Once Upon A Time In London

This is the tale of the adventures of a native Oregonian in London.

31 October 2007

Pardon My French, Chapter 4: Lounging in La Rochelle


Sprawling blissfully under the golden sun on the Bay of Biscany lies La Rochelle. It's pale stone walls and blue washed shutters bask in the late morning glow. It's a laid back and happy sort of city, content in it's antiquity.



'Rochelle' means 'small rock'. An odd sort of name to give such a pretty town, but then again, the US has a Little Rock, so I guess the French can have The Small Rock, if they want.



The city is guarded by two stone sentinels, one on either side of the straight which leads into the city's port. It's a truly "green" city, having started in the 1970s (long before anyone else thought of it) to expand it's green spaces and strive for a better standard of urban living. Bicycles abound, and it's the first city that started using electric vehicles for public transport. It shows. The city is clean and glowing with good health and prosperity.



We begin our day in La Rochelle with Mick (Jimbo's dad) treated us to rich, dark coffee in one of the many little cafes. It's a good start to the day, which I follow up with another trial of croissant. This one is somewhat better than the one I tried in Chassenieul. A bit crispier on the outside and smoother on the inside. I revel in the buttery flavour melting across my tongue. Oh, joy. I will definitely miss this little French tradition!








We discover that all the museums are pretty much shut for the day, so we wander about snapping photos of various interesting things and enjoying the company and the beauty of the day. Well, to be perfectly honest, Jimbo snaps the pictures whilst I order him about. I make him snap photos of apartment buildings, empty mansions, and interesting flowers. He's a good sport, though I'm pretty sure he's convinced I'm absolutely crazy.



We stopped for lunch at a lovely little cafe down some side street we happened upon. One of the waitresses spoke a bit of English and was able to explain the daily special to us. It sounded nice, so we all ordered it.





It turned out to be a lovely bit of grilled beef served with chips (fries), salad with a lovely dressing, and some French green beans. The beans were a bit overcooked for my taste, but the beef was gorgeous, the salad excellent, and the fries quite good. We all thoroughly enjoyed the meal and took our time over it in the French manner. We didn't make it last two hours, but we did our level best.



After lunch we wandered around town a bit more and did some shopping. I picked up a lovely perfume that I'm actually not allergic to. Jimbo bought some sweets at one of the chocolatieres to take back to the girls at work.




On our way home, we drove through the tiny town of Perigny and stopped for a walk along the beach. It was my first visit to the beach since moving to the UK, and I'd missed it sorely. There's something so rejuvenating about the sand and the ocean.


On the way home we swung into Rochefort (as in the cheese) for a bite of dinner. Unfortunately we discovered another French oddity: no one serves food until 7pm. We were able to find a pub that served sandwiches, which was fine with us. Renewed by our simple repast, we headed home for the evening, exhausted yet exhilarated. Ready for our next adventure.

Casa de Meliza y Whaite

I decided to take a brief hiatus from blogging about France in order to post pics of the new pad as promised about a century ago. No snide comments from the peanut gallery.




I apologise in advance for the dubious quality. I really must invest in a digital camera.



Alright, first on the left we have the lounge, aka living room. It's actually about half again as big as what you see here (there's more to the back).

As you can see, it is graced by a very interesting, though not entirely original, fireplace. Though the fireplace IS original to the era of about 1930, give or take a couple of years. It's taken some getting used to, but I think it's grown on us. Or at least it's grown on me. Unfortunately, it doesn't actually work.



To the right you can see a rather dark image of the kitchen. Which is odd, as the kitchen is rather bright. Once again, the kitchen is actually double the size of what you see.





You can vaguely make out the washing machine and oven. Very vaguely. Everything is brand new and it's a lovely room to work in. Lot's of baking going on in there! :-)




Unfortunately, none of the pictures of the bedrooms, office or bathrooms came out properly. I don't know why. Maybe I'll shoot them again once I have a proper camera.

In any case, there are three double bedrooms. Michelle's and mine are of equal size and the smaller we are using as an office. There are also two bathrooms. The downstairs one is mine and has the shower, toilet and sink all in one room. The upstairs one is Michelle's and is actually two separate rooms, a water closet (toilet only) and bathroom (sink and tub with shower).



Here's our rooftop terrace all decked out for our housewarming party 15 September (as seen through the conservatory). As you can see, it was a lovely, warm day. We can't wait until next summer to make more use of the terrace! The plan is to put up some lattice work around the sides for privacy, and some plants for greenery. Eventually we want to put some furniture there as well... a table and chairs for coffee in the mornings and dinner in the evenings! And Michelle fancies a bit of sun bathing! :-)




And here's the party people in the conservatory! Some of our peeps from the housewarming party. From the left is Jo, Simon, Clive and Michelle! A good time was had by all, and Michelle and I feel truly blessed in our new pad! Yay, us!

29 October 2007

Pardon My French, Chapter 3: La Chateau

So, we decided to head out of Angouleme and swing by Rochefoucauld on our way home. Rochefoucauld being the place where we'd seen an absolutely amazing chateau in the morning on our way to Angouleme. Sue had assured us it was worth a visit.



Getting out of Angouleme proved somewhat more complicated than one might think.



"Which way?" Jimbo asked me.




"Huh," said I, with great intelligence. "Well, we were going uphill to get into town, so one assumes we would need to go downhill to get out." I thrust a finger in the general down-hill direction. "Thataway."



So, Jimbo drove thataway. Except that wasn't the way. Well, it was the way in that it led us to the intersection that led back down the hill from whence we came, unfortunately, it was a one way street. So, we went thisaway. And then we the t'otherway. And after a few colourful words and some very narrowly missed sideswipes, we finally made it out of Angouleme alive and intact.


I'm still not entirely sure how we did it. I know there was a sign that said "touts directions". Jimbo declared it meant "all directions". I found out later he was guessing. Great, we risked life and limb on a guess. Then again, it worked, so there you go.



Now, when I think of the word "chateau", I've always rather imagined a cute little Alpine chalet with curlicued eaves and a red door. I wasn't exactly prepared for the realization that a chateau is a actually, well, a castle. Probably I could have found out if I'd bothered to look up the translation of the word, but it just never occured to me, really.



Chateau de la Rochefoucauld is an amazing example of the chateau. The first fortification was raised in 980AD! And the towers were built in the 1400s. The former Duchess of La Rochefoucauld (the current Duke's mother) has returned the chateau to it's former glory. Several of the rooms are open to the public and have be decorated as they would have been a couple of hundred years ago. (If you want to learn more about the chateau, go to http://www.chateau-la-rochefoucauld.com/_eng/histoire/histoire.asp.)




The Blue Salon is one of those rooms (named because of it's blue walls). A chandelier drips crystals in the centre of the room, a one of the chateau's former inhabitants glares sternly from the wall. The furnishings are all in a delicately fussy style with blue and white upholstry. They seem somehow out of place in the dark room, as though one should find dark, looming furniture instead.








The room where the knights used to hang out is a suitably manly sort of room. Austere to the extreme with a scarred wooden table and large fireplace. The few bits of furniture are simple, dark and manly. No fussy business there. No coats of armour, either, but one can't have everything.





What those kights DID have was an amazing view out their front door. Lucky knights.














Of course, one of my favourite places, naturally, was the library. There are four libraries spread about the place containing a sum total of 21,000 books! All of them seriously old. Most in French, though I did find the writings of our illustrious relative... James Fennimore Cooper (that would be the Meliza side).




I found the curling staircase particularly beautiful and impressive. It was made in Paris and imported to the chateau. The wooden treads are worn by hundreds of feet over centuries of time. How many lords and ladies traversed those steps?



After our tour of the chateau, we leave suitably impressed. A gorgeous place, Chateau de la Rochefoucauld.
We head back to Sue and Colin's for a delicious dinner of fresh veg from Sue's garden, as well as pork from the local market. YUMMY!
Next stop... La Rochelle!


26 October 2007

Pardon My French, Chapter 2: A Day In Angouleme

Our plan of action for day one of exploration was to hit the nearby city of Angouleme. I use the term "city" rather loosely as there are approximately 52,000 inhabitants of Angouleme. A city by European standards, but perhaps not so much by US standards. You say tomahto I say tomayto.



We started the day off right with coffee and cold cereal followed by toast smothered in Sue's delicious homemade jams and some of the most gorgeous creamed honey I'd ever tasted! Apparently happy French bees make yummy honey. Colin declared he wanted to start some hives. We had a discussion on my vast knowledge of bees. I think it amounted to "my dad used to raise bees and he made this big plastic tub thingy with a motor that spun the honey out of the comb". I'm sure Colin was impressed.



We had to make a pit stop in the nearby town of Chasseneuill-sur-Bonnieure (Chasseneuill for short) before heading off to Angouleme. I was having some sort of allergy attack and I needed a pharmacy (pharmacie - yeah, tough to figure that one out) desperately.




We found a pharmacie and said a polite "bon jour" to the lady behind the counter. The lady who didn't speak English. I told her "allergies". I mimicked sneezing. She held out a box of something for colds. I told her "non" and tried desperately to come up with anything that might describe WHY I was having symptoms. "La Chat" (the cat), I said. She stared at me blankly. "La Fleur", more desperately now. More blankness.



After going on like this for some time, she finally conferred with a colleague and they decided on another box. This one marked "Allergie" on the top. I swear I rolled my eyes. Maybe I should have faked a French accent with my "allergy".



Allergy meds in hand we headed toward the next desperate stop, the boulangerie (bakery). Top on my list of must-try experiences in France was a real, honest-to-goodness French croissant. It was yummy, but not that much better than the ones back home. Note to self: must try more French croissants. You know, just to see.



And, of course, a stop at the chocolatiere was a must. I think you can figure out what that was. Sadly, I am not impressed with French chocolates. Even though they put chocolate in practically everything, they really haven't got the gift of the Belgians.


Allergies settled and croissant and chocolate trials satisfied for the moment, we headed to Angouleme, map in hand.
The city is beyond beautiful, spread over hills and valleys. Glowing in the late morning sun, it was like something out of a novel. Tree line boulevards spilled into sunlit overlooks. Little old ladies swung open their shutters and poked their heads out to peer at passersby. And everywhere that cute Frenchness of which I have become so inordinately fond.



One thing we learned quite quickly was that in Angouleme, everything is shut on Mondays, too. Also, the entire country of France is closed for "refurbishment". There's scaffolding on almost every chateau and half the museums and most of them are closed until some time next year. Others leave no explanation at all. They are just simply not open. Ah, well, when in France.


So instead of moping about, whining about how things AREN'T like the UK, we stroll about, soaking up the ambiance and enjoying all the new sights, sounds and smells.


One thing to note about France: Lunch is served between 12 and 2. If you want lunch after that, tough. Dinner is at 7. Cafes, restaurants, even bars stop serving food between 1:30 and 2 and don't start up again until 7. Fortunately, France is not immune to fast food, so we were able to find a burger joint open once we learned this lesson the hard way.


Also, there are very few public restrooms in France. The ones that existing are unbelievably clean, but they're not that easy to find in some places. We spent over an hour just trying to find the one McDonald's in Angouleme. Apparently that is the closest thing to a public loo they have. There's not even one in the shopping mall! So, beware!




After hours trodding up and down hills, getting lost and unlost, we decided we were Angoulemed out and headed for the car. We'd one more stop to make before we headed home for dinner.

Next stop: Chateau de la Rochefacauld!

25 October 2007

Pardon My French, Chapter 1: To Limoges We Will Go

Getting up at 4:45am on a Sunday is not my idea of a good time. However, sacrifices must be made, so silly o'clock it is. Not that it much mattered as I barely slept a wink.


The taxi arrived out front a few minutes late, but there's not much traffic between Denham and Uxbridge at 5:45 on a Sunday morning. Plus the driver drove like the proverbial bat out of, um, a really hot place with sulfur and stuff. We arrived in Uxbridge in plenty of time to catch the bus to Hillingdon Station.


6:25 still felt like the middle of the night, but I was wide awake as we clambered abroad the 90X express bus into London. It was a comfy cozy sort of bus with nice thickly padded seats and individual reading lights and air flow. Unfortunately, the "next stop" button was right next to the light button and I kept pressing it on accident. I think the driver was a hair's breadth from throwing me off the bus.




We arrived in London and walked quickly over to Baker Street. OK. Fine. We staggered over to Baker Street lugging our suitcases behind us and hoping we were going the right direction. We were. And we managed to catch the coach to Stansted Airport just in time. Unfortunately, the coach was not nearly as nice as the express buss. I'm pretty sure the shocks went out years ago and the driver was training for Formula 1 (That's the European equivalent of the Indy 500, for those of you not into your racing sports.).



Finally we were at the airport, in the plane, and flying over the English countryside on our way to Limoges! (Pronounced li-mohzh)





After many fits and starts in our rental car and the realization that France has not only discovered the roundabout, but gone positively mad with the things, we finally made it to Les Pins (Pronounced something like lay pahn). It's an unbelievably charming little town. And exercise in Cute Frenchness with it's red tiled stone cottages complete with colourful shutters (blue seems the most popular), narrow streets, and complete lack of anything remotely resembling a traffic light (or street signs for that matter).






But we are not to stop in Les Pins. It is only the closest village Le Puy is our final stop. It's not so much a "village" as a collection of farmhouses and barns with a single road running through it. It gives the term "one horse town" a whole new meaning. Except out here it's more like a one cow town, and no less charming than it's big sister.







As we pass through Le Puy and wind through the houses, our final destination comes in sight: the farmhouse of Jimbo's cousin, Sue. Except it isn't a farmhouse, it's a converted barn! How cool is that!


It's surrounded by fields (naturally) and the doors and windows are great stone arches. The walls are thick stone, maybe 2' deep, and there are heavy wood beams throughout. Though still in the midst of renovation, it is quite possible the most charming place I've ever seen. I can definitely picture how amazing it will be when it's finished!


Ah, so let me introduce to you the players. First of there's Jimbo, my mate (mate means friend or pal in British). We've been pen pals for something like 7 years, but only met in person after I moved over here. He and his mom opened their home to me when I needed to get away during the holidays last year when things were not so great.


Then there's Mick, Jimbo's dad. Mick is 73 and full of p*ss and vinegar, as they say. Quite the ladies man, is Mick, and full of stories of his misspent youth. He retired and moved out to France with Colin and Sue a year ago.


Sue is Mick's niece, and therefore Jimbo's cousin. She and her husband Colin moved to France one year ago for a change of pace and a better life. Two of their six kids still live with them: Jay (16) and Jake (14).


Sue grows all her own veg and fruit in her gorgeous garden. She'd never done it before moving to France, but the results speak for themselves! The carrots are beyond sweet and crunchy! The cauliflower divine, and the French green beans full of flavour. Even the potatoes are gorgeous and I'm not much of a potato eater.
They've also got geese (Jake's project), pigs, chickens, and turkeys. Sue wants a cow, too. Their plan is to be self-sufficient and to cut down on utilities almost completely by using solar power and so on. In the meantime, Colin is refurbing the house, turning it into their dream home.
16 year old Jay kindly lent me her room for the week. It was a lovely little room with white plastered walls, big rough wood beams in the ceiling, and a Persian rug for flooring ( it's all cement floors right now ). It was lovely to sleep in a real bed for once!
One thing to note about France, on Sunday everything is closed, and I mean EVERYTHING. Petrol stations, grocery stores, you name it. It's all closed. But it allowed us a chance to sit back and relax before beginning our adventures in FRANCE!
Next up... Gorgeous Angouleme and a fabulous chateau!