7) Last day house hunting this trip

12thC church built by wayward monastic brotherhood?

We found this lovely little 12^th century church in an isolated valley, just outside Figeac.  I can only imagine that a particular group of monks fell out with the Abbot in Figeac and decided to set up camp down the road.  Unfortunately the door to the church was locked so we were not able to glean any of its history (we therefore had to use our imagination instead).  There seemed to be some remains of old monastic buildings, but there was no village anywhere to be seen.  Instead there was a large cemetery next to the church, and thus we imagined that a similar fate had befallen the villagers as those of Bruniquel, except that the buildings had all disappeared as well (presumably they were not particularly well built, or they were built of mud and they now just blended into the landscape).

A not very monkish representation

 On walking round the church we found a very un-churchlike looking object that we haven’t quite been able to work out yet (some French version of a Sheela na Gig?).  Given a lively imagination, there were all manner of interesting possible explanations for this rather wayward and erotic little carving (and none of them compatible with the supposedly celibate life of a monk). Perhaps this was the reason the monks had to move out of the monastery in Figeac, and the stonemason was having a bit of a laugh.

Our viewing today (Remy assured us the owner would negotiate on the price)

 Just one house to view today, and again snow and sub zero temperatures.  This time, though, our (French) estate agent, Remy, had no fear of snow at all.  We arranged to meet outside the church in the nearest village (so we wouldn’t have to be given directions to the house itself).  He asked if we wanted to follow him or leave our car in the village and go with him.  Thinking it would save us some fuel, we decided to go with him.  BIG mistake.  Although his car was only two wheel drive, he drove at breakneck speed down the middle of the road, clearly oblivious of the most basic laws of physics.

Remy tries to find the right key

 At one point Remy did remark that it was very slidey, with a wide Gallic grin.  “Slippery” Georgi and I corrected in unison, then we both shut our eyes again. Eventually, somehow we managed to get there without sliding off the road down a ravine or colliding with an oncoming vehicle, and the house was enchanting.

We then proceeded to go through the ritual of find-the-right-key-while-the-clients-freeze-to-death-outside-in-the-cold.  I don’t know whether it is that there are so few people visiting houses in France or whether agents have some sort of collective key dyslexia, but they never seem to be able to get into the house when you arrive.  There are then numerous mobile phone calls back to the office or to the owner asking which key goes where and which way to turn it.  One poor girl couldn’t get one of the keys out of the lock, and wrenched it so hard she managed to break the fob.  I was able to do a gallant rescue job on this occasion because we had come across the same problem at one of our Gites – the key only came out in the horizontal position not vertically (presumably a subtle confusing tactic against burglars who happen to get hold of a key).

The monstrous church in Decazville

 We realized we weren’t far from Decazville, which was one of the larger towns in the area which we hadn’t yet seen.  As we had no more properties to view we decided to go and check it out.  Before we came I had looked at it on Google earth and it had seemed very uninspiring.  When we got there and saw it in reality, it was very uninspiring.  Having seen a sign for a Mining Museum, as well as what looked like the peak of a slag heap in the distance, we came to the conclusion it had probably been a mining town.  I always think it is very sad the way mining towns are always so sad.  It is even sadder that they seem to remain sad long after all the mining has gone.  Sadly, Decazville was no exception.

It did have a most enormous and (unusually for France) ugly church.  It was not very old, quite un-monk-like, and I imagine was built by the mine owners who made vast quantities of money.  Presumably it was a sort of penance for the misery they inflicted, as well as a tool for ensuring the workers were subdued and God fearing rather than Bolshie and revolting.  Not only was the church ugly, but the good Burghers of Decazville must have thought, soon after it had been built, that it was not imposing enough.  In not-quite-matching brick, you could see they had added several more metres to the (already enormous and quite out of proportion) tower.

Blood stained Christmas tree in Decazville

Continuing the theme of the town, even the official Christmas decoration was sad.  They seemed to have first sprayed the perfectly good (real) Christmas trees white, then with the delicacy of a graffiti artist, sprayed bits of them red so they appeared to be bleeding.  Not very Christmassy, unless there was perhaps a subtle reference to the passion in there somewhere.  We decided Decazville was probably not a place we wanted to make as a base and set off back for the gite.

The ultimate dream house - Southfork a la francaise

On the way we spotted what your average modern French couple apparently dream of as the ultimate home.  Southfork,  a la francaise.  The thing that you really have to be careful about is that planning permission seems to be entirely in the say of the Mayor.  If one of his chums wants to build one of these in the middle of a green field site, slap bang in the middle of your stunning view over the countryside, it will probably happen.  Moral of the story – make friends with the Mayor (and buy as much of the view as you can afford).  Another answer is to buy a house without a view, so that it can’t be ruined.

Airfield near Villeneuve for Biggles enthusiasts

On the way back to the gite we also noticed a handy airfield for those wanting to visit us by light aircraft.  My knowledge of small aeroplanes is quite limited, but I did think that the grass looked a bit long.  On the positive side there do seem to be various hangers where the plane could be stored to prevent it being stolen by some intrepid thief with a pilot’s licence.  Note the wind sock on the left, which the pilots might just be able to spot when they are halfway down the airstrip, and the clever planting of leylandii to hide the rather ugly hangers on the right.  Quite how one would distinguish this from a farmer's field at 2,000 feet, I'm not sure.

Pere Noel abseiling from an upstairs window

Somebody has obviously made a fortune selling miniaturised Santas, as they are found hanging from windows all over France.  They do look slightly strange and, in some cases rather desperate, as they hang precariously on the side of houses in a kind of state of suspended animation.

We, though, are off to join in the festivities with a couple of nights in Chartres, visiting the Christmas market.  We are staying in a B&B and so may well not have internet access.  Updates  will therefore continue as and when circumstances allow.