Bienvenue En France Bastille Day 14th July 08

The Terrace before Jean got to work

It’s been great having a few days with Mum, but I am now marking time until Jean arrives, and a few hours after we are re-united, we are on our way to France. Farewell boring old Luton airport, and hello Nimes. Sunshine, villages and the prospect of a new life await and we stare impatiently out of the aircraft window at the acres of vines and the distant blue of the Cevennes mountains.

Arriving at Nimes is a very casual business. The first thing I note is that nobody is wacking the legs of his fellow passengers in the rush to disembark. There is a steady hum of easy conversation and we drift forward and descend the staircase of the plane to be wrapped in the easy warmth of the South of France. Wandering into the airport building between flower beds filled with lightly scented lavender, the only check seems to be a smiling lady who vaguely glances at our proffered passports and bids us a cheery “Bonjour”.

On a more serious note, we walk past a large poster which threatens hefty fines and long prison sentences for anyone carrying a knock-off Louis Vuitton suitcase or any other product which should proudly bear the “made in France” name but which has been copied in the back streets of China and sold on the main streets of Miami. I have no fear of being arrested since half of my luggage is packed in a blue plastic bag and the other old suitcase will be dumped at the recycling depot as soon as it is unpacked. There are still three large suitcases and thirty nine packing cases following us, but strangely enough, for the time being I think we are going to cope just fine with our meagre luggage allowance of 15 kg each.

Home from now on is going to be the house in which Jean’s mother once lived. Built in 1873, it is one of the original houses on the outskirts of the old village of St Jean du Moulin which boasts a church built in the 11th Century. It’s a good feeling to be surrounded by history once again after five years in Florida where anything built before 1930 caused quite a ripple of interest. We call in at Le Mairie for a courtesy visit to the Mayor, who informs us that his grandparents used to live in the house that we are now occupying, and he looks old enough to have grandparents who were inhabiting “Notre Coquille” well before the turn of the 20th century.

The house is solidly built from the great slabs of stone from the nearby quarry and has been enlarged into a two bedroom house since it was once a single room dwelling. The salon is used as both dining room and lounge, but during the summer months, life is lived out on the terrace which overlooks the small enclosed courtyard. For now the courtyard is filled with pink oleander flowers, and overhead hang the delicious “mure” berries on the pollarded plataine tree which look and taste a bit like elongated blackberries. In addition to the stone wall which encloses the courtyard, large blocks of cut stone are dotted about and any number of empty flower pots are waiting to be filled with new plants and healthy soil. There are signs that the garden behind the house was once filled with rows of vegetables, but clearly sparse attention was paid to anything that was merely decorative and inedible.

The windows throughout the house are large and open inwards which allow the heavy wooden shutters to be closed to keep out the sun and the wind. Later on we might experience the blast of the mistral wind from the east and the Tramontaine which will blow across from the Cevennes, but for now, the gentle breeze which moves the blossom and the leaves merely serves to lower the temperature slightly. Thank heavens there is no humidity. Within a couple of days, our skin has dried and we are purchasing and drinking bottled water by the gallon. From spending five years being either hot or hotter and constantly soaked with perspiration or artificially kept cool in air conditioning, it is wonderful to think that in a few months, we will experience our first autumn in years and then snuggle into our well protected home while the winter throws its chilly embrace around the vineyards and the old sun bleached buildings.