would have us believe is what a good ex-pat should do. I came here to escape that kind of mentality, but also to give my kids the chance to learn another language, to see how another country 'works', to give them the chance to live in the countryside and to appreciate fresh air. I came here (sorry, I'm preaching, I know) to give our family the chance to create a business that was way out of our reach in the UK, and to leave 'Big Brother' behind.

I don't say that everything's better here than in the UK. It can't be, because that's where my family & friends still live. If I had the choice (and the cash) I'd do what we're doing in the UK in preference to anywhere else on earth. Not just because it'd be easier from a language point of view, but because however hard some try to deny it - there's still no place like home.

The response to the dyed in the wool, fully integrated, well-balanced (chip on both shoulders) angry ex-pat was measured, and really quite polite. You do not have to reject your country of birth in order to live elsewhere in the world, but you do have to keep an open mind on absolutely everything. It's just a shame that not everyone thinks the same way.

The fish and chips were fantastic by the way, with a mix of French & English patrons in the bar, and outside enjoying the evening together. One French couple sitting behind us were overheard chatting about the food. The husband telling his wife, while feeding their toddler in his pushchair scraps of cod in batter -"so this is what les anglais eat while they watch the football!" Cute, eh?

There is a sad footnote to all this, and something that our ignorant ex-pat 'friend' on the forum would possibly take great delight in. On their way home, the couple crashed the Bistro Bus, and it's believed it'll be off the road for quite some time. They're both deeply upset, though unharmed. The hope is to get the business back up and running as soon as possible, as the response from everyone was nothing but positive! Best of British luck to them!

On another note - we had a power outtage again a few days ago. Thirty hours or so of melting candle-wax and falling over cats. There was a particularly fresh gust of wind that took out a power cable not a million miles away from here which then fell into a lake! (I wonder what they'll do with the electrocuted fish? I may have a buyer....) So, the nice EDF men scurried back and forth to get power on to the villages nearby. God forbid we should have no bread from the bakery. Whatever would Napoleon say? But, they forgot all about us, here deep in the forest! Well, they didn't actually, it just felt that way as we were so close to the 'epicentre' they had to work from here out in effect. Still, we ate by candlelight with the family which was nice. Actually, Syb & I walked Bracken along the lane at dusk, away from the house and as we turned for home, with the house in the distance, we yelled out loud! "Yay! the leccy's back on!" Upon closer inspection though, we'd lit the equivalent of the EU candle mountain and it was the light from these that was illuminating, and radiating out of Le Chant! After dinner (the tastiest traditional Sunday lunch I've had in ages - see you can take the boy out of Yorkshire....) we played the wierdest game of Scrabble ever! A combination of French & English words were allowed, as it was France vs UK! Hannah & her French boyfriend, Steve - I know! Steve! How very French....played Syb & myself. Best of three and the UK triumphed by a slim margin on the final game! England 2 - France 1! If only all important results were as good, eh?

No pictures this time, as I've been too busy here in the warmth of the kitchen (or the lounge) playing with my new laptop. The attractions of yet another cold winter banished to the office with no heating finally convinced me to shell out some cash. So, hopefully the 'blog will be updated on a more regular, temperature-controlled basis!

Until the next time, au revoir.

TBC

All content © Le Chant d’Oiseau, 2006-2008

Champignon de Mouliherne!

noreply@blogger.com (Le Chant d'Oiseau) — Fri, 21 Nov 2008 14:06:00 +0000

As you may know, it's that time of year in the French 'Hunter-Gatherer' Calendar whereby any self-respecting paysan takes his trusty wicker basket out of the closet, and stomps around the countryside in search of edible funghi! There's a plethora of species that can be safely eaten, without fear of a dodgy tummy for weeks afterwards - but it's imperative that you seek either the advice of a pharmacist, or you go with an experienced champignon-gatherer!

The chemists, or pharmacies have great big posters on their walls and windows telling us amateurs which species are 'mortel' (danger of death), or 'comestible' (edible)! Some, like our local one in Vernantes have a TV screen with a rolling 'programme' showing pictures and details of the most popular ones found in our area. Dead posh we are!

It's normal to pass cars parked on the grass verges all over the place at this time of the year - owners brandishing baskets full of different types of mushrooms - ceps, girolles, champignons de paris....None of these people we tend to see in the pharmacy, so we can only surmise that these are professional hunters! Like our friends Bernard & Mauricette! Bernard's a classic example. He'll know just the places to go, and when - for best effect. In September, just as Syb & I were trying to leave to spend a very short break with friends down south, he showed up clutching a HUGE bowl of the type of mushrooms you're used to in the UK. Great big mis-shaped ones though. he proceeded to instruct both Syb & I in the art of preparing them for the cleaning process. This is what you do....

Take the mushroom, and wash it in clean water!

Now, this may seem fairly simple? Indeed it is, BUT Bernard's a professional, remember? So, make sure that you change the water every so often as the mushrooms can be quite dirty. When you've cleaned the majority of the sand and dirt from them, you then pass them through another bowl of water - just to ensure the quality. Only the best for french cuisine. Afterwards, cut the 'shrooms into quarters if they're big enough, or in half if not. Some, the smallest ones, can either be kept separate from the rest to be used whole in a bourguignon, (tasty) or thrown into the clean bowl to be cooked with the rest. Now, once you have three tons of the mushrooms in the biggest bowl you can find, you need to put them into shallow pans - we use paella pans for this part. You then add water - not alot, and boil the mushrooms for ages! Or half an hour - whichever comes first! Then, rinse using clean cold water (the amount of black stuff that comes out of them is unreal). Then boil them again for around 5 minutes this time. Rinse again with cold water and allow to cool naturally! Then, you can pack them into plastic bags and freeze them. That three ton you had will now fit into three plastic bags the size of a small hand!

The recipe to use after having defrosted the fruit of your labours is as follows. There are regional and national variations, but this is how Syb cooks them.

Place the champignons in a shallow pan, again Syb uses the paella pan. Add some olive oil - not much, a drizzle will do. Then just warm them through on the hob. Add some herbes de provence, or fresh herbs of your choice. Thyme is good too, but not too much as Bernard says it's not good for the digestion! When warmed through, add a dollop (or two) of creme fraiche, stirring well. Then serve as a starter immediately. Delicious! We've also used these as a filling for fouée, but you really need to have a bread oven to cook those. If anyone wants me to build them one - I'm free!

I don't have any pictures of the finished product, the next time we make some I'll make sure I get some. Until then though, here's a 'before & after' of what we collect in the fields hereabouts, now that I've discovered where Bernard goes-a-hunting! But shhh! You musn't tell anyone, ok?

Until the next time, au revoir.

TBC

All content © Le Chant d’Oiseau, 2006-2008

That Time Of Year Again!

noreply@blogger.com (Le Chant d'Oiseau) — Tue, 18 Nov 2008 10:57:00 +0000

Almost quiet here now! We have a steady trickle of guests coming & going, but the season's over in reality. It's nice to think that we have the place almost to ourselves again. The grounds are ours to wander about, to stand in the middle and scream if we so wish! The hens won't be annoying anyone but us, and the dog can tear about without us wincing each time we have a guest arrive with timid children, although they often leave with tears in their eyes at the prospect of missing Bracken and the cats, their surrogate pets!

It's that time of year that wood has to be bought, stockpiled, cut & split! Our wood supplier, Franck has serviced both my chainsaws and brought another back in a bag of bits! I'm over the moon to have two fully cleaned, serviced, working and sharp chainsaws again. Nothing brings on the testosterone rush more than felling a tree or two! The splitting however has now been delegated to Niall! He's come of age! I've decided that 16 and three quarters is the right age here in France for (at least an anglais, unused to such extreme sports) a young man to be splitting wood! Plus, my shoulders just aren't up to it anymore!

It's that time of year that we tend to tell ourselves that 'that's it, no serious work for a month or two' - let's get the garden tidy, sweep the leaves from the drive and go inside until March! More often than not though, we make daft plans to upgrade something - like a kitchen, or bathroom. Something that involves quite a bit of grunting, pushing or shifting heavy things. This year, we've set our sights on creating a 'Kamper's Kitchen' in what we call the ToyBox. We think it'll be a useful, and (hopefully) much used addition to the place. After that, I have some work to do up in Hibou. Nothing major, but no doubt, given the propensity to difficulty that old buildings like this have, it'll be hard work! I have until Easter to finish these business jobs, but the way I feel right now it'll be close to Easter before I even start them!

We didn't realise just how tiring this running a campsite & gites lark would be, nor how we'd begin to feel during the low season. It isn't called the 'low season' for a laugh - we do feel terribly 'low' once the rush of guests has passed. We have to talk to each other! Properly! We have to construct real sentences too, instead of passing each other outside somewhere, grunting a quick 'showerblock' or 'swimming pool' to each other as an indication as to where we're headed next, arms full of cleaning materials or tools. So, as a family we get to draw together again. It's nice, and a reminder of why we made the move. Laughs and conversation at dinner, all sat together around the table underneath the great oak beam that has seen so many caretakers of Le Chant, and eavesdropped on untold numbers of conversations over the centuries. More often than not these days we're joined by Steve, Hannah's boyfriend. It's endearing listening to his new-found capacity for speaking anglais! We attempt conversations with him in french too, and it's nice to hear the language being spoken here. Bernard & Mauricette are regular visitors too. Bringing with them a share of their spoils when out hunting/gathering. This week we've seen barquette after barquette of champignons de paris (mushrooms). Bernard watched dutifully as Syb cleaned, prepared and boiled them a la methode francaise, offering advice here & there as to what to add in terms of herbs or suggestions as to how to serve, and what with. We've had so many mushrooms (especially after I accidentally found the fields that Bernard & Mauricette gathered them from and stopped to pick up a kilo or ten myself) that we've had to give some away. Morgane & Joel have taken a barquette, as have regular guests, Paul & Jannette. Morgane & Joel are our new village boulangers. They're taking over from our friends Nelly & Bruno at the beginning of December. Bruno explained to me that he's tired after running the business for almost 4 years now, and I'm not surprised as they work killer hours. They're coming over for a meal after they 'retire', so we'll be able to have a proper evening with them instead of them having to rush off to open the shop, or to go to bed at silly hours in order to get up and bake bread at even sillier hours. Morgane & Joel are lovely, very much in the mould of Nelly & Bruno, though slightly younger and we think we'll get along really well with them and their small year old son, and of course their two gorgeous labradors!

No pressure, but it was a bit daunting the other night as we decided to fire up the bread oven to cook fouée for Morgane & Joel, as even though they're both boulangers and come from Nantes, neither has tasted the region's speciality! Suffice to say, that my dough passed the test and much fouée was baked and consumed by our small group of family & friends and everyone gave them the thumbs up! I even picked up some very useful hints & tips from our new village boulangeres!

Until the next time, au revoir.

TBC

All content © Le Chant d’Oiseau, 2006-2008

Lest We Forget.

noreply@blogger.com (Le Chant d'Oiseau) — Sun, 09 Nov 2008 10:23:00 +0000

It's always more apparent at this time of the year that this was an occupied land. Where we are in France was once under the control of a nazi regime. There was once a garrison of troops based over the Loire in Doué la Fontaine. We hear that a small local chateau was a Gestapo headquarters. Just a short drive away there's a monument to the head of the French Section of the SOE - Special Operations Executive, Maurice Buckmaster. In Le Mans, a few miles further, you would have found the headquarters of the German Army Group West. There's many a roadside monument to the fallen of all nationalities. Just up the road in Baugé, there's a monument to the crew of an RAF Mosquito shot down on the outskirts of the town shortly after D-Day. It's a simple, but elegant slate monolith inscribed with the names of the two crew members. The area around it is well-tended, there's always a wreath there or flowers. To the south, and east of us, there's a little known commune called Maillé. This small commune was attacked barbarically in August 1944 by a detachment of German SS, killing 124 of the 500 villagers in reprisals for a résistance ambush the day before. Many know of the systematic slaughter at Oradour sur Glane, but Maillé is unknown by comparison. Just 124 reasons why we should NEVER forget.

So, while it's Remembrance Day in the UK today, we shouldn't forget that on Tuesday the 11th, villages and towns throughout France will be remembering not only their own loss, but also the loss of the hundreds of thousands of allied servicemen and women who paid the ultimate price for the freedom of people like you and I.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

John McCrae (1872 - 1918)
John McCrea died in a French military hospital in 1918.

They shall grow not old,
As we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them,
Nor the years condemn,
At the going down of the sun
And in the morning
We will remember them.

Laurence Binyon (1869-1943)

Until the next time, au revoir.

TBC

All content © Le Chant d’Oiseau, 2006-2008

Sad News.

noreply@blogger.com (Le Chant d'Oiseau) — Sun, 26 Oct 2008 10:09:00 +0000

Hannah came home early from work yesterday. Deeply upset, she called home to ask one of us to go and collect her. Normally, that's not a problem, but yesterday was Saturday, and therefore changeover day. We've still had quite a busy autumn guest wise, and still have people renting the large gite, the one with the woodburner in. So, Syb went off to collect Hannah leaving me to continue with preparing the gite for occupation. When she returned, she and Hannah were in tears. One of Hannah's friends and work colleagues has been in an accident and has sadly died of her injuries. So, Hannah's in shock and has had to work (as has everyone else) knowing that their friend and colleague has lost her life on the roads here. Unfortunately, the road death statistics here are still pretty high, and there are various reminders of that by the roadsides as you travel the lanes and byways. Many times there's been a newly planted shrine to another unfortunate soul. The papers are always reporting either a serious accident or a death of a 'jeune' on a moto, or a scooter. It's a worry for all parents, and I don't know what the answers are. At age 14 here in France, it's legal to jump on a 50cc moped/moto/scooter and shoot off with little or no training whatsoever. Actually, they do have to take a test, and part of that test is mandatory within the school curriculum. At age 16, they're free to ride off on what can be quite fast scooters. It's scary. If you've ever driven in a French town, you'll know from experience that you're constantly watching your retro viseurs for the young invincibles looming close to your bumper before accelerating past you, hunched down at a stupidly low, wind-resisting angle as they crawl past you. It's not just France, in the UK too they're becoming more prevalent. London was always a terrifying experience for me because of these road users, and their own seeming disregard for other traffic.

This isn't to pass judgement on who was to blame in our friend's case, but simply to try to warn you, as a driver to keep a very careful eye on the roads all around you. That motorcyclist in your rear view mirror is always going to be someone's son, or daughter.

Take care out there.

Until the next time, au revoir.

TBC

All content © Le Chant d’Oiseau, 2006-2008

All Things Apples...

noreply@blogger.com (Le Chant d'Oiseau) — Fri, 24 Oct 2008 09:33:00 +0000

Last weekend was one of the high points of the village social calendar. The annual Apple Fair! The event's held each third weekend of October. On the Saturday, there's the official opening by the Maire. There's a band, lots of stalls and the inevitable fairground rides. The bars are full, the villagers all get behind the event and make it a popular attraction for quite a few miles around, judging by the amount of 'out-of-department-cars' there are to be seen parked up in the fields and lanes! Sunday's given over to a huge 'vide grenier' stretching up, down and around those parts of the village that aren't already given over to other forms of stall-holding. It's enormous! Again, all the villagers turn out in support, and there's plenty of friendly banter and rivalry going on. There's lots of laughter too, especially if the sun shines like it did last weekend! We parked up just on the outskirts of the village, the sunshine highlighting the glorious autumn colours in the trees. The village seemed to stretch away in front of us in tiers of golds and reds. It was simply beautiful. All around us were stalls of every description. Some hawking copper pots and pans, old clogs from the farms hereabouts and just about every type of farming implement you can imagine! There were bargains galore to be had, if only we had the money! Intermingled with the villagers' stalls were the 'Comité des fetes' stalls selling freshly cooked 'beignets de pommes', or apple fritters! The smell was overpowering! Gorgeous juicy apples, peeled and sliced in front of us, then dunked in hot oil before being rescued, packed tightly into plastic 'barquettes' and smothered in sugar....I'd have inserted a photo at this point, but they were just too tasty! You'll have to see for yourself next year! But, here's a couple of the preparation, and the lines of folks all waiting patiently for their turn!

Anyway, we meandered (did a bit of nodding too...) around the stalls, picking up the odd (very odd) bargain here and there. It's felt like home to us here for a long time, and now that the language is coming together for us, it's even nicer to wander around a fete like this and feel a part of it. Neighbours were stopping us in the street, M. le Maire nodded bonjour, and shook our hands. Gilles was on his stall in the Place de la Mairie selling beer and wine. Raising his hand above the crowds, he waved to us! On a sunny day in France, slowly taking in the sights, sounds and smells of a local fete like this one is pure magic! There's simply nowhere else we'd rather be right now. We partook of the autumnal tradition in these parts too...a couple of glasses of 'bernache' in Bernard's bar in the centre of the village, before heading up to Alain's for a couple more. Bernache is the must of the first pressings of the year's grape harvest. It's pretty much still fermenting, so slightly 'sparkling', and very, very cloudy. The old boys will judge how the years wine will turn out simply by sampling the bernache. It can be quite a potent brew too - the bottle we bought from Alain said 11%, so after a few glasses in the sunshine, it's advised to take to walking around the rest of the stalls! So, onwards & upwards it was. Literally! Mouliherne's a very old village, built on quite a few small hills, where once numerous mills stood once upon a time. Hence the name - 'Moulin- herbe', translated throughout the ages to simply Mouliherne.

Because we're in a predominantly apple-growing area, we get to sample the delights of freshly pressed apple juice quite often. In the Place de la Mairie, there was an ancient 'pressoir' in service now just as it's been for the past hundred years or so. This one's unusual in that it's square shaped, instead of the more traditional (and practical for cleaning purposes) round shape. The workings were explained to us by the owner, a local farmer who's had this thing in his family for at least three generations he told us. It's a work of art, a lovely piece of farming machinery. Indeed, we wondered whether health & safety back in the UK would preclude the use of such a thing at a public fete such as this. Yet, the ever pragmatic French were pressing their apples, collecting the juice in the large bucket, and selling it by the glass to delighted fete-goers such as us. It was quite simply superb! There are things like this to be found for sale from time to time. You see them in barns, left to rot down to powder and rust and it's just such a shame. If the 'powers that be' in the UK spent more time turning a blind eye, and less time tightening the laws so that people can't see anything like this other than a static display in a museum, then the world would be a much better place! Along the main street, rue Touraine, and up towards the stade, or football stadium (almost every French commune has one), there was something there that again delighted both the child in me (memories of standing on railway bridges while steam trains thundered below) and the pyromaniac brought out by my bread oven fetish! It was an old 1947 wood-fired oven that actually roasted peanuts for you! Again, an incredible piece of machinery, nestled tidily on a trailer, with artefacts from days gone by scattered around. It was lovely to see, and photograph.

Because the Sunday vide-grenier's become more & more popular throughout the (almost) 40 years of the fete, there's more & more stalls spreading further across the village! Even up by the old footpath from the main road and round by the wash house and down to the old centre of Mouliherne. I really should take some pictures and give you all a guided tour of our lovely ville some time soon!
It was up here, in the shadow of the enormous old oaks that we spotted something that we've been after for a while...there on the floor in front of a stall we recognised as being run by someone we've come to know recently, was a very old 'pelle a pain'. A traditional boulanger's tool for placing the dough in the ovens. This thing looked ancient! The handle was nothing more than a THREE metre long 'stick', a branch really! Ravaged by woodworm down through the years, and as smooth as silk to the touch. The history I felt while stroking this piece of wood was incredible. How many loaves? How many years of constant, daily use? How many people had this thing helped feed? I had to have it. I knew it'd be too big to fit into the mouth of my own rather insignificant oven, but still....It'd make a great talking point, hung over the 'four a pain' chez nous! So, without further ado, I offered €15 against the asking price of €20, and walked back to the car, scattering locals left and right as I attempted to re-create from days gone by, the boulanger's stance while holding the pelle! People pointed, laughed, commented upon my purchase! A friend grabbed the handle as I was walking innocently along, holding the pelle vertically. I thought I'd snagged one of the overhead power lines, and looked heavenwards, expecting to see my pelle on fire! I realised what had happened, and followed the line of the handle back down to earth to see Yann grinning at me like a loon! He commented on what a fine looking 'stick' it was, and asked why I'd bought it, laughing. His face changed when I told him proudly that I'd built my own bread oven here at Le Chant! He changed tack immediately, and offered to come & taste anything we cooked! Yann used to be the coach of Niall's football team when he was playing. He's a bit of a character is Yann. He ran our local déchetterie too, which is the local recycling centre as well as municipal dump, whilst also being a paramedic and pompier! He bade us bon journée and went on his way, no doubt to sample bernache and beignets!

It wasn't until we got back to the car that we realised the pelle wouldn't fit in there...A small Rénault Mégane has only a limited amount of room for ancient boulangerie equipment! There was much laughter from passers-by as Syb & I wrestled the pelle into the car for the short journey home. So, after a bit of a tussle, the 'paddle' end lay on the dashboard, while the handle stuck out of the rear window by a couple of feet! It's a good job the gendarmes know us here! laughing at us as we passed through the exit barrier, they called out bon journée, and 'good luck'!

Anyway, as you can see from the picture, it looks lovely alongside the wicker basket Syb bought to hold the fouée we'll cook and serve to guests next season!

Until the next time, au revoir.

TBC

All content © Le Chant d’Oiseau, 2006-2008

The BIG Scary One!

noreply@blogger.com (Le Chant d'Oiseau) — Thu, 16 Oct 2008 08:43:00 +0000

Well dear readers, the day finally arrived when I started the fire in the bread oven that would eventually burn hot enough to burn the soot from the vault and gradually turn the whole thing white hot. This is the point at which you know your oven is hot enough to cook.
Pizzas at this temperature take a matter of seconds to turn into molten rock, so you have to keep a fairly good eye on them. Croissants take nano seconds! So, it's really no use placing them on a tray in the oven, walking back to the house for the camera and back to the oven (30 seconds) expecting them to resemble those on the shelves down at our boulangers. No. You'd find the charred remains of lumps of dough, about to spontaneously combust in extreme temperatures.

So, careful oven management is a pre-requisite of firing up irresponsibly large fires!

The fire was massive. Contained as it was within the vault, it was nontheless a scary, scary fire to witness. Sometimes the flames would belch out of the doorway (singed my eyebrows) or leap up the chimney in a bid for freedom. It was fantastic to watch, and I just kept piling the logs on. Hence the singed eyebrow!

The tell-tale signs were that the heat was such that the bricks of the inner archway were becoming 'clean' again. The layers of soot built up by subsequent small to medium curing fires were gradually being eaten by the ravenous flames. When I got close enough to actually see 'up' into the vault, there appeared to be patches of 'clear' brickwork. No soot. So, taking this as a sign from the god of bread ovens, I just kept whacking the logs on! The heat was intense. At this point, it's a given that you've acheived something in the region of 1000°F. Now, I'm thick at maths, so I got bored with subtracting my shoe size, dividing by my mother's age and multiplying by a factor of Pi r squared to the ratio of 7.658. So I Googled a temperature converter, and found that my oven was cracking out in the region of 538°C. Proper number!

No surprise then that what should have been tasty, lightly browned croissants were in fact a mass of carbonised dust.
I pushed the embers and the still burning logs to the back and sides of the oven, and sat back to wait for them to stop burning, and start glowing.
The roof of the vault was revealed in the light of the flames. It was marvelous to see. All my hard work of the past couple of weeks was revealed as a lovely brick igloo, glowing white hot with the sparks and the occasional flame rising to lick the roof. Truly an amazing feeling, having created something from scratch that will (hopefully) provide us with food (not to mention warmth) for a while to come. I now know how Gérard, our neighbour feels when he fires up his large family oven. It's a feeling of power, certainly. Of controlling the elements, and bending it to your will. But it's also a very soothing and calming thing too. To simply sit and watch the fire dance for me is very soporific, and once or twice I stopped myself from succumbing to the mesmerising effect of the flames and the heat. Long enough to chuck another log on!

There are a couple of very small points of escape for the heat, but at this stage I'm grateful for them as the heat was escaping as steam. Rather it found a way out naturally, without cracking the bricks or the outer layers. Once all the moisture has gone, I'll fill in around the base with a little fire cement.

We have lots of guests in the next few weeks and we're hoping to try the pizza recipes out on a few willing guinea pigs, ready for the spring and summer of 2009. We think they'll go down a treat! Especially if they look like these....

That was my first calzone. Perfect with a beer on a warm afternoon!

And that was my first 'proper' pizza! Mmmmmmmmmmmmm!

I'm also going to have a chat with Bruno, our boulanger friend to pick his brains about dough for fouée. That has to be on the cards, as it's just simply delicious.

Although this wasn't a particularly hard build, it ranks up there at the top as one of the most satisfying things I've ever done. If anyone wants the design, quantities and associated costs (for France) then let me know, and I'll gladly send them on. If anyone wants any help to build one, again, just let me know!

Because I've built this oven, and we'll be cooking regularly with it, I wanted one of those pizza peel things. You know, the flat shovel affair with the long handle (saves on singed eyebrows) to place your pizza in the heart of the oven.

So, off I trots onto e-Bay. I stopped by one of the 'sponsored links' pages, a company in the UK specialising in stuff like this to the catering trade. I saw exactly what I needed at just £10! So, I clicked on it to order, but no postage details to France from the UK. I e-mailed, then called the company based in Oldham to enquire as to what the total would be delivered.

Imagine my shock when I got an e-mail back quoting £54 ex. VAT just for posting the peel? So the whole thing would cost me £64 PLUS VAT! I sent them an e-mail back to say I thought that was a tad excessive. I begrudge paying that amount to post something worth only a tenner! The reply? That was the best they could quote after searching around. Sorry.

So, back to eBay and again to one of the shops there, this time based in Germany. No problem, the peel's on it's way this morning (just had confirmation). The peel was €13.50, and the postage was €12.50!

Is it that these companies trying to export to Europe are held to ransom by excessive transport/postal charges? Whatever it is, I wonder how much potential trade is lost per year? Just a thought.

Until the next time, au revoir.

TBC

All content © Le Chant d’Oiseau, 2006-2008

Almost there!

noreply@blogger.com (Le Chant d'Oiseau) — Sun, 12 Oct 2008 19:40:00 +0000

Since we spoke last, I've been very hard at work with my latest little project - the bread oven. It's taken shape quite nicely and today we spent a nice hour or so sat in front of it, watching the first of many 'curing' fires licking the roof and belching smoke out of the chimney! Sad eh? It reminded us both of the first time my mam got a front loading washing machine, and we all sat there mesmerised by the laundry being spun this way and that. We don't do that anymore though.

Anyway, these curing fires are small-ish ones which are lit to drive out any moisture within the build. It's working really well too. There's evidence on the parpaings (breeze blocks) that water's been squeezed out of the béton refractaire base that everything else sits on. Only a couple more days and I'll be ready to light 'the BIG one' in there. This one is the one that burns off all the soot that's vgathered on the roof of the dome. The dome then turns white, as it's literally white hot - around 500°C! Then it's ready to cook!

Here's a few pics of the construction as it developed.

There's more....

All we have left to do now is sand back, stain & varnish the wooden surround to hide the béton refractaire layer, then paint the parpaings with crepi. There's a chapeau to be made for the chimney, just in case it rains while the bread-making process is underway!

All in all, I'm very, very pleased with the way it's turned out! If you're visiting us anytime, then pizzas and fresh fouée may well be on offer!

Until the next time, au revoir.

TBC

All content © Le Chant d’Oiseau, 2006-2008

Tu as vu mon four a pain?

noreply@blogger.com (Le Chant d'Oiseau) — Tue, 30 Sep 2008 20:21:00 +0000

Well. After all the excitement of seeing those bread ovens in action over the past few weeks - the one at the vide grenier on Sunday, plus the one at the wine fair in Saumur - I had to get cracking on one of my own! I decided in the end not to bother with buying a ready-made one stuck on the back of a trailer, but opted instead to go for building one of our very own here at Le Chant. I told you I was trawling t'Internet looking for inspiration? Well, I found it. I Googled a website which is the first I've seen that details not only the plans used, but also the costs involved. So, many thanks to Marsu. Check out his site here. Ok, so the costs were for a four constructed in May/June of 2005, but actually, when I did some comparisons with my DIY bibles (Bricoman, Brico Depot & Leroy Merlin catalogues) the costs are even cheaper these days!

So - onwards and upwards! I already have much of the required materials strewn around the place, so that makes it a little cheaper still!

I'll keep you all informed as to progress with pictures, don't worry. I hope to be firing it up for the first time in a few weeks (or sooner) if possible.

Here's a few pics just to whet your appetite! The first one's as I was 'dry building' the walls to get an idea of scale etc. The old bricks on the front of the pillar are hand-made terre cuit briques from last century, we think. They're lying around the place here so I cleaned them up to add them in as a feature to match the arch I'll build for the mouth of the oven.

The second one was taken as I'd finished and checked everything for square and level. It's bang on!

And this one's to give an idea of where it'll stand in relation to the bbq's.

And the ones below are what the finished project will resemble. It isn't big, but right for the space I have available for it. It's situated on the 'lean-to' end of our old barn. It's where we hold our twice-weekly meals on site in the high season. There are 2 stone bbq's for guests to use there too, which will eventually form part of the feature.

So this area should form a very nice social 'hub' to the place when completed in a few weeks. It already proved very popular this summer after we completed the new roof!

Our Hannah's boyfriend Steve's spent the evening with us tonight. We fed him for the first time. We're not exactly sure what he thought of the meal - one of Syb's 'concoctions' that sprang from nowhere, using just whatever was to hand as we've been really busy today. He's a chef you see. Quite a good one too, so Syb was a bit alarmed when Hannah said they'd be stopping for tea after spending the afternoon clothes shopping together in Angers. Panic! Still, it all turned out ok, and the pumpkin potato mushroom pasta chicken thingy went down a treat!

Steve even had seconds, though we think he was just being polite! I also tried to get his expert opinion on my bread oven, being French and all that. I could see he was impressed by the way his eyes glazed over and rolled into the back of his head as I explained how it'd work. To be fair, I can just imagine that he was thinking that I'd be asking him for all his best bread & pizza recipes. Oh, I will. I will.....

Anyway, it's late here. I'm a tired, but happy ex-pat after reading some new reviews of our place on TA after the upset of the other day. It's absolutely humbling to think that people think enough of this place to want to tell others that it's actually quite a nice place to spend a holiday. So, on that note.

Until the next time, au revoir.

TBC

All content © Le Chant d’Oiseau, 2006-2008

The Last Best Day of Summer.

noreply@blogger.com (Le Chant d'Oiseau) — Mon, 29 Sep 2008 11:26:00 +0000

I was saying just a couple of posts ago about how we love this time of year? Well yesterday (dimanche) had to be just one of the last best days of the summer for a variety of reasons. Not just because the skies were blue and the sun was hot on your face, but also because it was one of those rare occasions when we decided to go out and support a local event.

A lovely setting for a car boot sale!

Usually, we're flying around the place doing what we do here, or we're just too tired to bother. This time though, we thought we'd have a wander into Vernoil to help support the village's inaugural vide grenier. I'm sure you've all heard about the French and their passion for these things? A vide grenier simply translates as 'empty loft'. It's a way of life for many French and it's a great day to add to any holiday itinerary too. Catch one if you can when you come to France next, you'll find them great fun. If it's anything like the one we visited yesterday, then you'll be able to buy all manner of things from copper pans, to old newspapers, to very old farm implements among the usual baby clothes, cuddly toys and paperback books. There's usually a few old Johnny Halliday LP's going spare too...

Our one yesterday also had quite a few old cars on display from the earliest Peugeot's to late 50's Citroens and even a cute little Vespa! Niall's currently looking for his first Moto. Shame it wasn't for sale!

We bought all manner of things yesterday including an old tin, an ancient (but fully working) enamel inhaler, some books on the WW2, a beautiful (but heavy) copper jam pot, a couple of woven baskets for the fresh eggs and a half a garden bench(!) Don't worry, I know where I'm going to put it. The lady we bought it from had the same idea - to 'sink' it into a wall on one half. All the transactions were extremely good natured, as is the way at these sorts of village gatherings. It was nice too to be greeted by friends with a cheery 'bonjour', and to feel like we belong in the community.

There were the usual crowd of people gathered around the bar there and parked right next to it was the fouée stall!

How could I resist a lunch of two of my most favourite things? Ice cold lager and a couple of hot fouée?

This is the rusty old (but perfectly serviceable) portable bread oven they used. I've seen a few of these wheeled out for country fairs etc. Although this one looked in need of a bit of TLC! Along with the old bbq parked right next to it, the comité des fetes managed to keep quite a few hundred folks well fed throughout the day. A four a pain was a way of life for many country folks living far from a village with a dedicated bakery. These days, although some remain, far more fall ravage to weeds and the elements. Some are kept as interesting curio's - a memento of a bygone age. Ours was lost in the 1950's. I've been sorely tempted to begin work on building my own bread oven here at Le Chant d'Oiseau so we can bake fouée for guests here during the summer, and pizza too. But now I've seen these portable ones at work, they seem more appealing! Once back home, I actually scoured the Internet looking for just such a beast. There are quite a few of them around, it has to be said. Unfortunately too far away in both distance and cash!

Anyway, here's what the fouée looked like once out of the oven.

And well tasty they were too!

It seemed that the whole of the village had turned out to have a stall here, and some from quite a way away too. There weren't that many tourists around, well not English anyway. But, we did bump into one or two friends and acquaintances all looking for a bargain or two as well.

Now, if only there'd been a bread oven for sale....

Until the next time, au revoir.

TBC

All content © Le Chant d’Oiseau, 2006-2008

A Bad Day!

noreply@blogger.com (Le Chant d'Oiseau) — Fri, 26 Sep 2008 07:54:00 +0000

Anyone who knows us will tell you that we're friendly, hard-working and sociable people. It's a struggle at times to make a living here, especially in the current economic climate. We try to improve things for our guests year on year, and we can only do this when time (and more importantly) money allow. We didn't arrive in France with a bottomless pit of cash to draw on. We sold everything we owned in the UK to fund our dream, and then we took out a mortgage to take up the shortfall. A not inconsiderable shortfall. Things had to be prioritised. Firstly, we needed to convert our grenier into living accommodation for the family. Then we set about trying to improve the facilities here at Le Chant. We'r constantly doing that too. To the point that we ourselves go without, (ask our kids!) to ensure that our guests don't. We believe that's a good way to build our business, and set it on a firm footing so that we can spend the rest of our lives here.

Why am I telling you all this? Really, just to let you know how some small-minded people think it's ok to undo years of hard work, of patience in the face of sometimes insurmountable odds. It's one thing to have a dream. It's another thing entirely to be able to maintain it. When we see reviews online that are dated from 2006, but appeared only yesterday, and detail something that we simply do not recognise as our home and business, we get deeply upset. I personally feel right now like throwing in the towel. I'm sat typing this with my wife at my side. Both of us in shock really.

I'm sorely tempted to ask Trip Advisor to remove the latest review, but then I understand that we have to get over it. We don't mind constructive criticism here, and have taken on board many, many times what folks have said. It's improved the place no end, and in the process we've had guests turn up time & time again. Often bringing friends and family here on subsequent visits. Indeed, many have become friends to us. So, at times like these, after yet another very busy season, one full of laughter and returning friends, it's sad to think that these words could do us so much damage.

I'm not going to name these awful people, but suffice to say they weren't typical of our usual friendly, fantastic guests. We're grateful for that at least. We truly hope that their own business is strong enough to withstand such personal and blatantly false attacks.

Carcassonne or bust!

noreply@blogger.com (Le Chant d'Oiseau) — Sun, 21 Sep 2008 19:12:00 +0000

We love this time of year. The light's softer after the harshness of the midsummer sun, everything seems to come to life again after the ravages of the holidays. Our grass is greener already even though we haven't had any real rain since I can't remember when. It's like each blade's popping it's head above the parapet, breathing a sigh of relief that it's not going to be scrubbed out of existence by a tyre, or child's foot as it chases a ball...The trees are losing their leaves though, and there's a definite threat of autumn chills in the early morning. Because of the early morning chills we thought we'd better go and order our wood for the coming winter today. It seemed a bit incongruous, standing in the sunlight chatting to Franck about how many cords of wood we wanted delivering the weekend after next. His small daughter played with their two dogs in the dusty yard while we chatted about chainsaws! It's still not cold enough to light fires indoors though, and each day dawns with the promise of some late summer sunshine. Great for the guests that we still have with us, great for us as it means we're able to get ahead with the gardening chores and picking the blackberries! Syb picked a load of them this afternoon, and made the most delicious crumble with some apples given us by a friend! Everything's being harvested lately, the apple picking season's in full swing and the grapes won't be so far behind if the samples on our own vines are anything to go by. I was sure that earlier in the year we had loads of bunches showing, and looked forward to perhaps having enough to crush underfoot to make a gallon of our own vintage. It wasn't until the day before yesterday, stood chatting in the courtyard to guests that I noticed one of our hens, Dee Dee falling out of the ivy that covers the wall right by our vines. Our guest then told me that he'd seen her a few times pecking at something in there. So, upon closer inspection, and after examining Dee Dee a bit more up close & personal, I found that the bloody bird's been merrily chomping her way through my grapes! She seems to be the only one that's taken a liking to the fruit, the others seem more content to chase after the cats, scaring them away from the remains of bacon sarnies being offered them by campers!

The cats are thriving. I'm sat typing at the 'mo with Wisp, our grey and white tom sat on my lap. He's a scaredy cat in the truest fashion with anyone else but family, while Splodge has no fear, no scruples and an unerring instinct for the warmest places in newly arrived guest's caravans. I've installed a gate at the rear of Le Chant this afternoon. It's main purpose is two-fold. A) it's there so that we can take the dog for a run out the back without disturbing anyone by opening our gates, and B) it allows the cats to come for a walk with us without having to brave the dangers of the road outside. They often follow us down to the river, and they're more obedient than Bracken half the time.

Last week, Syb and I took the opportunity to have a few days break away from Le Chant to try and revitalise ourselves. It's the first real break we've had since we've been here, and boy did we need it! But, as is usually the case with us and any plans that we make, things didn't go at all as planned! I was in the shower, and Syb had gone to do some last minute shopping. The car was packed, and we were to set off immediately she returned. Imagine my dismay when Niall shouted up to me that Bernard was here! Not dismay that I didn't want to spend time with him, but dismay that I knew that any chance we had of getting away at a reasonable time was now well and truly scuppered! The plan, you see, was to travel down to see a dear friend of ours who was celebrating her birthday with a bash for friends and family in her local salle des fetes. It's quite a journey down to the Lot where she and her husband live, so I knew we'd have to allow a good 5 or 6 hours if we were to get there at around 8pm. Bernard had, as I discovered when I came downstairs, been busy harvesting mushrooms! Great big lovely, earthy aromatic champignons de paris. He had with him two large washing up bowls that were for us. Now, there's no use in just saying 'cheers, leave them with us and we'll take care of them.' Not with Bernard, as he takes great pride in the detail. How to chop, peel, prepare, cook and store. Not just mushrooms, but everything. Like most french men, he's an expert on food. He's also very patient with those of us that know nothing about how to cook, or at least - how to cook as a french man cooks.

So, our set-off time for our mini-vacance came and went. We were still washing, chopping and preparing mushrooms an hour later. Then they had to be boiled in water for 10 minutes, then left to cool before draining and then packaging for the freezer. Two huge bowls boiled down to just three hand sized freezer bags. The whole process took close on two hours. Two hours of chat, laughter and imparted wisdom. We were sorry not to be able to make the party, but we wouldn't (nor couldn't) have missed yet another example of our neighbour's random acts of kindness.

We'd decided, well - I'd decided after reading Labyrinth, by Kate Mosse, that we needed to visit Carcassonne. This jewel of the Pays d'Oc has been awarded the accolade of being a World Heritage site after the renovations during the late 19th century. It's difficult to believe that close on 3'000 years of history narrowly escaped total demolition, save for the efforts of a small group of men. These men brought Carcassonne, a medieval walled citadel back to life, like a phoenix from the ashes. It stands on an escarpment overlooking the Sabarthes Mountains to one side, the Aude Valley to another, the plains of Narbonne to the south and the Spanish Pyrenees to the south west. It's an incredible place without a doubt, and fully deserves its place as a 'must see'. So why did I feel ever so slightly disappointed? I've explained it since as there being a lack of 'respect' for the history, and the heritage. Broken beer bottles were strewn around some of the cobbled pavements. The battlements had graffiti scrawled here and there, and the amount of 'tat' shops seemed at odds with the sense of what Carcassonne had survived. The masses of the French army, the persecutions of the Inquisition, the ravages of these 'crusades'. The occupation by the German army during the second world war. As I said, so many thousand years of history, only to be invaded, and conquered by tee-shirt and tablecloth vendors. There are certainly aspects of it that still inspire, and hopefully, those are the things that continue to attract the dreamers, and the shameless romantics like me to its 52 towers. It was an experience, and one I'll repeat again I'm sure, for to have visited this magical place was to witness a glimpse of history very rarely seen anywhere else in the world.

You're all more than aware that we own a campsite here in France, and that we're hardened campers ourselves? Well, this trip of ours involved the world's smallest bloody tent. A scrap of nylon, sewn around a couple of carbon poles and laughingly called a '2-second tent'! They're all the rage just now. Basically, you just take this disc out of its bag, undo the straps and throw it in the air. It floats softly down to earth in the shape of a ready-erected and ready to use tent! Just the job, eh? In a word - no! It bloody well isn't. Oh, it went up in the designated timespan, but putting the thing away again is like an out take from the Krypton Factor. The instructions are sewn into the bag, and are in pictorial form only. It took me a half-hour of grunting, twisting almost to breaking point the carbon poles, head scratching and swearing to read the bit where it says there's a video demo online. So, off to the office I marched to view the demo. This smug looking bird is stood atop a mountain somewhere with my very tent in her beautifully manicured hands. With a few deft flicks of her delicate wrists, she's wrestled it to the ground, forced a half-nelson on it and it's back in the bag! Four times I watched the stupid video. Four times I failed to understand it! The fifth time though, I got it, and went out to practice on the real thing. 2 minutes later and I was zipping up the bag with the same smug smile as displayed by the immaculately manicured video lady. Simple!

So, now we were off...Cognac was the first stop, and an overnight camping halt was found in St. Jean d'Angely. Now, when I'd laid in the tent, there was no problem. It looked small, sure, but I could lay out in it. However, once there was a full double airbed, a memory foam mattress topper (ok, we're not so hardened campers anymore...) and a double quilt in there, the roof got an awful lot closer to my face! Still, this was just for the night, so after our ablutions, off to bed it was. My feet stuck out of the bottom of the tent and my head was twisted in a road accident kind of way at the opposite end! Uncomfortable is not descriptive enough to describe the night I had. Syb's a dwarf by comparison, and slept the sleep of the just.
The next day being a Sunday, the Decathlon camping section was closed, so unfortunately, another night in the claustrophobic blue nylon hell was on the cards. But, on the Monday morning, we were up at the crack of the farting sparrow to form an orderly queue to replace this pathetic thing with a much bigger, palatial big sister! Oh, and we bought a new airbed too, as the one we brought had a leak and slowly brought you down to earth during the allotted 8 hours, leaving just the memory foam mattress topper between me and mother earth. A very hard-baked and lumpy mother earth!

Still, we survived the weekend and enjoyed our first camping trip in years, despite the altercations with the equipment. We'll maybe do it again sometime. Maybe.

Until the next time, au revoir.

TBC

All content © Le Chant d’Oiseau, 2006-2008

Chronologically challenged!

noreply@blogger.com (Le Chant d'Oiseau) — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 07:51:00 +0000

I know. This 'blog should have been written before the last one, but I'm just useless at getting things done just lately. I do have a list, but it's so long I've forgotten where the end is. So, I just do things as and when the time and inclination are together in the same universe! So, the barn raising (a la 'Seven Brides for Seven Brothers') was a huge success. But, before that the fireworks and celebrations for Bastille Day both in our small village and our nearest large town were just so very impressive! In my rush to get a 'blog out there for our faithful followers (you know who you are, er...Enid) I just plain forgot to tell you all just what you're missing if you're not in France for the Fete Nationale!

This year, unlike other years before it Mouliherne decided to celebrate a couple of days before. I think part of the reasoning behind this is due to the fact that Saumur has such an impressive display, and events all day that many of the smaller communes feel 'left out'. Many of their inhabitants, visiting guests and holidaymakers preferring to visit the more picturesque and larger displays in the major towns.

Mouliherne traditionally holds a hog roast, dancing to live music and a fireworks display down at our local plan d'eau - it's a recreation area centered around a lovely lake. Most communes in France have a plan d'eau. Ours has a fantastic barn structure there too, available for hire to all and sundry, and the focal point for many a 'do' throughout the year, from boules competitions to hog roasts, to weddings and other events. Anyway, we were told by friends that the feu d'artifice would be going off (literally) at around 10pm. So, off we went. We arrived there at around 9.45, parked (no meandering nor nodding though, as we were among the first to arrive in the carpark) and unloaded the wheelchair for Syb's mum. We then found a likely viewing point on a grassy knoll overlooking the lake and barn. Lovely. Not long now. A few minutes of watching the 'ooh, aah's' and back to Chateau Oiseau for a swift nightcap! Friends arrived and stood with us for a while for a chat, and together we commented on the noise emanating from the barn. A stage had been set up in there and there was dancing to a live band. Now, I used to be a musician and I know the difference between a live band and something akin to a can of marbles being gargled by a pre-pubescent teen fighting with a gorilla. I have no idea what kind of 'dancing' is done to this kind of 'music', but images of some long forgotten (or even undiscovered) Polynesian tribe spring to mind. (Insert apology to Polynesian pre-pubescent gorilla fighting teens here...)

It was dire. And I know dire, believe me. I've been in dire bands before! Many times!

But, when the noise stopped the anticipation grew. Only to find the pre-pubescent gorilla fighting teens were taking a short breather in search of the lost chord. I think they found it. Several, in fact.

10pm was a dim & distant memory by now, my patience was wearing thin. There was a flicker of red torchlight close by where we'd noticed earlier that there was a temporary cover constructed for the techniciens d'artifices. All of a quiver, we counted two, no three red torchlights swaying back and forth. They've lost their matches, surely? Red torch number one went to the left of the lake, while red torch number two went to the right. Red torch number three (obviously Red torch leader), stayed put in the tent thingy. Moments later, they all came back to the same point. We were wondering whether this was indeed the display, as it seemed to be so well co-ordinated. But no. They'd misplaced the button thingy, perhaps? Or even their matches after all?

11pm came and went. Red torch leader dispatched his troops once more left and right.

Pre-pubescent teens, having at last conquered the gorilla had stopped playing. The applause was rapturous and it was a close call whether the audience was thankful for the silence, or appreciative of the 'band'.

11.30 and a tangible air of anticipation now as whoosh.....it started!

And wow! What a display! 15 minutes of world war three. Chest thumping maroons, huge sprays of sparks coloured the night and we 'ooh'd' and 'aah'd' with the best of 'em! For such a small commune, this was indeed a fantastic show, and an obvious highpoint in the social calendar here. After a thrilling 15 minutes, we looked at one another, made a mental note to be here for the Bastille Day celebrations next year, and forgave the pre-pubescent gorilla fighting teens everything. They were the best band we'd heard in ages!

By complete contrast, two nights later we found ourselves sat on the hill overlooking the Loire in Saumur, the chateau to our left and the town below us. There was the most fantastic sunset which seemed to last forever. The chateau glistened in the evening sunlight before being lit from the ground as night fell. When we arrived, there were a few folks dotted here & there, picnics in full flow. Wine glasses chinking, laughter and soft music filling the air. It was a very calm atmosphere, a very warm, sultry evening. As the time passed, more and more people came and found a spot to sit, the mixture of languages adding to the carnival atmosphere that was slowly replacing the calm of earlier. From somewhere in the crowd, drums began to play. There sounded like there were a few of them, and very tuneful it was too. After each 'piece' the audience clapped, whooped and hollered! Each 'piece' seemed to be louder and more frenetic than the last, helping to create the most fantastic sense of anticipation. Small versions of the fireworks we were waiting for were being thrown about the sky by small boys, their trails helping to illuminate the assembled gathering. Suddenly, the drumming stopped, the crowd cheered and the lights in the town below went out!

What followed was nothing short of brilliant. Bigger, more impressive and longer than the one we'd experienced a couple of nights before. We've been coming to Saumur for Bastille Day fireworks since we moved here, three years ago but we've always been down on the bridge, the Pont Cessart. That's where it all 'happens', apparently. The crowds gathered there though make it difficult for Syb's mum to see very much, apart from the backs of people's heads! So to sit up by the chateau, perched high above the town below meant that we saw everything. I got some great shots too. So, Bastille Day in France 2008. Two very different experiences, both absolutely wonderful, and we're eagerly looking forward to next years. I hope the band get some practice in before then though...

Until the next time, au revoir.

TBC

All content © Le Chant d’Oiseau, 2006-2008

Just over three years....

noreply@blogger.com (Le Chant d'Oiseau) — Mon, 25 Aug 2008 13:31:00 +0000

Bonjour!

It feels like ages since I last apologised for not updating the 'blog! Indeed it is, June 23rd was the last time. Apologies then, but we really have had a very, very busy summer. It still is busy, but with the regulars having left Le Chant d'Oiseau on Saturday the dynamics have changed slightly. We still have some lovely guests here, but the ones we know well have left until next year, but the e-mails and 'phone calls telling us how much they've enjoyed yet another holiday here are still coming in, and they're keeping us fueled with enthusiasm for now!

Our anniversary party is fast becoming a social 'must', with more & more of our French friends joining in the fun & games as well as English ex-pat friends and guests too. We now have a throng of returning guests who make a point of ensuring their holidays span over the 5th August - our 'official' birthday. Our summer holidays are usually excellent, but made even more so by the fact that we ourselves now haunt the gate, and the driveway for signs of our friends arriving to spend yet another two (or even three) weeks in the sun with us. It's still full-on hard work for Syb & I, but it's made fun because we're surrounded by guests who've become good friends over the past three years. So, it was with a heavy heart, and a tear in the eye that we said 'au revoir' to our lovely 'Boomerang Gang' this year as we set off early on Saturday morning to drive to Chartres, where I'd been asked to be the official photographer at a wedding at the Chateau d'Esclimont! Sounds grand, eh? Well - it is! The wedding went well, the weather was stunning, the setting was breathtaking and the guests were all up for the occasion! It seemed strange in a way that it was us leaving our guests behind. Normally, we open the gates for them and wave them off back to blighty. This time, we were on the receiving end of the waves and cries of 'see you next year' instead. It served as a reminder of why we don't leave this place very often at all!

Anyway, our party was a great success with all our guests mingling and attempting communication. One highlight was Syb being driven around the campsite on the pillion of Bruno's (our boulanger friend) quadbike! I managed not to get a picture, but did manage to get a couple of Hannah having a go after! I made what has become a customary speech to the assembled throng in French first, then reverted to English to say the same to our English guests. There was much hilarity when I finished my French speech and begun in English...Apparently, many of our guests were mesmerised by my command of this beautiful language, and they were struck by the stark differences in 'accents'. You see, my French accent is, well...French I suppose, but my English one is true Yorkshire! A bit of a culture shock for many! Still, at least our lovely French friends and neighbours appreciated my efforts. They understood most of it too!

The evening progressed well into the wee hours, and the last guests to arrive - after the party had finished and we were in the kitchen tidying up, were Isabel & Arnoud, our other boulanger friends. They'd been out for a family meal that evening, and were due to leave the next morning for a well-deserved holiday, but still thought to come & say hello, and bring us a beautiful bouquet of flowers and a great bottle of red! They stayed chatting with us for an hour in the kitchen, sat around the table, until the kids started yawning. So, we polished off the cognac, bade farewell and went to bed, happy at being here for another year, with the prospect of another year to come. We're already making plans for the 4th Anniversary Party. If you want to come & see for yourself what we have lined up, you'd better book early as spaces are going fast!

We had some friends over from the UK during that same period of time and they came to each and every meal we cooked. You may know that during the season, Syb cooks for everyone on site twice weekly. Gite guests and campers alike sit around, eat good home-cooked food, drink good wine and have a laugh and a chat with their fellow holidaymakers. This year's been no exception, and many friendships have been forged under the canvas of our two gazebo's erected in the old barn for this purpose. Well, the barn's undergone several transformations in this past year. Firstly, the gazebo's went up. They looked lovely. Then this spring, after the ravages of the busy summer last year, I decided to lay a permanent tiled floor using the tommettes we salvaged from our loft when we converted it into our bedrooms. That made everything so much easier, and fitted right in with the look & feel of the place. We had some fairly strong winds last year, ripping the canvas roofs of the gazebo's. I've repaired them a few times quite successfully, but the gales we had a few weeks ago put paid to any further repair work - they were completely shredded! So, I decided to take the bull by the horns and make a new roof from materials easily bought from Bricoman! I was gobsmacked to say the least at the offers of help coming in from our campers left & right. Everyone got stuck in, building, cutting, sawing, hammering and drilling. In just two days - or 13 hours, we created a fully waterproof, solid continuous roof which looks absolutely perfect. Not only that but also a lean-to for to cover our two barbeques too! So - in the face of such generosity, what can be done? A barn-raising party perhaps? This has been a fortnight to end all fortnights. So much laughter, cameraderie and generosity of spirit has rarely been seen. Despite the heat, our friends and guests were happy to contribute as much or as little as they felt comfortable with and the result is an area we're proud to have here at Le Chant!

In fact, this 'blog should be dedicated to the following people, without whom Le Chant d'Oiseau wouldn't be quite the place it is now. So, in no particular order - a BIG shout of thanks goes to:

Joe, David, Andy, Jon, Doc, Tony, Dan & Marquey. Our sincere thanks to all of you for your friendship and your effort!

Until the next time, au revoir.

TBC

All content © Le Chant d’Oiseau, 2006-2008

The Longest Day.

noreply@blogger.com (Le Chant d'Oiseau) — Mon, 23 Jun 2008 12:15:00 +0000

You'll have to forgive the huge grin I'm wearing at the moment. It's not because I've had a great weekend with friends who took time out from their holidays in Brittany to come and see us. It's not because I'm really, really happy with some of the shots I took at the fete de la musique event in Saumur. It's not because I've completed the walled garden, and installed the stone barbeques for guest's use.

It's simply because I'm an uncle for the very first time. Our new baby nephew's arrived, safe and sound at last. It was a stressful weekend of worry and homesickness for us; worry, lack of sleep, fear, anxiety and pain for my family in the UK. After a difficult and complicated delivery, both mum and baby are doing fine, and we can't begin to tell you how happy we all are at the news.

Welcome to the world, Noah Andrew Cordon. may your life be blessed with happiness, good health and whatever you wish for.

Until the next time, au revoir.

TBC

All content © Le Chant d’Oiseau, 2006-2008