Caveat emptor
Anne-Marie and Patrique came round tonight to see what I'd been doing to the house. They knew it before I bought it and wanted to see the changes I had made. After the grand tour, we sat around eating and chatting and the conversation turned to the perils of buying houses in old villages (or anywhere, come to that). I mentioned that Mana was having a spat with a neighbour over the flow of a downpipe from the gutters of her house which (allegedly!) ran down against a wall on the neighbours property. Gutters here almost always just empty into the road below. The neighbour was complaining that the water was destroying her wall. However, the wall (allegedly!) was illegal anyway since it blocked a public right of way. Two arbitrators were coming from Buis to the Mairie in Mollans to try to sort the dispute out. More of that when I know the outcome.
Anyway, I added two problems narrowly avoided in my own experience. When friends Steve and Jo bought their house, I helped with the legal language in the contract of sale. They wanted to buy “en tontine” (maybe I'll explain later). The point was that 3 versions of the contract faxed to me didn't mention en tontine. It was only with great insistence that these words were eventually inserted. It was surely just coincidence that if, as Patrique pointed out, you wanted this clause inserted later, you'd have to pay the notaire (lawyer) quite a lot more.
When I bought my own house the contract of sale I was invited to sign just happened to omit one of the parcelles (plots of land) in the sale. A word processor error, I was told. I had previously totally ruled out a house which turned out to have floors overlapping with an adjacent house, where the definition of responsibility for roof, ceiling and floor was simply guesswork.
Patrique mentioned the situation of his mother who lived in Corsica, where apparently very many agreements are made on a handshake without any supporting documentation. She owned (undocumented) one quarter of a floor of a house. So who exactly owned and was liable for what?
These, it would seem are omnipresent hazards of buying village houses, where virtually none is totally freestanding and all kinds of overlaps and potentially shared responsibilities are common, even if the notaire is totally on the ball. Plus the problem of searches, for incoming motorways, high speed rail track, etc, which I won't go into here. Caveat emptor!
Plants
Anne-Marie wanted to know what flowers she could plant in a place in her garden almost always in shade. I immediately thought of bergenias, which I had grown successfully in just such a spot in my garden in England. Just after she and Patrique had left I thought of pulmonaria and cyclamen but will try to think of others before the next pizza evening.
vendredi 27 février 2009
jeudi 26 février 2009
Signs of spring
Sun and altitude
The sun has been shining for most of the past ten days and now hits my kitchen window just after 9.00 in the morning. A month ago, it didn't get there until nearly 11.00. I find that makes an enormous difference to my state of mind when I get up and think about getting bread for breakfast. It makes it a pleasure to go out and walk through the village; it also makes me want to get gardening but it's still a little early for that, although I have pruned the vine that runs over my balcony.
The reason the sun hits the front of my house earlier is that it is now higher in the sky and clears Mt Bluye, facing my house, that much sooner. As I have lived most of my life in southern England, altitude has meant little to me. Here, the ramifications are many. Even though we've had little snow in the village this winter, snow has been visible on the high ground all around since November. The higher you go, the colder its gets; that will be news to no one. What is less immediately evident is that high ground throws long shadows so, even when the temperature is a balmy 15 degrees in the village, it is still possible to find iced-up ditches in corners permanently in shadow. Even on the smaller peaks around, you can climb one side bathed in warm sunshine and find snow on the other side as soon as you go over the summit. It's a phenomenon I haven't experienced before, except in the Hindu Kush.
Boules
Fine sunny days have meant a return to boules. I need to become more consistent. On my day, I can point with the best of them (we won't discuss shooting) but there are times when I struggle for any kind of consistency.
There are normally no more than a hardy half-dozen playing but that is enough. Nous sommes les durs. The attitude of most of those who play is that, if the sky is overcast or there is a cold wind, why not leave it until the weather improves? It will surely do so within a day or two.
Pedro, the man who re-insulated my roof, told me how he came to Mollans (from Alsace) 25 years ago when he was 17 to work for a builder. He had to report for work each morning at 7.30 at the builder's house. One day he arrived to find the builder's house still closed up. When the builder eventually arrived at the door, still in pyjamas, he said: “What are you doing there?”
“I'm here for work”, said Pedro
“But it's raining”, said the builder, “We don't work when it's raining”.
I wonder what kind of a living that would get you in Alsace.
Blue skies
When the sun is shining there is often not a cloud in the sky. I'm not used to completely cloudless skies so they are still remarkable to me. More striking, however, is the depth of the blue. The shade is generally quite light during the day, more or less a Wedgwood blue; it is the depth of the colour that is striking. On summer evenings it can turn a much deeper, but still wonderful, shade. No surprise then that painters have frequently come to Provence for the quality of the light. “Le ciel est, pardessus le toit, si bleu, si calme” (Verlaine: D'une Prison).
The sun has been shining for most of the past ten days and now hits my kitchen window just after 9.00 in the morning. A month ago, it didn't get there until nearly 11.00. I find that makes an enormous difference to my state of mind when I get up and think about getting bread for breakfast. It makes it a pleasure to go out and walk through the village; it also makes me want to get gardening but it's still a little early for that, although I have pruned the vine that runs over my balcony.
The reason the sun hits the front of my house earlier is that it is now higher in the sky and clears Mt Bluye, facing my house, that much sooner. As I have lived most of my life in southern England, altitude has meant little to me. Here, the ramifications are many. Even though we've had little snow in the village this winter, snow has been visible on the high ground all around since November. The higher you go, the colder its gets; that will be news to no one. What is less immediately evident is that high ground throws long shadows so, even when the temperature is a balmy 15 degrees in the village, it is still possible to find iced-up ditches in corners permanently in shadow. Even on the smaller peaks around, you can climb one side bathed in warm sunshine and find snow on the other side as soon as you go over the summit. It's a phenomenon I haven't experienced before, except in the Hindu Kush.
Boules
Fine sunny days have meant a return to boules. I need to become more consistent. On my day, I can point with the best of them (we won't discuss shooting) but there are times when I struggle for any kind of consistency.
There are normally no more than a hardy half-dozen playing but that is enough. Nous sommes les durs. The attitude of most of those who play is that, if the sky is overcast or there is a cold wind, why not leave it until the weather improves? It will surely do so within a day or two.
Pedro, the man who re-insulated my roof, told me how he came to Mollans (from Alsace) 25 years ago when he was 17 to work for a builder. He had to report for work each morning at 7.30 at the builder's house. One day he arrived to find the builder's house still closed up. When the builder eventually arrived at the door, still in pyjamas, he said: “What are you doing there?”
“I'm here for work”, said Pedro
“But it's raining”, said the builder, “We don't work when it's raining”.
I wonder what kind of a living that would get you in Alsace.
Blue skies
When the sun is shining there is often not a cloud in the sky. I'm not used to completely cloudless skies so they are still remarkable to me. More striking, however, is the depth of the blue. The shade is generally quite light during the day, more or less a Wedgwood blue; it is the depth of the colour that is striking. On summer evenings it can turn a much deeper, but still wonderful, shade. No surprise then that painters have frequently come to Provence for the quality of the light. “Le ciel est, pardessus le toit, si bleu, si calme” (Verlaine: D'une Prison).
mercredi 25 février 2009
An Engagement
Skiing on Mt Ventoux
I've been getting back to my normal routine this week after having my daughter and her boyfriend, Natalie and Andy, stay with me for the past week. It was half-term in England (she teaches), they wanted a short break, he wanted her to learn to ski since he does so himself and so they decided to stay with me and ski at Mt Serein, the ski station about 1000ft below the summit of Mt Ventoux. I duly booked lessons, borrowed a set of snow chains (although friends Anne-Marie and Patrique had offered their car, equipped with snow tyres and chains as fallback) and gathered information on skiing on the mountain. In the event the snow chains weren't needed.
Mt Ventoux isn't on the general skiing tourist map but is much used and appreciated locally. The state of the snow can be uncertain, even occasionally in January and February, but this year it has been good. Green, Blue, Black and Red pistes were all open. And Mt Serein is a delightful resort, small and friendly. On the Tuesday evening, Andy wanted to know where he could get some fizz and plastic glasses, I presumed for toasting Natalie as a skier after the last of her lessons on the Wednesday. I was going shopping so got them for him. When they arrived back at the house on Wednesday afternoon, it turned out Andy had proposed to, and been accepted by, Natalie. I think that, in the snow, he had ended up on his arse rather than his knee to make the proposal but.........whatever. They make a great couple.
We completed the week with a little tour to see the Pont du Gard and the Ardèche gorges. On the night they arrived I'd invited friend Daniel and his daughter, Anne-Laure (who is a similar age to Natalie and speaks excellent English) to dine with us, Natalie and Andy came to the pizza evening, and we all eat with friends Steve and Jo at my house on the Tuesday and at their house on the Thursday, so one way and another it was quite a crowded week. And a delightful one.
Wood beams
I'd accelerated the decorating I was doing in the house before Nat and Andy's arrival and, with some help from friends Steve and Jo, had finished the new terrace room and the top bedroom (apart from some lights I have to fit). So the last big decorating project is my own bedroom. It currently has awful wallpaper which I have to get off to discover the state of the walls behind it. They feel OK but you never know. More significantly, the small beams which run laterally across the ceiling to the big beam which runs down the centre of the room (and of which there are 34, 17 each side) have been painted. Now, I'm generally against the death penalty but I think I might entertain it for people who paint wood beams. From my background as a southern Englander, if you have old wood beams, and these date from the mid-19th century, you flaunt them. Moreover, the house is basically all wood and stone and I want to keep it that way, with the wood and stone showing where possible. The attitude to wood beams here is quite different. Everybody has them so they are not particularly valued and aren't reckoned on much as features. In many houses, even the very large wood beams running across ceilings are plastered over. Well, I don't care; I want my wood beams and the paint is going to have to come off, however long it takes me.
Flowers
Neighbour Josette, a keen gardener, accosted me on my to get bread this morning and said how much everyone admired the pansies I have in pots outside the front of the house. They are all blue (of course) and they are looking good now. I planted them in November but they have bided their time to put on a show now that the sun is shining more consistently.
I've been getting back to my normal routine this week after having my daughter and her boyfriend, Natalie and Andy, stay with me for the past week. It was half-term in England (she teaches), they wanted a short break, he wanted her to learn to ski since he does so himself and so they decided to stay with me and ski at Mt Serein, the ski station about 1000ft below the summit of Mt Ventoux. I duly booked lessons, borrowed a set of snow chains (although friends Anne-Marie and Patrique had offered their car, equipped with snow tyres and chains as fallback) and gathered information on skiing on the mountain. In the event the snow chains weren't needed.
Mt Ventoux isn't on the general skiing tourist map but is much used and appreciated locally. The state of the snow can be uncertain, even occasionally in January and February, but this year it has been good. Green, Blue, Black and Red pistes were all open. And Mt Serein is a delightful resort, small and friendly. On the Tuesday evening, Andy wanted to know where he could get some fizz and plastic glasses, I presumed for toasting Natalie as a skier after the last of her lessons on the Wednesday. I was going shopping so got them for him. When they arrived back at the house on Wednesday afternoon, it turned out Andy had proposed to, and been accepted by, Natalie. I think that, in the snow, he had ended up on his arse rather than his knee to make the proposal but.........whatever. They make a great couple.
We completed the week with a little tour to see the Pont du Gard and the Ardèche gorges. On the night they arrived I'd invited friend Daniel and his daughter, Anne-Laure (who is a similar age to Natalie and speaks excellent English) to dine with us, Natalie and Andy came to the pizza evening, and we all eat with friends Steve and Jo at my house on the Tuesday and at their house on the Thursday, so one way and another it was quite a crowded week. And a delightful one.
Wood beams
I'd accelerated the decorating I was doing in the house before Nat and Andy's arrival and, with some help from friends Steve and Jo, had finished the new terrace room and the top bedroom (apart from some lights I have to fit). So the last big decorating project is my own bedroom. It currently has awful wallpaper which I have to get off to discover the state of the walls behind it. They feel OK but you never know. More significantly, the small beams which run laterally across the ceiling to the big beam which runs down the centre of the room (and of which there are 34, 17 each side) have been painted. Now, I'm generally against the death penalty but I think I might entertain it for people who paint wood beams. From my background as a southern Englander, if you have old wood beams, and these date from the mid-19th century, you flaunt them. Moreover, the house is basically all wood and stone and I want to keep it that way, with the wood and stone showing where possible. The attitude to wood beams here is quite different. Everybody has them so they are not particularly valued and aren't reckoned on much as features. In many houses, even the very large wood beams running across ceilings are plastered over. Well, I don't care; I want my wood beams and the paint is going to have to come off, however long it takes me.
Flowers
Neighbour Josette, a keen gardener, accosted me on my to get bread this morning and said how much everyone admired the pansies I have in pots outside the front of the house. They are all blue (of course) and they are looking good now. I planted them in November but they have bided their time to put on a show now that the sun is shining more consistently.
mardi 24 février 2009
Pizzas and jokes
Pizza night
Last night was pizza night. For about 3 years now it has been the custom for people in my road to gather at the Bar du Pont once a week to socialise and exchange news and jokes. A man with a pizza van parks outside the bar and we buy our pizzas from him and drinks from the bar. From April/May to September we congregate on the terrace outside the bar but the rest of the time it's a question of pushing the tables together inside, dragging in tables and chairs from outside if necessary, and then putting our heads together. Since we started doing this, others in the village, not from my road, and René and Ahmelle, who now live outside the village, have joined in. There are normally about a dozen of us but it can be double that number.
Pizza night used to be on Friday, which made it a convenient end-of-week event. However, another pizza man, Roberto, appeared on a Monday and, by general consent, made decidedly better pizzas. So true to the French gastronomic tradition, pizza night was changed to when the food was better. So it's a beginning of week rather than an end of week event now.
Although pizzas are the standard fare, Roberto sometimes comes with galettes, gambas or moules- frîtes to provide some variety. He also occasionally (and generously) offers crêpes to finish off the meal. So the gastronomically inspired change has definitely been worthwhile.
How Mont Ventoux got it's name
There are two official versions of how Mt Ventoux got its name, which I won't go into here. However, when the jokes start flying on pizza night, René is always in the thick of it. He's one of the most humorous people I've ever met. So, of course, he had a version of how Mt Ventoux got it's name and it had nothing to do with either of the official ones. The story was as follows.
It is widely believed locally, on scant evidence, that Hannibal passed this way going to and from his foray into Italy. It certainly doesn't do the tourist trade any harm and several local places make reference to him. Anyway, according to René, on Hannibal's way back through this area, one of his troops, laden down with loot from the Italy campaign, made his way up Mt Ventoux. Hannibal had lots of troops named Abou but this one, certainly by the time he got up Mt Ventoux, was called Abou Desouffle. Having got to the top, he decided he was carrying far too much booty so he piled it all down on the ground and put up a notice “Vends tout”. And that's how Mt Ventoux got it's name.
Last night was pizza night. For about 3 years now it has been the custom for people in my road to gather at the Bar du Pont once a week to socialise and exchange news and jokes. A man with a pizza van parks outside the bar and we buy our pizzas from him and drinks from the bar. From April/May to September we congregate on the terrace outside the bar but the rest of the time it's a question of pushing the tables together inside, dragging in tables and chairs from outside if necessary, and then putting our heads together. Since we started doing this, others in the village, not from my road, and René and Ahmelle, who now live outside the village, have joined in. There are normally about a dozen of us but it can be double that number.
Pizza night used to be on Friday, which made it a convenient end-of-week event. However, another pizza man, Roberto, appeared on a Monday and, by general consent, made decidedly better pizzas. So true to the French gastronomic tradition, pizza night was changed to when the food was better. So it's a beginning of week rather than an end of week event now.
Although pizzas are the standard fare, Roberto sometimes comes with galettes, gambas or moules- frîtes to provide some variety. He also occasionally (and generously) offers crêpes to finish off the meal. So the gastronomically inspired change has definitely been worthwhile.
How Mont Ventoux got it's name
There are two official versions of how Mt Ventoux got its name, which I won't go into here. However, when the jokes start flying on pizza night, René is always in the thick of it. He's one of the most humorous people I've ever met. So, of course, he had a version of how Mt Ventoux got it's name and it had nothing to do with either of the official ones. The story was as follows.
It is widely believed locally, on scant evidence, that Hannibal passed this way going to and from his foray into Italy. It certainly doesn't do the tourist trade any harm and several local places make reference to him. Anyway, according to René, on Hannibal's way back through this area, one of his troops, laden down with loot from the Italy campaign, made his way up Mt Ventoux. Hannibal had lots of troops named Abou but this one, certainly by the time he got up Mt Ventoux, was called Abou Desouffle. Having got to the top, he decided he was carrying far too much booty so he piled it all down on the ground and put up a notice “Vends tout”. And that's how Mt Ventoux got it's name.
lundi 23 février 2009
In the Beginning..........
Preamble
Purpose
The purpose of this blog is to record and share my experiences as an Englishman living in France, Provence. Why? Well, lots of Brits have made or are contemplating the same trip and maybe some of what I write will be of interest to them; and I may learn something, too, if I get any feedback.
Location
France is a big country and regions are very different. Provence covers a pretty big area in itself so precise location is significant. I live in a little village (~900 population) called Mollans sur Ouvèze in the Drome department. Forget Peter Mayle; I'm well north of his location in the Luberon. Mollans is situated between the Provencal plain to the south and the foothills of the Alps to the north. It's much hillier than the Luberon, culminating in Mont Ventoux (6000ft) which is just a few miles from me. Mont Bluye, in front of my house, rises to 4500ft. The climate tends to be colder in winter, overnight at least, but similarly sunny; and hot in the summer.
Me
I'm 67, divorced, two kids (children no longer), retired, spent my working life primarily in IT after a couple of years teaching at Summerhill and at the Lycée Charles de Gaulle in Sénégal, the latter through VSO. My French is quite good (Spanish rusty, Occitan rudimentary). No doubt more about me will emerge through writings in the blog.
How I Landed Up Here
Back in 2000, I accepted an invitation from some friends to come out this way with them on holiday. They were planning to buy a house and wanted some French language support for the legal business. At the time, I was speculating on selling my house in Reading (too large for me alone) and moving somewhere else. That holiday made me think of France as a possibility. I spent holidays the next two years exploring the south of France, mostly along the gorges/valleys of the rivers Lot, Tarn, Aveyron, Ardèche. I ended up staying with my friends, who live just outside Mollans, and a walk round the village revealed a house for sale which I could afford to buy without first selling my house in Reading. Being a singleton, I wanted to be in a village or town rather than isolated on a hillside somewhere, however spectacular the views. So I bought it as a holiday home, thinking I could always sell it if it was a mistake. I then spent several months in successive springs, summers and autumns here before deciding it was where I wanted to be. So I sold my house in Reading and spent some of the money doing this house up as a permanent home.
What persuaded me to stay? Primarily, the people. Just about everybody in my street (la bourgade, as it's known locally) is open, welcoming and good company, as are many others in the village. I've come to think of that as maybe the most important factor when moving to a small place and yet it's something you can't gauge without living in the place; difficult if you're buying blind And, of course, there's the climate, scenery, food and other attractions that derive from being here. Two wet English summers helped confirm my choice.
The main lesson I can draw from this that might help others is, if you can, to get to know a place before putting down roots. Either buy a holiday home that you can afford to sell again if necessary or rent for a period; better, several periods. And visit at different times of the year. Nowhere (in France) has glorious summer all through the year.
My House
My house is a small old village house, built of stone ~1870, attached on both sides to other houses. Noise from the houses either side is not a factor; the walls are simply too thick. Which helps enormously in keeping the house warm in winter (overnight temperatures go as low as -12). It's basically a straight up and down with four medium-sized rooms built one above the other. There was a temporary bathroom tacked on the back at the bottom of a small patch of steeply rising land. I've had the temporary bathroom demolished and have built out at the back to give me a new bathroom beside a sizable store room and, above them, a large living room fronted with patio doors that lead on to a small terrace. The terrace is backed by an old stone wall with steps in one corner leading to a small garden. The other outside space is a balcony off the front living room on the first floor that will accommodate four people comfortably. Outside space is at a premium in old village houses and the weather from spring through the autumn commands you to be outside a lot of the time.
The house fronts on to a narrow road on one edge of the village, some 300 yards from the village centre. There's very little traffic through the village and a great view across the river Ouvèze to Mont Bluye from the front balcony and the bedrooms above.
So, that's for starters...................................
Purpose
The purpose of this blog is to record and share my experiences as an Englishman living in France, Provence. Why? Well, lots of Brits have made or are contemplating the same trip and maybe some of what I write will be of interest to them; and I may learn something, too, if I get any feedback.
Location
France is a big country and regions are very different. Provence covers a pretty big area in itself so precise location is significant. I live in a little village (~900 population) called Mollans sur Ouvèze in the Drome department. Forget Peter Mayle; I'm well north of his location in the Luberon. Mollans is situated between the Provencal plain to the south and the foothills of the Alps to the north. It's much hillier than the Luberon, culminating in Mont Ventoux (6000ft) which is just a few miles from me. Mont Bluye, in front of my house, rises to 4500ft. The climate tends to be colder in winter, overnight at least, but similarly sunny; and hot in the summer.
Me
I'm 67, divorced, two kids (children no longer), retired, spent my working life primarily in IT after a couple of years teaching at Summerhill and at the Lycée Charles de Gaulle in Sénégal, the latter through VSO. My French is quite good (Spanish rusty, Occitan rudimentary). No doubt more about me will emerge through writings in the blog.
How I Landed Up Here
Back in 2000, I accepted an invitation from some friends to come out this way with them on holiday. They were planning to buy a house and wanted some French language support for the legal business. At the time, I was speculating on selling my house in Reading (too large for me alone) and moving somewhere else. That holiday made me think of France as a possibility. I spent holidays the next two years exploring the south of France, mostly along the gorges/valleys of the rivers Lot, Tarn, Aveyron, Ardèche. I ended up staying with my friends, who live just outside Mollans, and a walk round the village revealed a house for sale which I could afford to buy without first selling my house in Reading. Being a singleton, I wanted to be in a village or town rather than isolated on a hillside somewhere, however spectacular the views. So I bought it as a holiday home, thinking I could always sell it if it was a mistake. I then spent several months in successive springs, summers and autumns here before deciding it was where I wanted to be. So I sold my house in Reading and spent some of the money doing this house up as a permanent home.
What persuaded me to stay? Primarily, the people. Just about everybody in my street (la bourgade, as it's known locally) is open, welcoming and good company, as are many others in the village. I've come to think of that as maybe the most important factor when moving to a small place and yet it's something you can't gauge without living in the place; difficult if you're buying blind And, of course, there's the climate, scenery, food and other attractions that derive from being here. Two wet English summers helped confirm my choice.
The main lesson I can draw from this that might help others is, if you can, to get to know a place before putting down roots. Either buy a holiday home that you can afford to sell again if necessary or rent for a period; better, several periods. And visit at different times of the year. Nowhere (in France) has glorious summer all through the year.
My House
My house is a small old village house, built of stone ~1870, attached on both sides to other houses. Noise from the houses either side is not a factor; the walls are simply too thick. Which helps enormously in keeping the house warm in winter (overnight temperatures go as low as -12). It's basically a straight up and down with four medium-sized rooms built one above the other. There was a temporary bathroom tacked on the back at the bottom of a small patch of steeply rising land. I've had the temporary bathroom demolished and have built out at the back to give me a new bathroom beside a sizable store room and, above them, a large living room fronted with patio doors that lead on to a small terrace. The terrace is backed by an old stone wall with steps in one corner leading to a small garden. The other outside space is a balcony off the front living room on the first floor that will accommodate four people comfortably. Outside space is at a premium in old village houses and the weather from spring through the autumn commands you to be outside a lot of the time.
The house fronts on to a narrow road on one edge of the village, some 300 yards from the village centre. There's very little traffic through the village and a great view across the river Ouvèze to Mont Bluye from the front balcony and the bedrooms above.
So, that's for starters...................................
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