In-between posts, photos and thoughts of France, in-between decorating a house, shedding ourselves of excess and trying to work things out in our heads, in-between times of happiness, plenty and life.  In-between times.  Things happen, and like some other things this year it didn’t go well.  I can’t dwell on details right now, because I have to live with what happened for the rest of my days.  And it was one of the most upsetting, most disturbing events that has happened this year.

We had to have G, our dog, our most beloved girl, put down.  It was traumatic for her and for us, and I can’t dwell on it now because it’s taken me days to stop crying at every moment, it has taken days for my last thought at night not to be of her.

Until the beginning of NaBloPoMo (which I fully intend taking part in again this year), and until the beginning of a new month, I am going offline.  I need to recouperate from the 3000 mile round trip, from the eternal search for work, from the events of the summer (by which I think you know what I mean) and from the turmoil that has surrounded 2008.

I am tired.  I am more than tired.  And if I didn’t believe in fate, I wouldn’t be able to get out of bed in the morning.

[Sunrise over Calais, from the ferry, 11th October 2008]

France is a place of wide open spaces and food.  Wherever you are in France, either of these things is only a short trip away, even if you’re in the centre of a huge bustling city - good food and great countryside is always easily accessible.  I think that’s what I loved so much about Clermont-Ferrand, the first city (excluding Calais) that we spent any time in and around, was the fact it is surrounded by volcanic mountains, hills, a vastness of agricultural land and big, blue skies.

[Aire de la Baie de Somme, Picardie]

I mentioned service stations before, or as they call them in France, “aires“, literally meaning area.  The second one we came to was just outside Abbeville on the A16 and was called Aire de la Baie de Somme - it was a hauntingly flat area, and for that reason alone you could imagine why the area was as tactically difficult as it was during WWI.  The services or aires are vastly different to the sad affairs you get in England, and are on the whole much more pleasant, even the sparse ones in the countryside with a toilet and a picnic area.

[Flat fields surrounding the Aire de la Baie de Somme, the perfect habitat not only for birdlife, but for weary English travellers]

[Beautiful architecture, Aire de la Baie de Somme, Picardie]

This one had ducks (as the Picardie region is known for its birdlife) and huge carp living in an enormous pond behind the main building (the building which was a gorgeous piece of architecture).  The other service station, outside Orléans (Aire de Orléans - Gidy / Aire de Saran - Gidy) was furnished with the usual amenities, which just happen to include an artisan patissier (!), selling the most amazing tartlette de framboises .  After that, I said to Mr. VP, that one holiday shall be spent just visiting French service stations.  Honestly, it was that good!  But I will stop talking about the services now, honest.

[Tartlette de framboises, at Aire de Saran - Gidy, just outside Orléans]

[Picture-perfect French streets, standing as they have for centuries, just around the corner from the house where we stayed for half the trip.]

Of all the places we visited on our trip, Clermont-Fd was possibly one of my favourites.  After we had made the enormous 740km / 460 mile trip from Calais to Clermont-Fd, we were exhausted which made the warm welcome of Frenchy’s parents so much nicer.  We had to find their house first, which was none too easy in the dark, me being on the other side of the road, and driving down very narrow little streets.  But we got there, and what we found was amazing.  To be honest, both Mr. VP and I were very nervous about staying with a family who didn’t speak much English, and us not speaking much French.  But you’d be surprised how much you can achieve with the tiniest amount of the language and a lot of gesturing, we got there in the end and Frenchy’s family were so accommodating, and so, so kind.  It also helped that Frenchy worked as translator, though by the end of our stay we were managing to understand more and more of what they were saying (when they spoke lentement - slowly).

[The views are something I'll carry with me for the rest of my days.]

[The air is so clear in the Auvergne, you can see for miles, and there is seldom a time when you can't see the Puy-de-Dôme or one of any number of volcanoes.]

When we arrived that evening, at around 9pm-ish, we were amazed at the town.  It was dark by then, and navigating tiny one-way systems in the tiny town where we were staying was a tad nerve-wracking, but immediately the air smelled different and the sight of such old houses was lovely.  I remarked immediately it was like something out of a film set, it looked too “perfect” to be real - but real it was, and I knew immediately I’d love our stay.

[Walnut trees (les arbres à noix) are everywhere, you can go and collect them as freely as if they were blackberries (or mûre) in an English hedgerow]

[I still can't get enough of the trees, England lacks these wonderful things that France still has in such abundance. A paltry 2% of England is made up of trees, when it was once 75%...]

Once welcomed into the house by D and G (Frenchy’s parents) we were sat down at a lovely table and delighted with proper French food, homemade soup, real quiche lorraine, crusty French bread and all sorts of local cheese (oh, and the fromage de chevre - goat’s cheese… c’est magnifique!).  It was all absolutely perfect.  We’d been told that Frenchy’s Dad, D used to be a chef, and when I tasted that quiche, I knew it to be true.  It was absolutely and 100% different to an English quiche, the flavours and the texture.  I asked for the recipe, and D will be pleased to know, I’ve made a replica and it tasted almost as good as his (photos later)!

That was probably the day I realised just how at ease and how relaxed I felt in this foreign land.  Despite language and cultural differences (and believe me, at times the cultural diffrerences are huge, in a nice way) we never once felt out of place.  Our hosts, D and G were the nicest folks in the whole wide world and we enjoyed their company immensely.  They made us both as comfortable as possible and made us feel at home, they said as Frenchy was our friend and they considered it his home, it was by extension our home and that was so, so kind of them.

[Gargoyles are everywhere, Mr. VP and I happen to love them, just as well really!]

[The leaves everywhere, I couldn't get enough of them]

The day after the night before (forgetting the hour’s time difference) meant we weren’t up until 8.30am, but it being a Sunday, our hosts didn’t mind at all - D ran to the local Boulangerie (bakery) and brought us fresh French bread which we ate with butter and homemade confitures (honestly, prune jam = delicious!) and yoaurts (yogurts).  That morning was our time to spend chilling out after the many, many miles travelled and as it was a Sunday and therefore everything was shut, it was the perfect time to see the little town we were staying in, by day rather than by night.

As we walked through the streets, Mr. VP and I lit up at the views of mountains and the smell of woodsmoke permeating everything, the open doors of the boulangerie and the fact that everyone spoke another language entirely.  As silly as it sounds, being in a place and knowing that no one else speaks your language (there are exceptions, but few would be able to have a full-blown conversation) is not only very scary but also quite liberating.

That was the day we fell in love with the place.

In the next installment: how us pale and unhealthy Brits tried to climb the most ridiculously high volcano, in 26 Deg C sunshine and almost made it…

Three words for you:  France was amazing.  It’s not often that 5 syllables can sum up a whole trip, but in this instance, they can.  I don’t think I can find enough words to describe the trip, driving from Northumberland to Dover (365 miles), catching a ferry at 6am (having had 3 hours sleep) and then driving the 460 miles from Calais to Clermont-Ferrand, fuelled by [insert name of drink that gives you wings] and laughter.

The first thing you notice when you get out of the ugliness of Calais, was the colour in the trees.  In England we’ve not had a really good Autumn since 2003, when I remember the colours of the trees were as if they were on fire.  But France has it, in abundance, colours the likes of which we haven’t seen over here for so, so long.  Too long (despite today’s news story - to which I say, you ain’t seen nothin’!).

The second thing you notice, apart from the lovely service stations, huge motorways and péage (toll roads), is the size of France.  Everything is so similar to England, it’s not foreign at all, but the size is breathtaking.  It’s so much bigger, less densely populated, more open and so, so beautiful.

We visited bakers, ate bread made by monks, chomped on pain de campagne, pain des volcans, pain aux céréales, devoured freshly made chocolate éclairs (nothing like the ones you get in England), savoured religieuses (meaning nun, or as a French friend of my Mother calls them: Nun’s farts!), I nibbled a snail (when in France…), we ate duck, drank Verveine, talked to French people (with as much French as we had) and felt that finally, we had found a niche of lifestyle that was as we’d only hoped to find.

I guarantee the trip wouldn’t have been as good as it was, had we not had Sat Nav, generously given to us as an early xmas present by my Mum, who looked after house, home, chickens and dog whilst we were away.  It saved most of the stress of driving in a totally foreign country, except when nice Sat Nav Lady (named Bryony, seeing as she was a she and therefore unsuitable for the name of Brian) was adamant about taking us via Paris on the way back, when really we wanted to go via Orléans and Rouen (anything but la periphique!).  After hours of telling us to make u-turns and right-turns into fields, she got the hint.  I even survived rush hour in Rouen, with kamikazee drivers and scary road layouts.

But for now, whilst I’m formulating mountains of posts on the trip itself, here are just some of the (many) photos we took whilst there, in our 3000 mile round trip to France.

Written in advance and forgotten, I’m posting it now whilst I have the chance.  We are now IN FRANCE!  Will write more when I get the opportunity!

(Life from the cross road - gosh, I’m even picking up a bit of Swedish!  It must’ve been the amount of time spent in Ikea, it rubs off you know.)

It’s now just a mere 2 days until d-day and the start of our trip.  Which will see us visit numerous counties and départements on a trip lasting just over a week.  A lot of things have happened since Frenchy and I cooked up this mad idea to go and spend a week visiting France, but it went from being a mad idea to being a set-in-stone plan.  We set off on Friday and leave Northumberland for our 3000 mile round-trip, driving the whole way (yes, insane, we know) to the Auvergne in the heart of France.

We’re hoping the weather will be kind for at least half the trip, as we spend half of it on the borders of Clermont-Ferrand and Le Puy-en-Valey, and then we move to the Dordogne region and have a pleasant stay in Périgueux.

To say I’m nervous is an understatement.  Do you know how much hassle we’ve had to go through to get this far?!  Passports, foreign “green-card” driving insurance certificate, booking hotels, arranging care of dog and chickens, extended AA cover, EHIC cards, travel insurance, car service, new tyres (gosh, what a difference 2 new tyres have made!)… the list is, almost endless.

I started packing today, as the next few days look promisingly busy.  For the last week I’ve cleaned manically, yesterday I mopped the downstairs floors to within an inch of their life, and today I’ve got a hair appointment.

When I’m this stressed even my writing suffers!  Look how disjointed this post is becoming!

Anywho, today I am having my hair done before the trip (lest I really do begin to look like a Thelwell pony), and then it’ll be packing, planning, tidying, ironing and trying to buy one piece of clothing the covers my lower-half, because I’m damned if I can find *anything* that looks either a) good or b) fits.  There are times when I’ve almost had a Metro centre meltdown.

Well lots of things are going on at Chez VintagePretty, I have a “To Do” list a mile long, which goes a little something like this:

• Get prescription filled
• Tyres?  I really should take the nice mechanic’s advice and get some new ones
• Make shopping list
• Do the shopping (d’uh)
• Packing list*
• Make sure Mr. VP has done his packing list**
• Do the washing and ironing, so that there will be clothes to actually pack
• Lament the fact that October is zooming by too quickly and I’m behind in my usual seasonal-ness
• Bake a chocolate cake, because this stuff is stressful
• Make sure you’ve written list for Mum so she knows where the chicken food is kept and when to give G a bit of dried venison heart as a snack (hey, it’s definitely no worse than tripe)
• Petrol, otherwise aforementioned trip* will be stopping somewhere around Scotch Corner
• Make a mental note: Hair appointment, Wednesday!

I sometimes wonder why I get myself into such a tiz-woz.  I am a born worrier, actually, I don’t just worry for myself.  I worry about the world, about my neighbours and even plants.  Ideas of regular tranquiliser dosings has been mentioned by Mr. VP, who said that there would be no greater pleasure than darting his missus in the backside with an elephant-sized tranquiliser gun, and getting a few hours of worry-less relaxation.  Frankly, though I’d be worried about it beforehand, I am not averse to the idea myself.  It sounds a lot more sleep-inducing than any other options.

So there are things going on in my life that at the moment I’m not even able to mention, right now.  Needless to say I will, in due course, mention them.  Some are quite long-term stresses that I’m dong my best to deal with, others are the day-to-day problems that I’ve just got to grit my teeth and bear (gosh, what fortitude***!).

It seems at the moment though, however much I am currently hell-bent on propelling myself forwards, I am like a pony at a flippin’ gymkhana, with obstacles being put in the way to me being able to swish my mane with impunity.

(and if the thought of that didn’t make you giggle, or the thought of me looking like a Thelwell pony, then nothing, dear reader, will)

There wasn’t really a point to this post, I just popped in to say “hello”, and before I depart for the fluorescent mecca that is The Supermarket (or, in French, le supermarché), I will leave you with two lovely things.  First of all, music.  Ralph Vaughan Williams’ “Fantasia On A Theme By Thomas Tallis” [part1 and part2], which is divine music, possibly the best pastoral music ever written (sorry, Elgar, old chap).

The second lovely thing are photographs of blue sky.  It still makes me feel brilliant to see it, after such a bad Summer, and still there it is.  Beautiful as ever, just as illuminating.

[The garden gate's shadows, in evening light]

—

*We’re going away for a week.  I’m not mentioning where, yet.
**Mr. VP has been known to not only forget his own name but his birthday, postcode, phone number and my name. I leave nothing to chance!  Yes, I have considered not only getting him identichipped, but also a cute little collar with a love-heart tag and name.  I think he’d look rather dashing, he thinks otherwise.
***Fortitude shall be my Word of The Day:
–noun: mental and emotional strength in facing difficulty, adversity, danger, or temptation courageously.