Our House is Certainly Not in Paris Read online

  2

  Two Lives Mirrored

  In what also seems to be developing as a recurring theme and the mirroring of our two lives on either side of the world, our weeks before departure are consumed by renovating chaos. Not only are we in the process of now getting prices from Jean-Claude for the salle de bain window in Cuzance, oh what a surprise, our bathroom at home is now on a fine timeline. Now why does that not surprise me too? Despite the fact that Stuart has been working on our bathroom for literally months, it is suddenly imperative to get it fin before we leave. I am adamant that I absolutely do not want to return to a renovating site. Are we not, after all, about to embark on renovating in our other life? And so, we have found a tiler, a huge concession for Stuart to outsource any renovating task at all.

  However, the tiler seems to be having an inordinate number of days away from the site. Meanwhile, now here’s yet another surprise, just like last year, with only weeks remaining, it’s time to try to sell our car. Weeks pass without a single call. My stress level builds. Stuart, as always, remains implacably calm. As if this is not quite enough, with a matter of just a few weekends left, we organise to have a skip one weekend to get rid of all the bathroom debris. To add to all this, Stuart has two, all-day bridge competitions and we are still sourcing and pricing carpet for two bedrooms. The aim is to have all restored for our return from France. Quite frankly, it all seems absurdly ambitious. This would however, seem to be the opinion of only one of us...

  Some weeks before our return, Stuart also announces that he will have to contact Piscine Ambiance to clean the pool to have it ready for our arrival. I let him know that I will email Albert to mow the grass as near as possible to our return date. Its freshly mown appearance will hopefully be a stunning juxtaposition to our other experiences on previous arrivals, of an overgrown, rambling, utterly neglected jardin. A part of us never ceases to marvel at the fact that we are making arrangements for the piscine and jardin. Ordinary people, an extraordinary life, is never far from my mind.

  A month before we leave, winter hits us with all the mighty force of the season we are soon to escape. Cyclonic winds, powerful surging seas and deluge after deluge of driving rain beats upon the house. When the electricity is finally restored, I log on to my email and am transported to our small corner of France. Albert has sent photos of all his latest work in our jardin, including mowing swathes through the waist-high grass.

  He tells me that rabbits have eaten two of the lavenders that he planted in spring. There is also sad news as one of our graceful silver birches has to be cut down or it will fall on our new barn roof. As the rain lashes the house and the wind roars ferociously, it’s hard to conjure up summer days in France.

  This year’s plan is to get the paving well underway so we are no longer sitting in weeds, rocks and rubble. There is always a plan, whether it is our renovation at home or the long list of work in Cuzance. I discuss with Stuart whether I should get a quote from Albert to pave around the piscine or at least a quote to help him with the labour . Doing this will free up a considerable amount of Stuart’s precious time. We already know from our vast renovating experiences, that a projected two-week plan to pave will in fact consume a month – no doubt in blistering heat.

  Perhaps if Albert does the paving, we can instead work together on our petite maison. I don’t need to even be there, to have the list ready in my mind, of what still needs to be done in the transformation of Pied de la Croix to completely become a welcoming home, full of charm and ambience. I must remind myself again though, not to be consumed by the thought of lists. However, I do know that the conduit needs fixing in the spare chambre as well as requiring new skirting boards. There is still painting to be done and this year – next? – the wall needs to be knocked out from the dark, box-like toilet to open it up into the bathroom and introduce a false element of light. While there is still no window in the bathroom, nevertheless the illusion should work. I have learnt many renovating skills over the years and have surprised myself endlessly by how much I in fact know and how much I can tackle alone. Conduits and putting in skirting boards are not in that category. As my mind ticks over long before our return, I realise that if Stuart’s days are consumed by paving, I too will feel compelled to work. What though can I manage this year by myself? Not much it would seem. Ah, the jardin. How could I have possibly overlooked my return to that formidable task?

  As with our previous discussions the year before related to the car, the piscine and the new roof on the barn, the element of utter surrealism adds a strong layer of incredulity that this has become our wonderful other life. I know that I will never, in all the future years to come when we make plans to return to Cuzance, stop being full of a sense of wonder that this now has become our French life. I reflect on the decades and the journey that have brought us to this remarkable point. The early days of marriage when we packed our sandwiches for a rare day out as we couldn’t afford to buy lunch.

  Our first year together in Canberra, when Stuart’s only income was our weekly market stall at Gorman House. We sold kilim cushion covers that we had shipped back from Turkey when we lived there, met and got married. I still remember the penetrating cold of those early winter mornings; your breath itself fog in the air as we scraped the ice from the windscreen to set off in the enveloping darkness to the markets. How we stamped our numb feet and rubbed our hands to try to warm up as we waited for a sale, that sometimes, never came all day.

  Meanwhile, like the last few summers, we start emailing Stuart’s brother John and our friend Liz in Wales, to take our ‘bookings’ for their arrival in Cuzance. I email Liz and say:

  My thoughts when I am dreaming, often turn to you and hopefully, time together under the walnut tree when the days are warm and balmy. Books in hand, the piscine will tempt us to cast them aside for a while, then a rosé or two, followed by one of your beautiful meals when you do spoil us so. I do look forward very much to your pears in red wine and this year, I will not work or renovate your room when you are there!

  We will have outings, we will buy perfume in the chemist in Martel, we will linger over our choices in the patisserie, we will explore Isabella’s petite shop, and – we have an enchanting restaurant already lined up to take you to!

  So, are you dreaming too during your wild, wet days in Wales?

  In reply, Liz says:

  My dear Susan,

  How lovely. I now have all those images in my head and time won’t go quickly enough!

  I don’t know if we will manage the pears because I’m coming earlier in the season and they may not be ripe on your orchard trees. However, I’m sure I’ll manage some other delights.

  I love cooking in your kitchen in France, it’s such a social place to be. Shopping, cooking, relaxing, swimming, the possibility of the odd brocante... and I’ll only have a few days to squash these heady pursuits into. I’m so looking forward to it.

  After just a few years, life in Cuzance is taking on a steady and comforting rhythm.

  3

  La Piscine in Peril

  How would we manage without the internet? It is not possible to imagine all that we have achieved without instant access to information, sometimes information that throws us into a spin. Not only did we buy a car by email, install a pool by email, and organise a new gardener by email, we also had to shoot emails back and forth rapidly in a frantic effort to save our piscine in the big freeze. While at home, most of the state was experiencing severe floods, the European winter was one of the worst in memory.

  Life at home was constantly awash in a never-ending torrent of rain that consumed our lives and conversation. Deep, deep snow and treacherous ice however, was not on our personal weather radar.

  Meanwhile, throughout the year, every few days Stuart logged on to check the weather in France. This was mainly out of simple curiosity to see how the seasons were unfolding on the other side of the world, especially in our own special little place, Cuzance. It was primarily so he could an
nounce to me the extremes of temperature and we would marvel from afar at the depths to which the temperature frequently plummeted. That is, until the winter of the big freeze; suddenly, sheer curiosity turned to extreme consternation. The temperature became an entirely different matter; it became personal – it was an inconceivable minus eighteen in Cuzance. The piscine was in peril.

  Stuart sent an email to Piscine Ambiance. We needed to know urgently if our pool was at risk, not simply of freezing but if the pump was adequate, if it was likely to break down and if the new pool was likely to crack... As the previous summer had been mostly cool and damp, we had literally only used la piscine on a couple of occasions. It was not worth thinking about the possibility of our pool, sitting all alone in an empty orchard, possibly near the end of its days – frozen, broken, cracked and spilling a river of water across our rustique jardin. So now we had to call Piscine Ambiance as well, organising the time by email to ensure we were able to speak to someone in the office.

  This time it was not the president or Yannick or Nicholas, as in all our previous email communication the year before. It was a new young English girl, Hannah. She calmly confirmed that yes, indeed it was imperative to send a technician immediately.

  Naturally the night that the call is arranged for, Stuart is out playing bridge. He assures me it will be a straightforward matter. Naturally it’s not. Hannah asks me a series of questions about the pump, the switch and the mechanism’s operation. I vaguely recall that Stuart has told me the switch is set to go on for two hours a day. I frantically scribble notes and questions to leave for Stuart when he gets in late at night after bridge. At midnight, he too has to call Hannah to sort out the complexities of the long distance piscine. Now why doesn’t that surprise me that he has to step in after all to sort it out?

  The next morning before work, I hastily check with him what’s happening to save la piscine.

  He fills me in and lets me know that a technician will go to Cuzance as soon as possible – snow and ice permitting – to check on the pool and the switch. I hesitate to ask how much this will cost. The euro conversion takes a while for me to calculate. Once I manage to do so, it’s not an attractive calculation, especially first thing in the morning. It is now that I raise the question – somewhat hesitantly – of why the technician who came on site to brief Stuart on the complexities of operating and maintaining a pool – especially long distance – hadn’t raised this critical point. As it transpires, he most certainly did.

  However, and yes, I can understand this, it was on one of the few significantly hot days the previous summer that the technician came to discuss la piscine’s maintenance and operation. Yes, the issue of extremes in temperature had been discussed, including the possibility of snow and ice. On a blazing hot summer’s day, such a thought however, was inconceivable. Stuart chose not to have the switch installed that would prevent la piscine being in peril. And so, the technician ventured out on the icy perilous roads to save la piscine. As for the water pipes in the petite maison, on our return, we knew that would be another matter entirely.

  4

  The Moon, Whales and Stale Bread

  When the whales return each June, swimming north to warmer waters, it signals our return to France. The first winter moon is always spectacular. It shines in a bright river of light across the ocean. As the darkness of winter creeps in ever earlier, the silver path of the moon is in a straight line to our kitchen bench. I gaze out at it as I stand preparing dinner. The next full moon I see, peeps instead in a bright yellow orb, inside our Cuzance bedroom window, late at night.

  Winter seems far away once we arrive in Cuzance. Yet I know winters were a harsh time in days gone by in Pied de la Croix. I know this from the newspaper tightly packed into every single crevice of the old farmhouse. It lined each step of the stairs up to the attic and the gap between each outside door and the floorboards. One day, as I am tearing out this tangible sign of the bitter cold seeping in, Jean-Claude tells me about Madame de la Croix’s attempts to stave off the icy fingers of winter. He kneels down and shows me how the old oak wood is exceptionally smooth and shiny in some places.

  Those gleaming spots are near cracks that are wider than others in the floorboards. Why do you think that is Jean-Claude asks me? He likes to test my knowledge. I tell him I have absolutely no idea and couldn’t possibly hazard a guess.

  When he reveals the reason, to say I am astonished is a huge understatement.

  Apparently, Madame de la Croix, used to roll up small pieces of stale pain and then stuff the bread in the cracks to fill them up. The romanticism of days long gone dims with such tales that betray the ferocity of winter and a life lived on the land. I now have two summers, two rhythms and two lives. Yet the spirit of Madame de la Croix lives on in the dusty corners of our rooms.

  Actually, while it seems far from Paris, in reality our petite maison is just a swift four-hour train trip on the TGV from Brive-la-Gaillarde to Gare d’Austerlitz. However, while in Cuzance, being in our petite village in the Lot, it is like being buried deep in the country. Rabbits bounce along the road right outside Pied de la Croix and squirrels scamper over the moss-covered stone wall opposite the French doors in our kitchen.

  While the alluring streets of Paris beckon brightly, it’s just the way we like it. There is an encompassing sense of being far away from the world. Our friends find it even more so when they arrive to stay and to their dismay, they discover there is not even a boulangerie. They try to hide their disappointment, for after all, is not a boulangerie the quintessential essence of life in a petite village in France? On the eve of our annual departure to our petite maison, the enquiry from friends and colleagues is always, ‘When are you going to Paris?’ It seems that Paris is synonymous with going to France. We gloss over the fact that most times we simply land at Charles de Gaulle and the most we see of Paris is the metro.

  While we no longer have a desire to be tourists in the other famous cities of the world, the romance and beauty of Paris will never lose its captivating charm. Yet given the choice of a Parisian apartment, or our old farmhouse, there is no question in my mind that I would choose Cuzance any day.

  Apart from this year when we had a morning in Paris before catching the train, on the last leg of our journey from the other side of the world to Cuzance, we have not spent any time in Paris for five years. However, Paris will always be a city that has captured our hearts in a way that no other has.

  Our other life in France, becomes even more astonishing when we start to discuss the details of how we can also spend a few days in Paris this summer. We can leave our Renault at the station and voila, arrive in Paris for déjeuner. When we had stayed in the Melia Colbert Boutique Hotel, five years previously, after I won a trip to Paris and five nights in luxury, we had discovered a small hotel round the corner that we liked the look of for future Parisian sojourns. Rather than search through my diary to unearth the name, Stuart goes on Google street view and indeed, just round the corner from the Melia Colbert, he finds the small, authentic Les Degres De Notre Dame Hotel. A virtual walk along the street shows a number of charming bistros and the comments posted for the hotel make it all the more enticing. Such is the immediacy of the internet, that from the reviews posted, we are able to even decide that Room 51 will be ours if it is available. It has a sweeping view of the Notre Dame Cathedral. As always, my mind works overtime, and my bag is packed for what I will wear in Paris. While in fact these plans do not eventuate, part of the joy is all in the dreaming, and, the plan will be in place for another year. Once again we are mindful of how privileged we are to know that we will indeed return. A night in Paris on our return leg home, will actually be imperative in the future, indeed, more than a mere luxury, to avoid the mayhem that ensues on this return trip and our almost doomed departure...

  5

  A Morning In Paris

  The very phrase, ‘A morning in Paris’, conjures up so many images and expectations. I was conscious long before our pre
cious morning, that we would have to carefully watch the time – or once, again there would be a recurring theme and we may well see a train slipping away right in front of our eyes. On our first trip to Paris, one of the very first things I learnt, was that the last day of June is the start of solde season. Tempting as it is to be in Paris, the very morning the sales start, I promise Stuart not to be sidetracked and slip into any sales – just ‘for a few minutes’. He tells me that I can always meet him at Gare d’Austerlitz if I want to shop while he wanders the streets of Paris, soaking up the atmosphere in a few short hours.

  I decide against this tempting offer for several reasons, despite the fact that arriving on the very first solde day seems too good to be true. One, I have a terrible sense of direction. We both know that I would be highly unlikely to find the station. Two, even if I did; it’s likely that I would board the wrong train and end up far away in Barcelona or Milan. actually, perhaps not a bad idea after all for solde season. I also remember only too clearly catching the train home from Sydney one day – Stuart had boarded the train, the doors closed and I was left standing forlornly on the platform.

  So, thoughts of solde delights are reluctantly cast aside. After all, Stuart has promised that this year (for after all we have also once again been renovating at home), that our first week will be one of rest and relaxation. He has enticed me away from thoughts of shopping in Paris, with a possible solde trip to Limoges, a new destination. Last year we didn’t even get to the sales in nearby Brive until they were well into their third week.