Taking Bertie, our border terrier, for a walk on a refreshingly cool July evening after previous days temperatures had been in the 40s it was interesting to observe the variety of crops shooting up all around us.
In a large field directly opposite the house a new crop of sunflowers has sprung up with their heads turned towards the sun. An avenue of prune trees adjoining will soon be producing. Walking up a hill south east past the Chateau Paradis vines, on which small green grapes are appearing, we came to a recently harvested cornfield. A small wood borders this field from which a young roe deer shot out and stopped for a heartbeat in the middle of the field. Bertie had a clear site of it and I let him give chase. He sprung off his lead like a ground to air missile and appeared to be airborn for several seconds.
Despite his brave chase, the deer disappeared into a field of sunflowers and Bertie, unusually, was bidden back so we were able to continue our walk. We arrived at a lake which we were able see being put to use for irrigation. Alain, our neighbouring farmer, had left a tractor running with its revolving back axle turning a pump A submerged pipe, joined to an oil drum floating on the lake, was linked to a network of other pipes which snaked from the banks of the lake to a large field of maize. Water was being pumped from the lake and being sprayed intermittently in a high, wide arc over the maize. The maize ( like corn on the cob ) was already well above head height and is used for feeding livestock.
We returned through another wheat field, yet to be harvested, and down a line of prune trees past a second, fuller lake which evidently had not yet been used for irrigation and back through Chateau Paradis vines. The chateau and its 16 hectares of vines are for sale. Last year the owner had been asking in the region of 1m euros but now she has dropped her price to 800,000 euros. We sampled some of the 2004 and thought it was excellent. The 2009 which can be found in some local supermarkets is not so good.
Back at the house the garden is coming along. The roses we planted last year are thriving as is the lavender. We have planted five hibiscus bushes and potted 7 hydrangeas in enormous terracotta pots. The bamboo plants we put in along the west boundary of the courtyard are shooting up nicely. A wistaria planted against the south facing wall of what were the pigstys is doing wonderfully and has climbed to a height of 3 metres. The two grass areas we seeded last year are a bit like the “curates egg” ie “good in parts”. They have needed constant sprinkling and certain patches have had to be reseeded.
We have two fruit trees, one producing wild cherries and the other wild plumbs which are too bitter to eat or cook but will be ideal for chutney. The two tall marronnier trees (chestnut) and one plane tree in the courtyard were lopped in May and are looking healthier, have let in more light and now allow us a better view of the pretty, stone cottage and its tall, sloping Perrigordine roof which borders the east side of the court yard. We are enjoying these long lazy summer evenings watching the garden mature and bloom.
Friday, 16 July 2010
Friday, 2 July 2010
Parrot English
We have owned our new house in the Dordogne for more than a year now. I am pleased to report all is well and we are very happy with the renovation work so far embarked upon which has included rewiring the house throughout.
The purpose of starting this blog was to give a “tongue - in - cheek” account of an ex-pat living in what is known in local parlance as Dordogneshire and which boasts the highest number of British homeowners in France.
It has not been a disappointing experience. In the main we have met an enthusiastic bunch of my fellow countrymen. They include a satellite TV expert from Yorkshire called Chris whose pastime is competing in marathon’s all over France including running half way up Mont Blanc, a retired old Etonian wine grower who claims to have put Bergerac on the map, a lady who has been successfully selling Farrow and Ball paints from her beautifully designed shop in Eymet, a charming bar owner in the same town called Rupert whose French is fluent and an architect with a beautiful Perigordine house near La Force and our neighbours Peter and Christine, a retired couple from Sussex who have lived in the Dordogne for 6 years. Christine helps put together the monthly freesheet called La Petite Gazette and they have both joined the Boule club in Bouniagues. Before that Peter had been running a bar on the Costa del Sol. Other Brits we have met in markets, shops, bars and restaurants have, in the main been friendly, helpful and enthusiastic about living in France.
There have, however, been some exceptions. There are a few who have made no effort to learn the language of the country they have chosen to reside and have made equally little effort to integrate with the French only mixing with their own. It is therefore not surprising that they find it difficult to understand or cope with living in a very different culture. To give you one example, last week my wife, Lyndia was looking for a house owned by Irish friends in a small village near Duras when she stopped at a roadside house to ask the way. She asked in French if the lady of the house could tell her the directions to Puysserampion, 3 kms away. The reply came back in English:
“Never heard of it.”
As her husband went off to look for a local map Lyndia said:
“Your husband is very kind”
“No he’s not”, she scowled.
“You must love it here, what a lovely position,” Lyndia replied.
“No we don’t .We hate it. We’ve got 38 parrots here and parrot food has doubled in price” came the retort.
Another example of someone living in glorious ignorance is recounted in the June issue of French Property News in the “Postbag” section. It reads as follows:
“In our village of Lauzerte, Tarn et garonne an Englishmen was seen going into every shop with a photograph of some nails asking loudly:
“”Avez- vous?”” to each shopkeeper, pointing at the picture.
“Our French language teacher Karen, who lives nearby, went over to help, and was amazed to find that he had actually lived in France for 7 years. When she asked if he would be interested in learning some French he replied:
““No need I’ve peaked!””
The purpose of starting this blog was to give a “tongue - in - cheek” account of an ex-pat living in what is known in local parlance as Dordogneshire and which boasts the highest number of British homeowners in France.
It has not been a disappointing experience. In the main we have met an enthusiastic bunch of my fellow countrymen. They include a satellite TV expert from Yorkshire called Chris whose pastime is competing in marathon’s all over France including running half way up Mont Blanc, a retired old Etonian wine grower who claims to have put Bergerac on the map, a lady who has been successfully selling Farrow and Ball paints from her beautifully designed shop in Eymet, a charming bar owner in the same town called Rupert whose French is fluent and an architect with a beautiful Perigordine house near La Force and our neighbours Peter and Christine, a retired couple from Sussex who have lived in the Dordogne for 6 years. Christine helps put together the monthly freesheet called La Petite Gazette and they have both joined the Boule club in Bouniagues. Before that Peter had been running a bar on the Costa del Sol. Other Brits we have met in markets, shops, bars and restaurants have, in the main been friendly, helpful and enthusiastic about living in France.
There have, however, been some exceptions. There are a few who have made no effort to learn the language of the country they have chosen to reside and have made equally little effort to integrate with the French only mixing with their own. It is therefore not surprising that they find it difficult to understand or cope with living in a very different culture. To give you one example, last week my wife, Lyndia was looking for a house owned by Irish friends in a small village near Duras when she stopped at a roadside house to ask the way. She asked in French if the lady of the house could tell her the directions to Puysserampion, 3 kms away. The reply came back in English:
“Never heard of it.”
As her husband went off to look for a local map Lyndia said:
“Your husband is very kind”
“No he’s not”, she scowled.
“You must love it here, what a lovely position,” Lyndia replied.
“No we don’t .We hate it. We’ve got 38 parrots here and parrot food has doubled in price” came the retort.
Another example of someone living in glorious ignorance is recounted in the June issue of French Property News in the “Postbag” section. It reads as follows:
“In our village of Lauzerte, Tarn et garonne an Englishmen was seen going into every shop with a photograph of some nails asking loudly:
“”Avez- vous?”” to each shopkeeper, pointing at the picture.
“Our French language teacher Karen, who lives nearby, went over to help, and was amazed to find that he had actually lived in France for 7 years. When she asked if he would be interested in learning some French he replied:
““No need I’ve peaked!””
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