This is the sort of attention to detail that I simply love.
When we are invited to dîner with friends, no side plates are used for the bread that invariably accompanies every meal. If we are lucky enough to be invited to Jean-Claude’s and Françoise’s, the pain is especially delicious as Françoise makes her own bread. The pain is simply placed on the tablecloth next to your dinner plate. Hence all French homes have a tablecloth that often stays on the table throughout the day. While I now have two tablecloths, both farmhouse checks, and both gifts, I don’t think I will ever have a plastic one as many French households do. While very practical, I simply don’t find them attractive at all.
The apéritif hour is something else I find especially civilised. Only one apéritif is usually served, at the very most two. Bread sticks or a small dish of olives or peanuts is always placed on the table, for it is rare to have a drink without some small accompaniment. We find this a great way to catch up with friends, as it is simply so easy and the protocol means that people rarely linger longer than an hour, for they then head home for dîner. This suits our style of entertaining just perfectly. When we are invited to dîner, usually just one apéritif is offered before eating, as there will be wine with the meal. Jean-Claude has a plastic carrier that was once used for milk bottles. When we have an apéritif on their terrace, he brings it out with pastis, gin and other choices in it. Despite the reputation of the French for drinking vast quantities of wine, in fact it is surprisingly far less than at home. Vive la difference.
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Isabelle’s Petite Shop
Visiting Isabelle’s shop has become a part of my weekly ritual. As well as going to the twice-weekly markets to buy our fruit and vegetables, on Friday morning we now go to Martel once a week to do our grocery shopping. Such a prosaic task has become one of pleasure. We have now established the habit of first having our weekly treat of going to the boulangerie to choose a delectable pastry. There is always an immense pleasure in lingering at the counter and gazing at the sumptuous array of mouth-watering pastries.
Then across the road to the locals’ café, as opposed to the ones in the market square that tend to attract the tourists. While the café is right next to the road – we seem to be attracted to places situated on roads, just like our petite maison – like so many French towns, it overlooks tubs of brightly coloured flowers. We order our espresso, ‘Deux café s’il voux plait.’ Yes, I can actually manage the simple phrase for ordering two espresso...
and we linger over our melt-in-the-mouth croissants.
It is a chance to sit and observe the daily life of a small French town. The café is also a Tabac. There is a place to precariously park right at the front of the café and the locals dash in to buy their Gauloise. It is like a drive-through tobacconist. Once when I went in to pay for our espresso, I was puzzled by the fact the young woman behind the counter did not move from one end of it to the other, to collect my euro. After quite a while, I moved to the other end of the counter to pay. I told Stuart about the puzzlement of paying. Ah, the first end of the counter is the Tabac section and you can only pay for those purchases there. Hence the dash-in-drivers who hastily grab their daily Gauloise.
Our bank, Bank Populaire, (literally, a popular French bank), is next door and on the other side of the café is Les Marchands de Journaux, where people grab their copy of Le Figaro to read over their espresso. Next there is the pharmacie and like all other chemists in France, it displays a poster of mushrooms to be able to identify those that are poisonous. Mushroom gathering in spring is a very popular pastime in France. Each year Brigitte and Erick tell us when they are setting off for a few days’ break to pick mushrooms. By now, as we have our espresso, we actually know a few locals passing by and going to the shops, to exchange ‘Bonjours, ca va? ’ with. This simple greeting fills me with delight. In some small way, we do belong.
It was on one of our café sojourns the previous year that I glanced across the road and my eyes landed with happiness on a newly opened petite shop, complete with a hat stand and other second-hand wares out the front. I exclaimed with pleasure to Stuart that I simply had to go and investigate straight away. Knowing my predilection for any possibility of second-hand treasure, Stuart settled back with another espresso while I skipped across to investigate. A second espresso can only last so long, and by the time he thought my time for exploring had definitely been sufficient, I had my arms laden with potential purchases to eagerly share with him.
When friends and family come to stay, Isabelle’s shop has now been woven into my personal itinerary. So now mum has her pink jacket in Australie and Liz has a petite watercolour in Wales. As with all my treasure, I eagerly display my new chapeau to Françoise next time I see her. She duly shares my pleasure in my pretty pink hat. Not long after, when I go La Vieux Prieuré, Françoise and their youngest daughter, Bénédicte, show me what they have unearthed in Isabelle’s shop, for they too call la petite shop by the name that I do. Just like last year, when Dominique appeared in her first-ever purchase of second-hand clothes, it is when I introduce my French friends to sources of second-hand delights, that I truly feel a part of life in Cuzance.
Actually, I don’t know the name of la petite shop at all. However, I always chat to Isabelle the immaculate and chic owner, so that is what I call her treasure trove. I’m thrilled to actually say it’s part of my weekly routine in a new village, in a new country.
To start to establish rituals, means that I feel a part of the rhythm of life in Cuzance.
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Bon Courage
‘Bon courage’ are words that I would be profoundly grateful to never hear again. It seems that every passer-by, every casual drop-in, every artisan and all our French friends, utter this phrase when leaving our petite maison. No translation is needed. The meaning is absolutely clear. Underlying this seemingly casual, polite phrase is an undertone that distinctly conveys, firstly; they think we are extraordinarily mad to tackle such a project and secondly; how grateful they are that it’s not them. Shades of one of my frequent thoughts, ‘Is a working holiday a vacances at all?’ rise to the surface whenever I hear this phrase. Somehow too it is always uttered in a tone of the utmost bonhomie.
As I continue to labour long and hard at whatever the current task is, I always gaze wistfully after their rapidly departing backs, knowing full well, that they are returning to relax in their jardin to linger over an afternoon apéritif... I can only begin to imagine the sage nodding of heads and absolute concurrence that yes, the madness of foreigners knows no end. My limited understanding of French would certainly not impede my understanding in this instance, of the speculation about a couple who come all the way from Australie each year to spend their vacances renovating.
As I get older, my penchant and inclination for renovating seems to rise in inverse proportion to the passing years. And so it is, that I find myself declaring with increasing vehemence – that next year when we embark on the bathroom – will be my last renovating push – ever. We will see. I seem to recall that those words have been uttered before. Despite all that ‘Bon courage’ implies, nevertheless when working life at home becomes challenging, I console myself with my escape clause – Cuzance. It reverberates in my mind, a place that somehow doesn’t often seem real and yet real it is. Cuzance is indeed a place to return to year after year. A very real and very real different life, even if does hold the oft-repeated phrase ‘Bon courage’...
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