Two of our main criteria were that the house was not to be a on a road or near a farm, largely to avoid the invasion of les mouches and also because peace and quiet are things we cherish. This was based in fact from my notebook for a future holiday house, after renting one in the Dordogne the previous year. There was no way we could have possibly imagined at the time, that it would become, a mere six months later, the template for buying our own petite maison.
On our previous trip to France, we had stayed with a friend in the Pyrenees. But our hearts didn’t resonate with the harsh landscape and atypical architecture. We felt we were in a foreign land and longed to return to the département with which we had both instantly connected – the hamlets, golden stone, towering limestone cliffs and walnut orchards of the Lot.
With just ten day’s leave and a real estate agent who couldn’t drive (surely the only one in the world!), Stuart traversed icy, treacherous roads to inspect ten houses in seven days. Many options were eliminated at a glance, and others just didn’t fit the bill: right in the middle of town, too grande, too petite, too isolated, too dilapidated. The decision was huge; the responsibility was huge; Stuart had to get it right.
When he found Pied de la Croix in the village of Cuzance, it seemed just right – not too big, not too small, not too run down... It was utterly silent and looked absolutely enchanting, wrapped in a pristine quilt of snow, the pale golden sun of winter dancing on its ancient stone.
So it was, that after a mere two phone conversations, we agreed that Stuart should go ahead and buy our little house. Six months later, I was able to see it for myself. Strangely, it seemed to me at first, despite now having our own petite maison, Stuart thought it made sense to rent a house nearby for the first fortnight. It was in fact a much-needed respite from now renovating on both sides of the world. We drove together from nearby Puymule for our first inspection together. The damp and gloomy day echoed my sense of misgiving. The picturesque photos in the snow had not quite captured the renovating reality. A few days later, we were back – to start the sheer hard work with a vengeance.
On our very first morning at Pied de la Croix, we both had a further foreboding sense of, ‘What have we done?’ Within a few hours, we were discussing whether we should put the house straight back on the market. It was not the idyllic rural farmhouse of our dreams: the traffic was constant and the flies were in abundance. What had happened to our key criteria of peace and quiet?
I was also totally overwhelmed by the amount of renovating required. A picturesque French maison it was not, and the land was so overgrown and neglected that we couldn’t even walk around the grounds. The reality was so overwhelming that Stuart suggested I should steer clear of venturing upstairs to the attic and seeing it in all its years of neglect.
But we had no choice other than to accept our decision and push on. We had already spent a small fortune and were fully committed to at least turning it around and putting it back on the market in a renovated, desirable state.
Anyone who has ever renovated, knows that the sheer hard work involved, means however, that an indelible bond is created. So despite the despair and desperation we felt at times, and the punishing hours of intense hard work, we did fall in love with our now, much-loved Pied de la Croix.
For me, it was the act of stripping the wallpaper and discovering the ancient wooden beams that became a feature of our beautiful new cuisine. I felt a palpable sense of bonding with our French farmhouse – it seemed to emanate a sense of happiness to have life breathed back into it.
And then there was the joyous discovery that the huge volume of traffic was simply due to a temporary diversion from the autoroute to Paris. It was this that cemented our decision to stay.
I often look back and laugh about our first renovating trip. What was I thinking? I seemed to have packed for Parisian soirees. Fortunately, a new friend, Marie-France, gave me some blue overalls more suited to the task than anything in my suitcase.
Without a mirror in the house, it wasn’t until I saw the photos upon our return to Australia, that I realised the extent of the rips in rather delicate places. No wonder I drew the attention of the parade of artisans we had coming through the property.
And then there were the roofers. I sent a postcard to the senior girls at my school, to let them know they hadn’t lived until they saw the young French roofers, perched high on the barn, shirtless in the searing summer heat and dancing to music blaring from their radios. As for our elderly neighbours, I observed them each day, their devotion to each other palpable.
People are fascinated by the fact we have a house in the Lot, and often ask about the difficulties or challenges involved. Apart from the fact we can’t simply go for a weekend, the only drawback for me is the interminable flight each year. There is, of course, also the matter of my very limited French (where is the time to learn?), but my tendency for the dramatic – and my ability to mime – seems to carry me through.
Bureaucratic matters such as setting up a French bank account have their difficulties, as does finding a gardener that is not très cher. But our friends in the village are always willing to help us out, and we have learned to manage things from afar – all via email – such as buying a Renault, installing a pool and arranging for the planting of lavender and shrubs in our jardin.
Each time we leave Cuzance, our petite maison sleeps quietly behind its wooden shutters. Our French dream is, at times, about questioning the sheer magnitude of such an undertaking. Yet it is more than balanced by the joy of creating another life in France – one we slip into seamlessly each time we return. And so, the adventure, and our other French life, continues.
1
Ooh La, La, Technology and Renovating
Eight weeks before leaving, we book our train tickets from Gare d’Austerlitz to Brive-la-Gaillarde. It is always a source of amazement to me that we can print our tickets at home, all the way across the other side of the world. It is at this point each year that the countdown starts to become very real. I triumphantly email Jean-Claude to let him know our arrival time and hope that he will be able to pick us up. Meanwhile, Stuart has also been emailing him to sort out a better mobile phone deal. The year before, as we had not used our mobile throughout the previous twelve-month period, the number had lapsed. This caused huge dramas and dilemmas immediately upon our arrival, when we missed the train by a matter of a few minutes. With the disconnection of our number, we had no way of contacting Jean-Claude to let him know of our late arrival. As with many other French matters, we are determined to make our journey and arrival as smooth as they can possibly be this time.
It is only through the serendipity of our friendships and email communications that we are able to find out many things that would otherwise be virtually impossible. So it is that Jean-Claude had told us about a new portable phone deal that he had organised for Françoise rather than the outrageously très cher plan she had been on. He and Stuart exchange emails to sort a new Sim card and subsequent new number that will now be our permanent French contact. Voila, another piece of the jigsaw puzzle that is our French life, will soon be in place. Once again, it is merci beaucoup to Jean-Claude. However, things do not quite go to plan...
As seems to be inevitable, when it comes to us and mobiles, whichever country we are in, our attempts to set up a new plan, are not only complex but we seem to be thwarted at every turn...
It all started with Jean-Claude letting us know that he had found a fabulous deal with Free. Like Stuart, he too loves to shop around and get the best value for his euro. We could only agree that two euro a month was an extremely attractive option. All we had to do was let him know our bank account details and he would go ahead and sort it out for us. This way, he would send us a new SIM card, and voila, we would be able to contact everyone immediately on arrival. If this time something went awry and we missed a connection