Ardeche unplugged

Back on the TGV heading towards Lille and London; it’ warm (31 Celsius down here in the Drome and about 26 up in the Ardeche). So much has happened in the past ten days; the first ten days of home ownership that it is difficult to know where to start; perhaps with this morning and then work backwards. We will have to get into the routine of closing the house. Vacuuming up all the dead flies on the tiles (rather lengthy application of the fly spray last night), clean the kitchen in preparation for our handyman Bernard’s destruction of the existing chimney, cover all surfaces with cloths and newspaper. Turn off all the electricity in the guesthouse. Unplug the telephone (more later), go down to the basement and empty the bucket of water under the boiler and unplug the summer hot water service. Then all the garbage gets loaded into the car for the trip down to the rubbish bins. Not many people have to drive for five minutes down the winding hill to recycle and dispose of rubbish well not those who pay a good whack of council tax. But there is no local garbage collection in our area, and it will just become another chore to add to the happy list.  Actually it’s fun to go pootering down the valley not worrying about meeting too many other cars. The whole way down is about fifteen minutes drive and the locals roar up and down so confidently that you do find yourself lurching into the verge as they approach. It is in theory a two lane road, but most people would class it as a one way street. 

Then back up for a final check of the list (forgot to add unplug the fridge to the list and consequently forgot to do it. I had emptied it of perishables (but forgot a lemon), so it just needed unplugging. I texted Bernard to do it when next he visits. And bless him, he replied that he will turn off all the electricity and turn it back on, and the heating, the morning we arrive next visit.  Why all this unplugging? We are in prime thunder and lightning territory. And nearly everyone whom we have met this trip has happily reeled off the list of minor and major electrical appliances that have been zapped during a storm. Our neighbour Lynn described one afternoon when she was at a school football match when a thunder storm blew up. Without even waiting for the end of the game everyone scattered to drive back home and unplug their phones and TVs and computers. And naturally I have already had my first baptism. I left the telephones in their sockets merrily charging overnight. A storm blew up (I had been warned) but with all my heavy duty painting tasks that day I just fell into bed without remembering. Around four am I was awoken by a big bang. A mighty thunderclap overhead. Thought little of it and went back to sleep. Next thing I knew one of the poor little telephones was chirping lamentably in the living room trying to tell me that it was on its last legs.  The replacement phones were purchased very chastely a few days later and at great expense. Up on the plateau at Vernoux (our closest town) the prices are not very keen. You have to get into the habit of doing the large shopping at all the huge superstores down near the train station at

Valence. It’s almost an hour away by car and windy road, so there is not going to be a lot of spontaneous purchasing in this new French life.

But before all the packing up I had another of my regular visitors: this time Nicolas the gardener. I can’t believe how quickly we have been able to organise people to help us out. So friendly and enthusiastic; we really are spoilt by the generosity of the Ardechoise. Well, actually I don’t think we have met many real locals yet: the previous owners of the house (the Reinhardts) are Swiss and Dutch, Nicolas is from near Dijon, Bernard our other neighbour is from another rural department; and Tony the beekeeper is from Paris who does our strimming; the builder Dario is originally from Luxembourg. And our closest neighbour M.Balayn is from Aix en Provence. Many have been here for over twenty years; but it doesn’t seem to be an issue that we are all from somewhere else. The fact that we have chosen to live in this lovely part of France seems to be enough for all.

Nicolas helped the Reinhardts with the garden; and he is happy to take on more work. He lives at the Chateau just up the hill and is employed by Laurent and Corinne to turn their huge place into a thriving garden and farm. But he will have time to help us too. Four square hundred metres of vegetable garden is his latest project. I can’t imagine how much work that must be (we are going to visit him next month). And he is very excited about getting Marsanoux back into good order. It does have an air of neglect at the moment. But with the good rainfall and well drained but rich soil, it is no surprise. Just having Tony strim all the grass has made a huge difference. You can almost see a lawn on one of the terraces right now. So with Nicolas I spent a happy few hours walking around the property and discussing plans. He is already full of ideas  and good advice. My great plans to flatten all the terracing has met with some wise advice; the vegetable gardens are better as little terraced plots instead of risking all the soil being deposited on the terrace below. As I have seen this week we do have great storms with huge amounts of rain falling in a short time. So I will rethink my radical plans and discuss with David how we will proceed. Nicolas is a great tree planter (not very much a flower and pretty person) and told me all about the fruit trees that he has worked on around the area. The olives that M. Reinhardt has been growing produce a lot of fruit. And he has even eaten grenadines (I think pomegranates but I will have to check) nearby. Lots more fruit trees to plant. And he is happy to teach me how to prune them. 

He was amazed that our peach trees escaped the frost damage. There are four (or is it five) in front of the house, and they look in good shape. A bit crowded, but they haven’t been pruned for a few years. We stood by the groseille bush which I now know is called a Jostaberry (a cross between black currant and gooseberry) eating our way through the berries and looking over the future vegetable plot. Plenty of ideas. And as we have constant water from the spring for ten months of the year we can rig up a drip watering system to feed plants when we are not there.

The spring water supply is much bigger than first expected. I had thought it was only for the garden, but actually it supplies the entire house for ten months of the year. And it gushes out of the taps. Our water bills will be very low indeed except of course when it comes to fill the swimming pool. Naturally this is going to (hopefully) occur at the end of July just when the water source slows down. But we have learned the rather archaic system of changing over the taps that supply the house. Large valves and levers that are attached to the pipes buried in a cistern up above the barn. It would be sporting in the dark or during heavy rain, so we will have to be prepared for the changeover in good time.

One of the best things about Nicolas’s visit (apart from telling us that he will look after the vineyard) is that he identified the huge tree in the middle of the terraces below the house. It’s a white mulberry tree. Quite rare now and covered in small fruit. David and I must go down there in two weeks and see how the fruit tastes. The mulberry in the courtyard is bred for its leaves and not its fruit useful for not leaving stains all over the property, and providing safe shade. But we did find some fruit on it when we had a close inspection today. I wanted to ask Nicolas’s advice about the damage it sustained earlier last week. Mme Reinhardt accidentally drove under its branches while she had things on her roof rack. And managed to catch one large branch rather firmly and wrench it. I didn’t dare tell her as she would have been mortified. But Nicolas will drop by later this week and add some mastic to seal the wound. Hopefully it hasn’t sustained any lasting damage.

I realised too that the beautiful shape of this mulberry and the wisteria are thanks to his judicious pruning. The wisteria is certainly something that needs careful attention. I have learned a lot from the one at my parent’s house in Sydney. It can easily cover their roof with so much verdant growth each year. The white wisteria we have really is spectacular, but if Nicolas can work on it each winter it won’t invade any more than it does. The Reinhardts have actually planted another wisteria at the front of the house; but it’s still a pup. And if David agrees I don’t think we will keep it. The facade of the house is so dramatic and pleasing, it doesn’t really need more uncontrollable growth all over it.

So relieved that we now are going to have someone to help with the garden, I can also report that we now have a handyman as well. It was something Chris, our estate agent urged us to find. And Bernard fits the bill. He is our neighbour at Le Buisson riding school down the road. Actually he is a typical Vernoux dweller escaped from somewhere else, still a hippy. And has a sideline in making rather chunky gold jewellery. But to supplement this precarious income he does building work. And for years has helped up at Marsanoux. So when Madame Reinhardt invited him up to meet me I was thrilled. Finally we can have someone to help with those jobs we just don’t know how to do (add a hot tap system so we can plumb in the washing machine, remove the old trace of the chimney that is jutting into the kitchen, change all our electrical plugs, sort out the electricity in the main living room and kitchen.)

Tony, the beekeeper, we met through the other estate agent Yannick. And he too is keen to supplement his income. This is not the time of year to bee tending the hives apparently. So he has spent two full days with the strimmer working his way through the waist high weeds around the house and down the drive.

With all these people to help including Dario the builder who has promised to be able to build one of the bathrooms before Christmas things will be so much better. Proper builders are in short supply. Dario rather warned us that there was a three year waiting list for building projects a while back. But now there seem to be a few more around. We will just have to be patient. He spent a long time working out the logistics of our projects. Two bathrooms, plus three skylights in the main house. Not big projects really, but they will make a huge difference to the interior of the house.

The skylights in particular. It’¢s a very shady house right now. Thick walls and not a lot of windows or doors. But that will change when we get the locksmith to come up and unlock the main door into the living room. (M. Reinhardt has mislaid the key), and give us a quote to add windows where there are currently stable doors. I had intended to go back last Friday but the electricity meter had to be read, and the only day the EDF engineer would come was yesterday. Famous for their inefficiency and prevarication, I wasn’t quite prepared for the surly person who turned up. Everyone has been so helpful and full of good advice so far, I was taken aback when the engineer told me that according to the rules he ought to cut off the electricity right now and only turn it back on when we have been recorded in the system as the new owners. I managed (just) to avoid this rather drastic measure. But one gets the feeling the electricity management is going to be complicated. It already is with the massive number of volts the Reinhardts had in the house. Instead of 240v they had 360. That was because down the basement resided a monster electrical saw and a meat cutting machine for their home-killed lamb. Naturally neither of these activities feature high on our future agenda, so we want to go down to a tariff that only includes the domestic 240v. Another department, Madame, I can’t do that. Nor could he give us a quote for moving a very thick electricity wire that cuts diagonally across the property, nor could he advise to whom I should ask. Still. He wasn’t there long, and went away with the meter read and all our financial details. So hopefully they won’t cut us off. But if they do, we are well prepared with candles and torches.

So for these extra three days I decided to put a lot of paint onto the walls. White emulsion over everything. No more lurid green bedrooms, and cover up all the streaks and mess of the living room and kitchen. M. Reinhardt was a heavy smoker and the walls had taken on that tobacco hue – and odour. Up close when painting near the ceiling you could actually smell it. We bought six litres when we did a huge shop down in Valence on the first day of moving in. But that was used that up by Saturday afternoon. So I poppedup to Vernoux to get more. (It’s a fifteen minute rural drive) No such luck. The only hardware store closes on Saturday afternoons at 3pm. And I arrived a few minutes late. There was no way I was going to slog down to the valley so I just had to content myself with a day away from painting and get everything else in order. Office sorted, clothes all packed away and hung up. Climbing goods in the one spot, huge list of things to do written up and arranged. All the boxes of goods that don’t have a home right now (including dozens of boxes of heavy books) are in one room in the guesthouse. Out of sight out of mind.

Actually they have been out of sight for six months now, so it felt like Christmas when we opened them again. It was great to be reunited with my favourite tea cups and teapot. And not one of them damaged in transit. And on Saturday evening I attended my first Ardeche party. The nearest village, Chalencon, was having a two day festival. So I drove over to our English neighbours Lynn and Jeff’s and joined Lynn and the children in the fun. It was held in a square in the old town. Live jazz band, beer tent and lots of kids running around. And so refreshing to have our suspicions confirmed. This is serious hippy territory. A very New Age crowd. All ponytails, floaty skirts and grubby kids happily enjoying the party. The beer was quite cheap and the platters for the aperitif (nibbles) cost a euro and were astounding. Little pieces of terrine, cured hams, mini pizzas and wonderful olives. That was dinner. And I ate my way through about three plates. Lynn and Jeff’s children Estelle and Ed didn’t eat much of theirs and I happily hovered up their leftovers. Especially the terrine. Pork perhaps, but in this area it was probably wild boar. Delicious whatever the species.

And Lynn introduced me to some of her friends. So the social circle is growing. On Monday morning at the rather scary hour of 730am I presented myself at the Vernoux hardware store and spent a fortune on a large pot of emulsion paint. I could barely lift it out of the car. But it will do for all the rooms in both houses. And repainting over any of the areas that are going to be changed. Having such a huge cellar means all sorts of fun things can be stored down there. It is immaculately neat right now. The trick is going to be how to keep it that way. Sadly it’s just a little bit too low in the headroom for David to be there comfortably. But I can go there without banging my head on pipes, ceiling and spider webs.

So after ten days I can happily say that the living room, entrance hall and kitchen are all painted and cleaned. (I had to scrub all the walls with a mystery product called Lessive St Marc first. It ii made of pine resin and took off the worst of the muck. And also found its way into all the cuts and scrapes on my hands from the box moving. Ouch) One wall of the office is white, and two walls of the second bedroom are done. Hopefully I can get those finished next month so we can both spend more time outside rather than up on chairs with rollers and small brushes trying to get into the fiddly corners.

But what am I thinking? Actually I’m going to be painting for months to come. Because I have to do the ceilings. Every few feet on all the ceilings are dark brown (almost black) beams. Not treasures, they were put up in the 1970s when the major work was last done. And between these beams are pine boards. Painted brown and then varnished. Charming effect. But when the ceiling is only 2.3m high and that reduces with all these low beams you can imagine how gloomy it looks. I consulted many, many magazines and can see that people have no compunction about painting modern beams white if it is going to improve the illusion of space in low-ceilinged rooms. But we are not going to be crazy and buy the paint here in France. It costs a fortune. So in August when we bring our car over, we can cram it full of wood primer, undercoat and satinwood paint. And maybe pay Bernard to prepare the beams first with an initial sanding. Lynn and Jeff have promised to lend us good scaffolding platforms so that will make the work easier but I don’t look forward to all that work. Except the results will be wonderful and change the atmosphere entirely.

When painting, I have the doors and windows open and stare wistfully out at the garden and the courtyard to see what more fun things await. Another Sunday (run out of paint day) chore was to tidy up the courtyard between the two houses. I’s a great space. With the huge mulberry tree and the vines and the solid stones of the houses. The ground is gravel and almost smothers the weeds; but not all. I sat down at the front door and worked my way around most of the courtyard removing those non-smothered weeds by hand (so satisfying) and then started on the hollyhocks near the guesthouse. They are more like triffids than flowers. Self-seeding everywhere and growing up to six feet high. I would like them (they do have lovely crimson and pink flowers) but you can’t have just one. I think I pulled up more than twenty big plants in the courtyard alone. And there are hundreds around the vegetable garden and among the fruit trees. I am waiting until Jeff and Lynn’s wedding next month (when I have promised them these huge flowers and even bigger vases to display them) and then they are all coming out.

The hollyhocks are so omnipresent that they had completely hidden a rose bush from the courtyard that was struggling to find the light behind them. It’s a tea rose. Not a treasure. But at least now you can see it. And it sits next to another rather gaudy deep crimson rose bush that is well nourished from run off from the gutters above. It may be the first plant purchase: I’d love to plant about three or four more roses against the wall of the guesthouse. Better ones with a good perfume. They will then scent the area  good flower smells are decidedly lacking in our rather functional but beautiful farm.

And who knows, it might even disguise the rather earthy odour of the rabbit hutches in the barn about thirty feet at the end of the courtyard. And the flies that have collected there. Madame Reinhardt kept about twelve big hutches for her coterie of rabbits (what do you call a collection of rabbits? A breeding of rabbits? A rabble of rabbits?) And all week she and I managed to pull apart these huge concrete partitions and heave them into her van. She is very thoughtful in wanting to take them away, and now that Tony has dug out a rather invasive elderflower tree that was growing near the barn, we have discovered there are about fifteen more of these concrete blocks to go. It is going to be hard work for her alone, and she has promised to ask Bernard to come up to help her. But I fear for the mulberry tree getting another bashing. With pieces of reinforced concrete at that weight, you want to get the car as close as possible.

In time the flies be less of a problem. Right now they are still feeding on the dirt floor of the barn. But hopefully they will die out and not return next year. But we are learning that this really was a farm. And that we have to take a more relaxed approach to insect life in all its forms. 

It seems so long ago we were struggling with the logistics of the Monday move and the signing. We had the huge removal van parked up on the weekend down in the valley nearby. (Big trucks are banned from roads in France from Saturday night to Monday morning here so the drivers Colin and Graham had to position themselves as close as possible when they arrived Saturday afternoon) The drivers spent their time reading books and taking two bicycles for a ride. (They were destined for the next move and they very cleverly left them near the exit of one of the van partitions) Lovely men, with a very challenging job. They are on the road from England to Germany to France and Spain every week and just dealing with the logistics let alone the distances is daunting. We had a picnic with them by the river on Sunday and I believe they really welcomed the company and our thoughtfulness. It was David’s idea, and an inspired one. We knew that the Monday would be a challenge.

We had to hire a 20 cubic metre van from the hire company half an hour further up the road in Valence, and there was to be much driving between the big lorry and the van and the house.We left them once we hired the van (which was late being returned to the depot and threw us all into a tizz) and raced up the hill to Vernoux for the signing with the notaires, the Reinhardts and the estate agents.

Forewarned that it could be a fraught affair we munched on dried fruit and nuts and oatcake biscuits on the drive up to settle our rumbling tummies and then plunged into the estate agent office for the paperwork.It actually only took an hour. But it was a rowdy hour full of laughter and gesturing and cross table translations and clarifications.

Poor M. Reinhardt is not fully functioning at that early hour (11am) and sadly didn’t really become reasonable until we had our celebratory drink. From then on his nerves were steady and he was only too delighted to dash off to the bank to deposit his hefty cheque. We sorted out all the issues of the boundaries and planning permissions for the pool. And even did our marriage contract paperwork so that we can now avoid inheritance tax. And be able to leave the house to which ever spouse survives.

In the past (i.e. until January this year) once one partner dies, the next to inherit are the children, the parents and the siblings of the deceased. Widows and widowers never had a say in whether they could stay. It explains why so many of these large properties are parcelled up into so many little plots (one for each offspring, parent, cousin etc) and I suppose they had it that way so people couldn’t knock off their spouses so they could inherit the property. We now have a French marriage contract with special clauses to make inheritance easier, and it was done with only a minimal signing and initialling of each page and appendix. We must have signed our names at least a dozen times on the day.

But it was a happy event. Chris our estate agent was delighted for us and treated us (with his other estate agent Yannick) to lunch at a nearby hostelry. Sadly we didn’t even have a ceremonial shaking of hands at the end. M. Reinhardt had dashed out for a fag and a snifter before the ink was dry and we followed him out to lunch. Happy speeches all round, with lovely local sparkling wine. And then David, Chris, the Reinhardts and I drove down to our new house.

We had a complicated handover that took a few days. The boiler, the water supply, the electricity, the pumps, all had to be explained and written down and taps and switches labelled. The removalists had done their last trip and David and I didn’t even have time to hug each other with glee and open the champagne that Chris had sneakily supplied. Along with a book about the Ardeche and two bottles of local wine.

Instead, he started changing plugs and plumbing in our dishwasher while we raced down the hill to take the drivers back to their truck and return the van. We shopped in Vernoux for a hot plate to cook from, food, and lightbulbs. And didn’t get back until 7pm that night. But we celebrated in style. Barely leaving the wonderful terrace and marvelling at our amazing good fortune in making this part of France our home. David stayed a few days more (no more climbing alas, we only managed an afternoon on the Sunday at a nearby crag) instead we hauled furniture and started making it into a proper home. The sofas are in position and the dining table set up.

Ibraved the narrow winding roads to drop him off at the station, and then spent the afternoon going up to Marsanoux and back to the station to memorise the route, and get the used portion of my train ticket that was needed to prolong my visit until after the weekend. We had bought semi-flexible train tickets so we can change them any time, for a small fee. At the time I thought it was in irksome waste of an afternoon (especially as I had painting to do) but now I know the complicated routes to get down and up and can even do all the roundabouts without worrying where on earth I am. The roads around Valence are a real spaghetti junction as there are motorways, highways, A roads, B roads and lots of industry to wend around. But once through it, you hit the Ardeche side of the river and breathe a sigh of relief. The pace in the hills is definitely slower and much less complicated. Only seven minutes left of battery power on my laptop. Time to stop this diary and attend to budgets and plans and notes and actually read a paper. Ten days without watching TV or reading papers, and I don’t imagine I’ve missed a thing.