Minggu, 31 Agustus 2008

Roadtrip: Alsace



Where can I begin? I can start at that little cafe. I had a little red pouch where I kept my written diary, something I've kept up since eleven - that is eleven years old. I was sitting there and writing in it about the last time I was exploring a town like this. Looking at the state of my hands. I spent some time in Germany, you see. A long lonely time. At the same time I was completely free. I had a job, a car and some money. I had nothing better to do than to spend my weekends just exploring with a map. After having spent a little time walking along the river that goes through the center of Strasbourg, I was in a cafe reminiscing about those days. You know, the days when there was nothing calling you but the draw of the next adventure. Nothing holding you but a quiet warm calling that is your own conscience or maybe your sister - it says: Try. Try hard, and travel as long and as far as you can. Now, while you can.

Jumat, 22 Agustus 2008

The Country House



Buying property in France takes ages.
First you sign an agreement to buy, which sets the wheels in motion for the bureaucracy machine to regurgitate an avalanche of paperwork. This then takes several months to get in order. It takes time to get things in motion with the bank, meetings and discussions, the legal waiting periods, the required inspections, research by the notaire, and all of the little glitches along the way. When we bought the apartment here in Lyon, we signed the papers with our intention to buy in the month of June, and it wasn't until mid October that we finally had our meeting with the notaire. At this meeting, the entire history of the property is read aloud, everyone is satisfied that things are correct, and we sign the papers. They ceremoniously hand over the keys. It's a great moment! Immediately, you rush to the apartment and pop a bottle of champagne! Walking into our place in Lyon, empty and echoey, sunshine streaming in, was like a dream. It was one of those moments I'll remember forever.

Our visit with Francois and Philippe to their chalet last spring planted a seed that sprouted quickly in my mind. I was developing the idea of a little cottage in the golden hills near Lyon, definitely sticking with the idea of something in the Lyonnais region. Maybe something in the Bugey or among the ponds of the Dombes near Brest. Weekend poule au pot, mud boots, and an herb garden tucked between the grape vines came to mind. We don't really need much. A little square of land to get our hands in the mud, a place to walk and collect leaves in the autumn, a place to get away from the city.

After we had been searching for awhile, Loic was feeling lucky and turned his attention to the Alps. At first, the only places that seemed even close to our budget were either at very high altitudes, with no water or electricity and not accessible in winter (what's the point?), or were actually just ruins that needed complete rebuilds. But he was sure we'd find something. He did a lot of research on the regions. He got serious about one area, and we went there to look at one property that was within our budget. "It's probably got something seriously wrong with it", was how he began, but the more we looked, and the more we saw, the more we realized that this one particular place was exactly what we had been looking for.


Hiking nearby.

This one little converted stable, the first place we'd seen, kept calling our name, in its little hamlet tucked away in the Savoie, just north of the mountain range called the Belledonne. Before we even realized how perfect this little house was, we found ourselves tromping around the area every weekend. It is a part of the Alps that is close enough to Lyon for spontaneous trips, but in keeping with the quiet ways of the country. Hiking, taking picnics, checking out the commerce, trying out the cafes in the little towns, inspecting the the ski stations, considering the historic Roman baths of the area, looking at one house and then the next, even considering apartments, we just kept going back. We fell in love with the area's humble beauty and variety.



The area around one cute Alpine town with its butcher, baker, cobblestone, clock and church is central to a cluster of small neighboring hamlets. Fifteen minutes by car into the hills and it is as if you are stepping back in time. They still have their lavoirs (a place like a central running fountain where people wash their clothes) and spring fed water supply. The little hamlet where this house is located features lots of hobby gardeners, honey bee keepers, a cow, sheep and horse farm, and is a mix of year round and seasonal residents. There is a friendly sense of community. Best of all this little hamlet is not on the winding thoroughfare that connects the ski stations. Very little traffic aside from residents, but close to everything.



The house is old and stone, originally a stable, stacked up on three levels, and each floor is a room. The top two floors have the alpine ski lodge type wood work, installed at the original conversion in the 1980s. There's a big old wood stove in the kitchen, and this is the room where I am going to have the most fun, I think. The best thing is that the kitchen door opens up to big open pasture land. When I open the door and look outside, the expanse of nature, mountains and rolling grass covered hills - it's just breathtaking.


I am going to have a lot of fun with this room.

The realization that this is actually happening was like getting hit on the head with a huge happiness mallet. Things move so slowly and carefully that you can't really say from one moment to the next that you are really becoming the owners.



My search for decor inspiration for this little Alpine getaway took me in a few different directions, but one theme stood out very clearly in my mind, and I was always drawn back to it. I'm not the kind of person to do this kind of thing all at once. Collecting tidbits and undertaking projects always has to be done carefully and with restraint. So over time you'll be able to see the details as they unfold.

We'll be closing on the house in a week or two, and I am very excited to roll up my sleeves and get started! People in France often give a name to their secondary residence, but we don't have one. We're just calling it "the country house" for now.

Kamis, 21 Agustus 2008

A French Truck Stop Experience


At the truck stop somewhere along a route nationale near Arles

It was such a great feeling to be rolling back into town after a brief trip down South. We had dinner on the way home at a truck stop, quite interesting. The first truck stop I ever ate in here in France was in the year 2001, and the only thing I remember about it was the incredible pyramid of house smoked beef jerkey and the white lace curtains. This place was different. The good ones are easy to spot with the classic rule. Tons of trucks, good truck stop.

First, we entered the dining room through a bar where men were all watching the television or playing billiards. I noticed that they were shadowing us with their eyes, we were a bit out of place but no one really minded. We were just something to look at. Loic gave me a look like he felt a little strange but I pressed on. (note: Loic read this and thinks it was the other way around! I'm willing to compromise and say it was a little bit of both. Here's to teamwork!)

In the dining room, one of the two servers abruptly stopped us and asked if we had our dinner tickets, available at the bar. Only once we had our tickets could we come and choose a seat. Not sure if there was a line or not because men were just kind of standing all over the place, we finally got the tickets without causing any problem by the old register and paid for our dinner in advance, 12 euros for buffet, main course, cheese, and dessert.

Once we were in the dining room, there was a buffet along one wall, with mayonnaise based salads, pulses, macaroni and cold cuts of about 12 different kinds. We served ourselves, and found a table. The server again abruptly steered us to a different table, telling us that the truckers would be arriving soon and that the early arrivals were to sit at the edges of the room. I almost resisted but something in her tone stopped me.

We noticed about halfway through our buffet course, as freshly showered truckers began to trickle in and seat themselves one next to the other, fitting themselves along the long communal tables in the dining room like sardines in into a can, that they were well versed in how things were supposed to go. They were also serving themselves pitchers of wine, red or rose, from the fountain at the end of the buffet. I called the server and asked if we had to buy a ticket for a pot of wine. "Serve yourself" she said, putting up her hand to stop me from asking any more questions, keeping her distance. So we did.

There were about 10 different dishes on the chalk board, all simple. Loic had the veal kidneys in red wine sauce and I had the chitterling sausage. Not the greatest in the world, but more than suitable for a multi-course meal with wine at this truck stop.

By the time the cheese platter loaded with generous wedges of 8 different kinds of cheese and a knife to carve at will began to circulate, the dining room was completely packed with truckers. I was the only woman dining there that evening. Loic had been reading some trivia handed out by the highway authority on our trip down the other day, and appropriately noted that there are about 65 woman truckers in France.

My neighbor had his dog with him, and they both greeted us. Discussion plucked from around us was murmured and rather limited - traffic jams, etc. There was a television in the corner that many of the truckers watched while eating. We kept to ourselves. After Loic finished his Ile Flottant and I enjoyed an extra glass of wine (it was actually quite good, and I enjoyed it, being the designated passenger), Loic opted for his coffee at one of the tables out by the car. The ride home went quickly and we were home soon enough!