60) A migrant from Africa

An exotic little visitor from North Africa turned  up on good Friday.  M. Sarkozy would not be pleased.  He has been complaining loudly about too many migrants coming to France.  This is slightly worrying for us (also being migrants), but I fear it is more the North Africans he has in his sights such as our colourful little Hoopoe (Upupa Epops).  

I suspect it is just electioneering bluster on the part of the incumbent President, who would presumably like to stay in his job given the levels of unemployment at the moment.   The election is only a couple of weeks away and the far right seems to be more of a significant force in France, so a bit of xenophobia from Sarkozy is presumably just a tactic to win over votes from Marine Le Pen (daughter of Jean-Marie).  I notice that Marine Le Pen, leader of the far right party, is yet another lawyer - why are so many politicians lawyers?

We saw and heard Hoopoes last year, but they are very shy and, try as we might, we were unable to get any but the very fuzziest of photos. This one came quite close to the house, attracted I fear by my newly sown grass seed.  Wikipedia, though, says it mainly eats insects and larvae.  It has a very long and very sharp beak which  it was jabbing quite violently into the ground (perhaps it wasn't after my grass seed).  It was considered sacred in ancient Egypt, and you can see why, it is a most spectacular little creature to which, sadly, the photos do it no justice at all.

No matter what the politicians say, I think it is a very welcome addition to the la Communauté française.

59) Orchids are out.....

It's a bit early for orchids, but we noticed today several like this one have come into flower in the garden at the back of the little house.  We are hoping to better our tally of thirteen different kinds spotted last year, so counting starts here.

58) Le printemps arrive

La terrace is in use again and doors are opened to let the warmth in rather than shutting out the cold.

Tulips (curly black ones planted last September), peppers and lemon trees (the latter two grown  from pips) have been  put outside from their shelters in the basement and the kitchen.

To my amazement and delight the daffs' I planted last autumn have not only come up, but are actually in flower.

The chives in our herb garden are going berserk.......

.....and the French tarragon is sprouting again after looking very sorry for itself all through the winter.

G has been weeding the irises and they are looking very pleased about it - last year we had an amazing display, even when they were semi-overgrown.

Having been nuked by the minus 16 degree temperatures about a month ago, the forsythia is just now beginning to recover.

The lilacs are budding up nicely and, along with irises, are our most prodigious plants - I think they must both like the chalk.  We are on pretty much pure chalk and as a consequence most of our flowers are blue.

The chalk also means, though, that we have lots of wild orchids and these too are all starting to appear.  Last year on walks around the gite where we were staying we photographed thirteen different varieties.  It will be interesting to see how many we have on our own land, and I thought I might do a series of watercolours to record them.

We now have jasmine outside the front door (which we can now open, having shaved off the bottom), and are all ready for summer.......

57) Into the wild

We have been trying to work out what land, exactly , we own.  Of course, we have maps and plans and the official cadastre but it is surprisingly difficult to determine where our boundary goes behind the woods.

We even have a photograph of the hand drawn cadastre of 1821 kept in the mayor's office (above), and very little seems to have changed since then.  There are clearly defined boundaries to the south (the road), the west (the stream) and to the east (our neighbour has put little white markers), but to the north, where the wood turns into scrub and it gets very very steep there is nothing.

One person's land just runs seamlessly into another's.  It is of negligible value so presumably nobody really cares.  But curiously, oddly, and I don't know why - I do.

I decided therefore, to go off piste on our walk and climb the steep hill.  It was much steeper than I had imagined.  And much much higher. About two thirds of the way up I began to wonder if this was really such a brilliant idea for an inveterate sufferer of vertigo.  But I couldn't possibly have gone back as that would have meant I had to look down.

As I was on my own, I began to wonder what would happen if I got stuck or, even worse, injured. Christopher McCandless in  the film "Into the Wild" came to mind more than once.

The place is infested with wild animals, like this oversized fox I spotted (briefly) in our field the other day.  I assume it was a fox but, apparently, wolves too are making a comeback in France.  I've read that they are coming over the Alps from Italy.  Admittedly we are quite a long way from the Alps (about 375 miles), but you never know......... 

I battled on, putting all thoughts of dangerous carnivores to one side until, eventually, I reached the top.  Suddenly I was on a high ridge between two valleys, with stunning views in every direction. 

I still couldn't quite work out where our land began and ended,  But, without doubt, part of it included part of this ridge and now I want to build a summer house up there - on top of the world.

56) Work continues

For the past week or so we have been concentrating on the insulation (rather intriguingly called isolation in French).  It does, though, require quite a lot of preparatory work, and the likelihood is that by the time it is in the weather will have warmed up and we won't need it.

As well as constructing a framework of litteaux (battens), on which to staple the insulation, we have also had tio try and block up the numerous gaps and holes where the birds get in.  Our entire roof seems to be an enormous aviary or wildlife sanctuary.  Vast quantities of hay, feathers and other comfy (but combustible) material have been  removed from nooks and crannies within the roof space - and the main culprits seem to be les rougequeues noir (or black redstarts in English).

Apparently these rather endearing little birds start building their nests in March so it is now a race against time to try and block off potential entry points to the roof space.  Despite them being what appear to be the most common birds in France, on 17 avril 1981 they were given national protection and, as a consequence, it is interdit "to destroy them, mutilate, capture or remove them, to intentionally disturb them or to introduce them to another habitat, also to destroy or remove their eggs and their nests and to destroy, alter or degrade their habitat.  Whether they are alive or dead, it is also forbidden to transport, peddle, make use of, detain, sell or to buy them" (approximate translation of official edict).  Pretty comprehensive - and God knows what protection is afforded to bats here in France.

Once the battens go on (and after having blocked up potential rougequeues noir entry points) on goes the rather clever insulation we managed to find (after much searching).

The three Velux windows are now in and what a difference they make.

The electrician has been putting in his wiring, or more accurately, his gaines which are the plastic trunking pipes that the wires go in (later).  This necessitated us fixing up some somewhat challenging temporary lighting.

Whilst putting in his gaines, he made an unholy mess of our kitchen (again), and brought in some serious equipment to enable him to make a serious amount of NOISE and DUST ("Madame n'aime pas la  poussière!" he remarked jovially).

The expression " using a sledgehammer to crack a nut" kept coming to mind.........

Because we had to clear the kitchen and utility room, the sitting room became chaotic (again) as well.

Next we got back one of our English builders to help us put the plasterboard on the ceiling.  Not an easy task (they are really quite heavy and, at 2.7m by 1.2m, very unwieldy - particularly halfway up a ladder).  However, we developed a methodology which worked well.  This involved three step ladders, with G in the middle and the builder and me on either side.  As the two of us carried the board up the outside ladders, we then balanced it on G's head whilst we manoeuvred it into position.  Finally the builder and I screwed the board to the new ceiling joists while G passed us the screws.  It was such a successful operation we are considering taking out a patent (though G did complain of a sore neck afterwards).

The other tricky part was playing "hunt the gaine" once the plasterboard was in place.  We drilled a 65mm circular hole in the board and then had to try and fish out the gaine.  Sixty five millimetres is the right size for a standard light fitting (we have been assured), but it is just the wrong size for your hand (if you are older than about five).  In the end we made a very cunning hook out of some stiff wire which resulted in success every time (except one, when we had to take down the board part way).

We have not, though, allowed all this strenuous activity to dampen the pleasures of living in France.

We still have spectacular sunsets from the terrace..............

............and the wild hellebores flowering in our wood are a welcome portent of Spring.

55) St Valentine's day

We had a sprinkling of snow again this morning, but we were determined that this was not going to thwart our plans for Valentine's day.  We assumed neither the plumbers nor the electricians would turn up again.  And we were right.  They seem to have an anxiety bordering on paranoia about snow, however little of it there is.  But at least it meant we had the day to ourselves.

We wanted to go to the (apparently famous) truffle market in Lalbenque about half an hour's drive away.  Being convinced we have truffles in our own wood, we wanted to check out the competition and see how things were done.  It only operates in the truffle season (November to March) and takes place each Tuesday at either 2.00 pm (14.00 in French) or 2.30 depending on which notice you happen to see.  If you are serious about buying truffles (and you have to be seriously rich to do so), it is essential you get to the market just as it opens so you get the pick of what's on offer.  Presumably those in the know do actually know which time is correct (and perhaps it is they who are deliberately putting out misinformation.....).

On the way we suddenly saw what looked like a series of spectacular waterfalls.  Then we realised they weren't moving.  We jammed on the brakes and jumped out of the car to look (once the rather rude and bad tempered man in the juggernaut had swerved round us and was safely out of sight).

They were solid ice.  The photographs do them very little justice, but they really were amazing.  It would have been worth the trip just to have seen this incredible sight.

Someone had mentioned a restaurant not far from Lalbanque, so the night before I had searched the internet to see if I could find it.  It was all very confusing.  I thought it was at a place called Bach (pronounced "bash"), but of course mostly it came up with stuff about the German musical dynasty.  I kept being re-directed to le Bourg and the only restaurant in Bach seemed to be Les Voyageurs, which then didn't exist when you searched for it (it also only seemed to do pig's trotters).

Eventually I found a site which mentioned a restaurant in Bach and gave a telephone number.  Annoyingly, you had to join up as a member of some sort of gourmet club to get any details.  I tried to do this but it didn't seem to work.  Exasperated, I rang the number to book a table anyway.  To my astonishment they still had a table available.  As it was a special truffle market day in nearby Lalbenque, and St Valentine's day, I thought this was a very bad sign (but perhaps not surprising if all they did was pig's trotters).

Actually, it turned out to be a wonderful find.  We had a four course meal for 15 euros each and a bottle of wine for just 7 euros.  Every course was delicious and the staff were delightful.  It was not "haute cuisine" but really good French home cooking, everything made with a great deal of care and thought.  The emphasis was on the flavours rather than fancy presentations, and every dish tasted delicious.

When we came to pay, I said jokingly to G that I hoped they took credit cards as we had no cash on us.  They didn't. Monique could not have been less concerned.  We said we would go into Lalbenque and get out some cash, but she wouldn't hear of it.  Simply pay next time you come she said endearingly.

We then got into conversation with her and it turned out that Jamie Oliver had recently been in, doing some sort of tour of places you could get to within three hours of London.  He had been (like us) on a truffle trail.  As a result her place had apparently been written up in the Sunday Times last weekend so she was, I think, generally rather chuffed with all things British (including, it seemed, us and our lack of money).  As we said goodbye (au revoir) to our new best friend, we wondered how many restaurants in England you could walk out of without paying, leaving no contact details or even having shown any identification.

Needless to say, by the time we finally got to Lalbenque, the truffle market was pretty well over (I suspect it started at 2.00).  There were quite a few shady looking characters milling about.  And it occurred to me that they had a remarkable resemblance to antique dealers forming an illegal "ring" in the mould of Lovejoy.

Most of the stalls were empty and the truffle dealers had withdrawn into the cafes and bars to spend their earnings.

One dealer still had a basket of the black gold left (at over 1,000 euros a kilo they are well deserving of the name), but  we had been warned that you had to be very careful what you bought as some traders mixed up the truffles with lumps of mud and the like  .His did look rather brown (rather than black) and had an uncanny resemblance to dog turds.

We didn't buy any truffles but we did find some saucisson sec which we are rather partial to and which is a speciality of the nearby Auvergne (it's remarkable how many Frenchmen you find who really do have a droopy moustache and wear a beret).

We came back a different way.  No more frozen waterfalls, but a very fine example of cabane en pierre seche was spotted on the side of the road in the national park of the Causse de Quercy.  There is one of these very near us as well.  They were built as temporary shelters for shepherds and other farm workers, as well as for storing animal feed or manure.

They are known locally as capitelles or borries and are the most basic form of building.  There is no mortar, no corner stones and no beams or lintels.  They are simply made from the stones found in the field in which they are built - and their equivalents are found all over the world.

They are often on the roadside and, being France, there is almost always an ugly pylon right next to them.  With modern technology, though, the pylon with adjoining wires was made to disappear (rather like our electricians and plumbers........)