Rumour has it that the private jet parked up at Bergerac airport belongs to Roman Abramovich. Christian Lacombe, the press officer for the airport, seems to think so. Rumours also abound that the beautifully manicured Chateau Thenac, south west of Bergerac in what is described as the Tuscany of France, is also owned by the Russian billionaire.
Not so! On further investigation it appears both the Chateau and the jet belong to another Russian Oligarch, Eugene Shvidler, a close friend and business partner of Abramovich. For a birthday present, Abramovich apparently bought his friend a flock of Highland sheep which he had shipped out from Scotland to Chateau Thenac.
The manager of the Chateau , a smart young Englishman, said that Abramovich and his Russian mates certainly visit to party and to sample the wine but that he couldn’t comment further. Chateau Thenac wine, incidentally, can only be purchased through Berry Brothers in London. An English chum told me an artist friend held an exhibition at the Salle de Fete in Thenac and someone from the chateau turned up at the private view - “vernisage” - insisted on buying all the paintings on show and had them taken over the road to the chateau that same night.
Now look here, we Brits own Aquitaine, not the French nor the Russkies. When our Henry 11 married Eleanor of Aquitaine in 1152 the English ruled the region from Bordeaux and we imported huge quantities of wine. We put Bordeaux wine on the map. For that matter, more recently, an old Etonian called Nick Ryman, who owned Chateau Jaubertie, put Bergerac wine on the map by improving the stuff and marketing it abroad.
There are 200,000 British passport holders registered living in France and a big slice of these reside in Aquitaine. At Eymet, 20 kilometres south west of Bergerac, half the town’s population is British. In another nearby bastide town called Issigeac, one Australian tourist was overheard saying she was horrified to have heard nothing but English voices.
In the summer months at least three daily Ryanair flights come in and out of Bergerac airport from Stansted and Bristol and there’s another daily Flybe flight from Southampton. The planes are usually full and the airport car park is packed with old bangers with British number plates.
You don’t get so many euros to the pound these days but most of us are staying put and continuing to enjoy the good life. We’ve taken back Aquitaine and we lovingly call the Dordogne department, “Dordogneshire”. We’re not about to let the Russkies do the same thing to the Dordogne as they have to Chelsea – sorry, “Chelski".
Friday, 27 November 2009
Monday, 9 November 2009
Wednesday, 4 November 2009
Passport for Pets. Don't Miss the Boat
4th November 2009
Our border terrier, Bertie has proved to be a lucky mascot after taking him with us to France. He helped us sell my late mother’s house near Agen in the Lot et Garonne and contributed to us buying our splendid new house near Bergerac in the Dordogne.
We decided to move from London to my mother’s house immediately the positive results of his blood tests following his rabies vaccination in September 2008. This meant that we had to be based in France for a minimum of six months until we could return to England with Bertie. Consequently we were able to have the house looking at its best before any visits from potential buyers – lots of cleaning and polishing inside and much mowing, weeding and planting outside The plan worked because the day the bottom fell out of the US and British stock markets we had two buyers in a contracts race both having offered the price we were asking. Amazingly the offer we accepted from an English couple, subject to a 70% mortgage from a French bank, came good and we completed the sale at the end of January 2010.
Within days of accepting the aforementioned offer I was walking Bertie round a little bastide town called Issigeac looking for a butcher for a couple of lamb chops. I noticed an impressive house in the window of an Estate Agents, called Lang and Fournier. The property had a classic, tall, sloping Perigordine roof and a courtyard surrounded by outbuildings included in the sale. The price being asked was almost identical to that accepted for my mother’s cottage and this was three times the size.
My offer was accepted and I managed to do a simultaneous completion and so was able to move straight into the new house notwithstanding it hadn’t been lived in by the previous occupants for more than three years. Bertie had again brought us luck.
The pet problem only started when we decided to get married in the Channel Islands. The papers required for a civil ceremony at our local Marie were a long as my arm. An English chum said he knew a couple who had got married on Sark. In the end we plumbed for Alderney which required us to be on the island for just five days and the only papers needed were our birth and previous marriage certificates. There was a ferry from Cherbourg direct to Alderney only six miles from France. This would be cheap and easy I thought. Bertie and I could sail as foot passengers and Lyndia, who was in London, could fly direct from Southampton to Alderney. Sadly Bertie could not travel on this route as Alderney was not classified as a port of entry for pets. Also pets can’t travel without being in a car. Instead I had to take the car ferry from St Marlow to Guernsey then fly with Bertie in his own allocated seat on one of the small twin prop Islanders that fly hourly from Guernsey to Alderney.
Despite this circuitous and expensive route it all turned out well in the end. We got married and we had great fun, including Bertie who came second in the agility class of the Alderney dog show.
We returned to the Dordogne together and were married in a beautiful little church in Monsaguel near our house in Les Mayets. (More of that in another blog) It was when we decided to return to England in October on the ferry from Bilbao that things became particularly complicated. Some of this was self induced as I totally misjudged the distance and time it would take us to get from Bergerac to Santander. We had been told it would take 5 hours but we hadn’t even reached the Spanish border in that time so you can guess – we missed the boat! This meant we had to wait for the next boat - to Plymouth instead of Portsmouth - four days later. Lyndia had to fly back to London from Bilbao the day before for an urgent business meeting. At yet further expense, Bertie had to have his inoculations for entry back into the UK all over again.
We had already been to our vet in France the morning we left but the vacination and inspection have to be carried out 24 hours before the animal leaves French or Spanish soil and not within 24 hours and not after 48 hours. This meant a second visit to a vet, this time in Spain. The vet who we visited near Bilbao thought Bertie could travel within 24 hours and stamped his passport accordingly. Once at the port the following day, with only an hour to spare, I was informed the passport was incorrectly stamped. I had to sprint, with Bertie in tow, to the nearest vet to the port in Santander. There was a queue of several other frantic ex-pats whose passports were also wrongly stamped. Another 30 euros was required and a phone call to my vet, who confirmed that Bertie had been inspected at 10 am the previous day and not 7 pm - the actual time entered in the passport. The problem was sorted with half an hour to spare before the ferry left for England. The Spanish vet in Santander must have been making a packet out of us misguided British pet owners!
Don't miss the boat!
Our border terrier, Bertie has proved to be a lucky mascot after taking him with us to France. He helped us sell my late mother’s house near Agen in the Lot et Garonne and contributed to us buying our splendid new house near Bergerac in the Dordogne.
We decided to move from London to my mother’s house immediately the positive results of his blood tests following his rabies vaccination in September 2008. This meant that we had to be based in France for a minimum of six months until we could return to England with Bertie. Consequently we were able to have the house looking at its best before any visits from potential buyers – lots of cleaning and polishing inside and much mowing, weeding and planting outside The plan worked because the day the bottom fell out of the US and British stock markets we had two buyers in a contracts race both having offered the price we were asking. Amazingly the offer we accepted from an English couple, subject to a 70% mortgage from a French bank, came good and we completed the sale at the end of January 2010.
Within days of accepting the aforementioned offer I was walking Bertie round a little bastide town called Issigeac looking for a butcher for a couple of lamb chops. I noticed an impressive house in the window of an Estate Agents, called Lang and Fournier. The property had a classic, tall, sloping Perigordine roof and a courtyard surrounded by outbuildings included in the sale. The price being asked was almost identical to that accepted for my mother’s cottage and this was three times the size.
My offer was accepted and I managed to do a simultaneous completion and so was able to move straight into the new house notwithstanding it hadn’t been lived in by the previous occupants for more than three years. Bertie had again brought us luck.
The pet problem only started when we decided to get married in the Channel Islands. The papers required for a civil ceremony at our local Marie were a long as my arm. An English chum said he knew a couple who had got married on Sark. In the end we plumbed for Alderney which required us to be on the island for just five days and the only papers needed were our birth and previous marriage certificates. There was a ferry from Cherbourg direct to Alderney only six miles from France. This would be cheap and easy I thought. Bertie and I could sail as foot passengers and Lyndia, who was in London, could fly direct from Southampton to Alderney. Sadly Bertie could not travel on this route as Alderney was not classified as a port of entry for pets. Also pets can’t travel without being in a car. Instead I had to take the car ferry from St Marlow to Guernsey then fly with Bertie in his own allocated seat on one of the small twin prop Islanders that fly hourly from Guernsey to Alderney.
Despite this circuitous and expensive route it all turned out well in the end. We got married and we had great fun, including Bertie who came second in the agility class of the Alderney dog show.
We returned to the Dordogne together and were married in a beautiful little church in Monsaguel near our house in Les Mayets. (More of that in another blog) It was when we decided to return to England in October on the ferry from Bilbao that things became particularly complicated. Some of this was self induced as I totally misjudged the distance and time it would take us to get from Bergerac to Santander. We had been told it would take 5 hours but we hadn’t even reached the Spanish border in that time so you can guess – we missed the boat! This meant we had to wait for the next boat - to Plymouth instead of Portsmouth - four days later. Lyndia had to fly back to London from Bilbao the day before for an urgent business meeting. At yet further expense, Bertie had to have his inoculations for entry back into the UK all over again.
We had already been to our vet in France the morning we left but the vacination and inspection have to be carried out 24 hours before the animal leaves French or Spanish soil and not within 24 hours and not after 48 hours. This meant a second visit to a vet, this time in Spain. The vet who we visited near Bilbao thought Bertie could travel within 24 hours and stamped his passport accordingly. Once at the port the following day, with only an hour to spare, I was informed the passport was incorrectly stamped. I had to sprint, with Bertie in tow, to the nearest vet to the port in Santander. There was a queue of several other frantic ex-pats whose passports were also wrongly stamped. Another 30 euros was required and a phone call to my vet, who confirmed that Bertie had been inspected at 10 am the previous day and not 7 pm - the actual time entered in the passport. The problem was sorted with half an hour to spare before the ferry left for England. The Spanish vet in Santander must have been making a packet out of us misguided British pet owners!
Don't miss the boat!
Monday, 2 November 2009
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)