Category: Travel

Our French Integration – Two Years on

Posted on Posted in American Expat, Beauxvillage, Dordogne, Expatriation, France, France, French, Lotetgaronne, Maison, maison de campagne, The French Life, Travel, Voyage en FranceTagged , , 2 Comments

What that really means is two years in our house in Southwest France; we officially arrived in November 2022.  Upon reflection, it has actually been four years since we embarked on the rather ambitious plan to RV through the US and Canada, then sell up and move to France.  This of course required copious amounts of planning and navigating a plethora of unforeseen circumstances, but here we are now, finally settled in.  

Many echo the sentiment that it takes around two years to get situated here and I concur; navigating the initial long-stay visa to even get into France, the fantastical amounts of paperwork to get into the healthcare system (where documents are lost or mangled on a regular basis), and then applying for a first year-long stay visa (more mounds of paperwork and much of it is done by snail mail).   And that’s not all!! For me, since, unlike my husband who is also British and can follow the Brexit rules, I had to obtain a driver’s license since I would not be allowed to drive after the first year in France on my US license.  Since I was not from a “reciprocal state,” I had to embark on what turned out to be a rather expensive two-year journey of getting bounced around the system, studying and exams – and to both of our relief – I am now able to drive throughout the EU and UK!  So some US citizens can exchange their license which means they really don’t know the rules – so the good thing that came out of this was I actually know how to stay out of trouble on the roads.  

We also had the added challenge of finding a house and were very lucky to snatch up a lovely, affordable country home with a converted barn (gite). All of this required extensive networking, language challenges, and we were grateful that we had the helping hand of British bilingual agents, and to our delight a lovely country neighborhood with a mix of French, Dutch and British citizens.  It really does take a village to get established, and after literally years of being on the move or dealing with the French systems and culture, and with our home improvements winding down, we are finally starting to feel settled. 

A beautiful spring day

The French are making it a bit more challenging to retire here; if you are under 65 when you apply for your 10 year Visa (this happens after you have been a resident for five years), you are required to test for intermediate French which is no small feat.  Many early retirees have been blind-sided by this and are scrambling to qualify for the test.  We fortunately dodged that bullet (currently being 65 or older and our ten-year visa is still a few years out), but are looking to get a tutor regardless as we love the language and want to be able to better navigate the systems here.  Thankfully the French can be very forgiving if they know you are making an effort.  

Many would view our life as living in this bucolic fantasyland – partly because when most people think of France they think of Paris, Bordeaux or the Med.  There is a fascinating term connected to this called “Paris Syndrome,” described as experiencing a sense of extreme disappointment exhibited by some individuals when visiting Paris, who feel that the city was not what they had expected.

The syndrome is characterized by symptoms such as acute delusional states, hallucinations, feelings of persecution (perceptions of being a victim of prejudice, aggression, hostility from others), derealization, depersonalization, anxiety, as well as psychosomatic manifestations such as dizziness, tachycardia, sweating most notably, but also others, such as vomiting.  

Paris Syndrome

This afflicts primarily Asian, especially the Japanese populations, and in my opinion has to do not only with managing expectations and aspects of the fantasy world known as Paris, but about life in general not living up to expectations.  

France is one of the most touristed destinations in the world; verdant vineyards, rows of heavenly lavender, medieval villages, stunning chateaus and some of the best food in the world and…Paris of course!  What’s not to like about this “utopia.”

Recently a retired couple was featured on CNN about their terrible experiences when moving to the Nice area; referring to the vegetable racks full of limp celery and other such fake news that the local blogs lit up with the affection of “move back to the U.S.” 

While it’s not all wine and roses, especially with the drastically inefficient government systems when it comes to visas, getting into the healthcare system (which once accomplished introduces you to some of the best medical communities in the world), getting a driver’s licenses (that may warrant finding a therapist to recover) and navigating the dual taxation systems…once you have overcome these sometimes mind-numbing challenges, the smiling faces of those fields of sunflowers take on a whole new perspective. 

As for limp celery I almost feel that the French should sue this couple for defamation!  We live in an area of green rolling hills, vineyards, fertile fields and are front and center on how hard the farmers work here.  Contrary to what some people think, most of the French are not lazy – they just take their time.  Granted, they don’t fire anyone due to union protections, but even their colleagues work around their less-than-competent cohorts (who in my opinion should be fired by any standards based on my occasional encounters) to provide in many cases superior customer service. There is a national pride here, and unless you’re rifling around someone’s garbage I have never seen limp produce in any market anywhere – oh except for the “ugly vegetable bin” where leftover produce is sold for virtually nothing. 

They are an entitled bunch in that the government workers typically work a 30 hour week and retire early but that’s due to the social programs that have been instilled for decades.  The French people will never go bankrupt due to credit card debt or medical issues; we were issued a debit card – not a credit card and if you make a big purchase you can’t afford right away, you set up installment payments.  

They also love to talk, sucking up the airwaves with whatever gossip or issues that require a well thought-out review.   They take their time at the “marche” checkout as the store isn’t just for shopping, they block the isles in chattering clutches, having a good catch up on whatever is going on in their lives.   

Yet, they can be very forgiving of our poor French and appreciate the effort.  And will take the opportunity to practice their English – sometimes to our disappointment.  

But it’s not all about the picture-perfect lavender fields in Provence or the striped umbrellas in Nice.  

Here are some observations I’ve made in my last few years as an immigrant that definitely keeps the reality of France in check: 

The roads are in great shape and they always seem to be improving them – yet the government buildings in general are pretty run down from an aesthetic perspective; they are typically boxy-like stone buildings in desperate need of pressure washing and while efforts were initially made for landscaping most of them are overgrown with weeds. It’s similar in many of the strip malls depending on where you go. The medical buildings are very similar depending on the practice and can be very utilitarian.  My stereotypes were definitely realigned after my first year here.  This is so different from the US where public areas typically boast formal gardens and well-kept buildings. 

While some of this may not appeal to my aesthetic ideals, I find that garbage isn’t a thing – you rarely see any garbage on the side of any roads or strewn about the villages.  Derelict vehicles and furniture dumping that is so common in Portland is not a thing here; you get a serious fine here if you get caught.  We do see some of it (rarely) tucked away where the authorities don’t venture but it is the exception rather than the rule.  

On the flip side of that, the town centers are where you find the classic medieval structures and cobblestoned streets with quaint shops and lovely bistros.  This falls into the idea of maintaining the essence of classical French ambiance. As we have discovered, if you decide to put a structure on your property, especially if it is anywhere near a tourist area, you need permission and it must be in keeping with the surrounding aesthetic.  

During the tourist season, brace yourself for this one, many of the French retreat to McDonalds, Kentucky Fried Chicken and Burger King!  Primarily to get away from the tourists at the over crowded bistros. We have been in these fast-food establishments and they keep quite busy, especially for families who don’t want to be bothered by the crowds. The menu is similar to the US except the ingredients are local and definitely taste less processed. There are no swirly soft-scoop ice cream cones though, but they use that same ice cream for their sundaes so I can still get my fix regardless.

The French are perfectionists when it comes to their culinary reputation, and their castles, gardens, boulangerie, chocolateries are the some of the most exceptional in the world. And that is true for the area that we live in; our local chocolatier has the best hot chocolate (chocolat chaud) that rivals what you would find in Paris. Add some Chantilly Crème and you immerse yourself into a heavenly delight. 

Yet, in the countryside they don’t care much for Parisians and their designer clothes and perfectly coiffed hair.  Out here, while we don’t dress like slobs, it’s much more relaxed and we can go into the local village with sweatshirts and tights (they usually wear jeans or tasteful slacks) and actually fit in.  If we’re going to “town” – meaning with a larger population like Bergerac, then we dress up a bit more that usually includes a scarf. The fashion is understated and in some cases tastefully chic. 

Now, getting down to the nitty, gritty issues that can easily miff Americans and Brits (and even some of the French): 

EDF, the electrical company here at times just shuts down the electrical to your house.  Sometimes they will give you a notice, but rarely do they follow the actual schedule.  When they are working on something in the vicinity we experience the occasional surge that has been know to blow out some of our electronics – despite having an electrician installing heavy duty protectors.  Yet we have fiber optic running to our house and we are rather remote!  We have good wi-fi and with our VPN having been enjoying all the US and UK streaming services😍

They do the same thing with the water – you will get a warning and thinking you have a half hour before they shut it down – boom!  You have no water.   We make a point to keep gallons handy in the cellar…just in case.

If you decide to rent a car here, you will experience the manic drivers – especially if there is a black Audi involved.  The countryside is not really policed so many will tear by you at 20-30 KPH over the speed limit, cross a white line on a curve, or if they can’t maneuver around you they will be right on your bum thinking you are going to go faster = not.  They violate most of the Code de la Route (of which I’m rather an expert in now); it’s as though they go through the pain of passing the tests and then are possessed by some evil spirit.  

The two hour lunches are a bother when you forget that – oh yeah, the local hardware store (brico) or pharmacy is closed because the French feeding time is from 12-2:00. In the larger towns (think Bordeaux or Toulouse), it’s not so much of an issue but you still have to rush around before noon if you are going to one of the shops that religiously adheres by this rule.  And after lunch the restaurants close down – usually by 3:00 and don’t open back up until 7:00.  This is true except for the fast food chains such as McDonalds, KFC, Burger King etc.   So don’t expect to grab an early dinner unless you want to get some “grab and go” from the local supermarket.

And don’t expect anything to be open on Sunday – you may find a boulangerie open in the morning (as you can imagine baguettes and a fantastic array of breads are on ritualistic display -we’ve seen locals come out with armfuls), but when we moved here we were quite shocked to find even the big box supermarkets closed down for the day!  

Getting over-the-counter meds requires a trip to the pharmacy:  Je voudrais de l’ibuprofen s’il vous plaît – and you can only get one packet at a time of about 10. The same goes for the cold medications or anything that is viewed as a drug.  So no bottles of 30-90 count ibuprofen from Safeway like back in the states. 

It is so counter-intuitive to our life in the U.S.  

We will be off to Paris again soon and I will blog about some of the less-touristed sites we will be visiting…and more on the quirks of being a Francophile! 

The Renault we bought in November 2022 that has since motored us through France, Italy, Belgium and the UK – that I can now drive!  

European Christmas Markets and Farewell to 2024 

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We rang in the holidays with a Thanksgiving feast courtesy of our American friends in Bergerac; complete with turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie.  It was a gathering of American, British and French and proved to be a delightful afternoon immersed in the taste of nostalgia.

Though we had expected to stay put post-Africa, as it turned out, friends and family from the UK decided to take a trip to Bruges, Belgium to visit the famous Christmas Market.  We decided to make the two day trip to catch up and enjoy some libation with a commitment we would be staying pretty much put in France for 2025…hopefully.

We stayed at one of our favorite, classic hotels on the way; all done up in a festive manner with the impossibly high ceilings and the ambiance of a classic chateau; this helped us get into the Christmas spirit.  And thankfully, unlike last year, the weather wasn’t a contrast deluge of precipitation.

The next day we met up with the folks in Coquille near Calais for a nice meal. We then ventured the next morning into Belgium. Unfortunately, it was rather cold and windy which put a bit of damper (excuse the pun) on our visit, but found Bruges to be rather charming all the same.  And we managed some lovely Belgian Waffles (with the best chantilly cream!) and some chocolates (I mean we are in Belgium!).  

Not an American knock-off!!

Bruges is a place worthy of exploring outside of the holiday season and we hope to get back up there someday to meander the lovely streets, shops, restaurants and canals.  So much to see!!!

What goes up must come down and when Paris just happens to be on the way home…well it makes sense to do a “drive by” because one never tires of the City of Light.  

We stayed south of Paris (who wants to park in Paris😁) at the Holiday Inn Paris Velizy not far from Versailles and caught the T6 tram line (walking distance from the Holiday Inn) to the RER C train which was actually pretty seamless; we disembarked at Invalides and voila – you exit the underground next to the Seine and into Parisian glory that warms you on even the coldest and grayest of days.  

Cold but Beautiful

The Christmas Market is located in the Tuileries next to the Place de Concorde which is about a mile away.  It  was nice (seems most fitting for those with children), but there are so many distractions in Paris that you can easily get sidetracked for vast periods of time.  

Distractions in the form of Haute Couture

We arrived right after the opening of her majesty Notre Dame, but weren’t able to get tickets.  I guess we’ll have to go back (ha!); it was lovely seeing the spires from the river though.  

We then made our way up the Champs de Elysee to do some shopping (mostly window really), and happened upon a lovely cafe attached to L’Occitane (yep, the same one you are thinking of).  Here we indulged in a Parisian high art dessert…this is what has always impressed me about France – especially Paris; it’s as if they have to compete with those in the culinary theater to exceed all expectations.  So there!

Cafe at l’ Occitanie

After traversing a good 8 miles of eye candy, window shopping and taking in the festive sights of the Parisian streets all dressed up for the holidays – under the watchful eye of La Tour Effiel, we headed across the always astounding Pont Alexander III to the metro. 

We vowed to come back in the spring for several days – you just can’t do Paris justice on a drive by and we need more gawking time.  This despite this being our fifth time in the City of Light!!!

On our way back we realized our ignorance of how certain Paris Metro zones work; what we didn’t know was that the central Paris “metro” zones (1 and 2) don’t work on the outer zones (like the airport and Disneyland and well…also Versailles) so we found ourselves in a bit of a pickle at the final turnstile at the Viroflay Left Bank RER C line…so…Bob had to “jump the fence” to get a ticket so I could get out😬 We will be purchasing “point to point” tickets under these circumstances from now on.  

No matter where we have wound up in the world – we get where we need to go eventually.  

Next, we headed to Bordeaux, thankfully blessed with dry and partly sunny weather for which we were grateful.  

We found the Bordeaux Christmas market very appealing and close to the CCF/HSBC office where we closed down our account after two years of poor service and having to go to the branch in Bordeaux to take care of business (I could rant forever on this one).  It turned out to be a pretty seamless operation considering the complications we were subjected to, and they seemed glad to write off the Americans and their burdensome FACTA paperwork.  

I decided to partake in some fabulous (Vin Chaud) mulled wine (Bob can’t do oaked wine) that is not only mulled, but then placed on oak for an extra kick.  Leave it to the French!!  The weather was clear, and as night fell and the market lit up, we felt like we were in a fantasyland of sorts.  It wasn’t too busy as it was an off day and we walked along munching on roasted chestnuts and listening to traditional carols – that, by the way – are mostly of American origin.  

On our way out we stopped by the Bassins Lumieres – an astounding video exhibit (if you’ve been to the Van Gogh exhibit it’s a similar theme).  This exhibit is presented in the old WW II submarine base and the show is reflected from the water in the holding pens.  We saw many of the Dutch masters and then contemporary art set to music – it was an incredible experience.

I’ve included a reel of the Christmas Markets here for a short visual of our voyage. 

We’ve done a lot (again) this year that included the barge trip in Wales. And of course Africa which was a dream adventure that took a year of preparation.  

In light of the last three years of intense transition, we have vowed to take it easier in 2025 – like a gap year – and complete our pool project (fortunately the major work is finally completed after 1.5 years) and some of our more simple projects including do-it-yourself landscaping.  And some local travel to the coastal regions with the idea we will primarily stay “in-country.” And I need to finish the protracted process of getting my French Driver’s License which is no small feat. 

But heck, otherwise we will take some time with friends and family lounging around the pool – an alien concept up until now.  

The human condition seems to warrant the idea of reflecting especially as the year closes out, like the pools that surround us, mirroring the effects gone by and contemplating our place in the world.  

Despite our otherwise “dreamlike” lifestyle we are not immune to the laws of entropy and have suffered much loss over the last year.  It began last December when we got the news a dear friend in California passed suddenly from complications to surgery – the shock reverberated through the household for months as he was expected to join us for the Tour de France and was like a brother to Bob. Then Bob lost three aunts in the span of a few months and then the lovely Yvonne (Bob’s sister-in-law) lost her interminable battle with cancer the night before we left for Africa.  We turned around within a few days after returning and flew to the UK for her funeral.  

Then…soon after I received news that my Aunty Alice passed away quietly in the night at 99 years old.  This loss closed a final chapter in the Eugene, Oregon legacy that brought such fond memories, and made me feel like a child again. 

Finally, while all this was going on, my brother was diagnosed with dementia; this heartbreaking news from the States will warrant a trip back – the only time we will probably venture out of France in 2025. 

We mourn their passing and are grateful for the time we have spent in their presence.  

Auld Lang Syne will have a new meaning for us this year as we stare into the reflecting pool of life and continue to cultivate gratitude for the time we have left on this earth, and pray for better times for those who are less fortunate than us. 

September 13 – 20, 2024 Masai Mara to the Swahili Coast, Kenya

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After navigating the quirky Tanzanian/Kenyan border crossing, we boarded our short flight, more like a hop, to the Masai Mara – our last stop on the safari circuit.  We landed on the remote Mara Ol Kiombo airstrip (unpaved and in a swirl of dust) and were greeted by our guides from the Mara Expedition Camp, Julius and his apprentice Diana.  The Great Plains Conservation land cruiser was outfitted such that it beckoned a bygone era with the wood detailing and leather accessories.  

I had been pining over Great Plains Conservation for years, drifting into a sort of dream state, imagining the golden age of exploration complete with campaign furniture and vast plains teaming with game as far as the eye could see.  Founded by National Geographic photographers Derek and Beverly Joubert, they own a string of lodges stretching from Kenya to the Okavango Delta.  They fund anti-poaching units and private concessions; not only do you get an exclusive experience, but you also enjoy the privacy of the concessions which is like eating at a rugged Michelin Star restaurant – with the added satisfaction of knowing the money you are spending is helping to protect fragile wildlife corridors.  

As we drove across the plains, the views emerged into what I had imagined; you don’t think there is game anywhere because the horizon seems unreachable.  We stopped off for a bush tea break under the shade of a fig tree, stretching our legs and adjusting our senses to the calm. 

When we arrived at the Mara Expedition Camp it felt as though we had walked through a portal in time: Huge black and white animal prints adorned the walls that surrounded a collection of african furniture and artifacts –  leather, teak, including massive moroccan lamps harking back to the colonial days, all on display in a flourish of understated class.  There are only six tents in all, with the main lodge and dining area set in a snug grove of acacia trees. 

Our tent was a short yet meandering walk from the main area.  It was set on a polished wood platform, complete with a campaign desk, a leather journal, USB plugs and our own wi-fi; technology being present but obscured by the furniture design.  Trunks and rugs adorned the terrace and tent allowing one to go about in barefoot bliss. The bathroom, shower and dressing area were outfitted with polished brass fittings including such details as animal faces carved into the brass plugs.  We had a lovely teak table and director chairs on the terrace and even the zipper pulls were fitted with colorful Masai beading.  

The area was absent the normal invasion of flies (including the dreaded tetse) and it was off-season for the mosquitoes.  The breeze carried the woody scent of acacia through the tent and it felt good to be able to breathe so deeply; I felt a sense of tranquility I hadn’t felt in days, the only rush being a band of baboons that went  hurtling past the tent.  

This was bohemian living – African style.  

Bob unfortunately had taken ill with a balance issue he had been battling for several months.  The bush flights were bumpy and in some cases we had to make multiple stops to drop passengers off at different airstrips.  Add to that the immense amount of off-road jolting for the last several days, caused his condition to reach a tipping point.  On the bright side he had an outstanding venue in which to recuperate and would hopefully get out on safari the next day.  

After lunch, I was happy to lounge around the main area as Bob got a massage; other guests must have been out as I had the whole area to myself🥰

I took time walking around the grounds which was safe during the day. There was an electric fence around the perimeter to keep the elephants and giraffe at bay, otherwise the trees would have been stripped and who knows what other damage could occur.  Predators were still allowed to roam freely though, and after dark lions have killed game near the dining tent…while the guests were having dinner.  A rare occurrence but still gives you a sort of unnerving pause just the same. 

After a nap, we enjoyed a lovely dinner with the lodge fire blazing nearby and the kerosene lanterns dotted everywhere.  The service and food were superb, and I found the meals in Africa to be meat (or vegan options), vegetables and rice with woody undertones of African spices and a simple portion of desert.  There was a group of Americans at the larger table and the night lit up with laughter.  

We were escorted to our room which was being attended by David, a tall elegant gentleman with an easy manner and ready smile.  He became one of our favorite staff.   After a restful night’s sleep without much activity, except for calls of distant hyenas, we woke to David-the-favorite bringing us coffee and biscuits.  It really was a heinous privilege! 

Bob wasn’t up to the challenge of a morning safari, so I wound up setting out solo with the two guides, greeting the sunrise across the Masai Mara as huge as an African smile.  I was now embarking on an impossible reality; until now I only held inadequate ideas of what to expect. As the sun rose, we passed a scattering of backlit topi and gazelles, traversed brackish gullies, one that I thought we would be stuck in for sure, and then spotted several other land cruisers in the distance.  Julius spied the group with his binoculars.

…cheetah. 

If the lion is the king, then the cheetah must be the supreme diety of the savannah; worshipped without shame above all the other felines.  

We arrived with only a few other vehicles, which was just as fortunate as her presence. There she stood, her head just above the grass, then like an apparition she glided through the grass, pacing the way angels pace themselves so as not to disturb us mere mortals, the sun positioned at such an angle her spots shone like solar flares across her fur.  

The savannah is always a mesmerizing experience, but add a cheetah to the mix and you could easily become her prey. Like Medusa, you stare into her eyes and become transfixed as though you wished for a privileged death at the threshold of such a magnificent creature.  

Hello gorgeous

Julius watched her trajectory and slid the rover past the others towards a fallen acacia, though I was a bit concerned that we were moving away from her.  We arrived with only two other vehicles, he whispered “if we are lucky, she will climb on top.” We watched for several minutes as she strolled through the tide of grass and then, as if mama Africa had handed her a script, mounted the tree, stretching and looking about; it was as though we did not exist.  She took her place upon the tree, like a goddess on a throne: I could almost see her taking a paw and positioning the sun just right, and saying “see, who really is the most beautiful of them all.”

It was at that moment I could have exited this earth with little complaint. 

I would have been happy with a clear view of her on a small clutch of rocks and had not remotely expected a travel brochure moment.  I couldn’t believe my eyes, transfixed, if not paralyzed by this moment in time.  Then she decided she was done with us mere mortals, leapt off the tree and sauntered through the grass before becoming a glint in the sun.  

A seminal moment on safari

At this point Julius said we need to go as we were apparently somewhat off-road at that point and the rangers would be by.  As we drove away the other vehicles followed her and within a few minutes, alas, the rangers showed up and dispersed the other vehicles; crowding her too much could prevent her from pursuing game and frankly, after such a magnificent display why not just leave it there???

Julius and his intuition became the highlight of my safari experience.  I relaxed into my seat and watched the game go about their morning business as we made our way to a convenient breakfast spot, overlooking the savannah and in grand African style, and of course with more food than I could possibly eat.  

Sure, we have now seen just about every animal at this point, but it’s their placement in different parts of the continent that make it so special.  Just being in the Masai Mara, in the high plateau of thin, undisturbed air, brings a clarity and freedom as opposed to the more condensed, touristed areas.  There are so many places that go unexplored, absent vehicles and disturbances, you can refresh your weary mind and commune with the animals; they don’t suffer the human constructs of existential crisis’ and it’s as though you are given permission to just blend in with the rhythm of the land. 

After lunch and a short nap I decided to go out on the afternoon drive; Bob was content to relax at the lodge.  We were mostly on our own, which isn’t so difficult to do; you may see a vehicle kick up dust in the distance, and as the heat and wind builds up and then recedes the grass feels alive once again.  The lions we met on the way were still sleeping it off and the antelope were content for the moment; they do not fear the day – that is the only time we can even walk around the camp without being escorted by a Masai Warrior, so we can relate.  

I know how he feels

During our afternoon jaunt, we ventured past a hyena hide, basically a nest in the low bush and you could see where the dirt had been smoothed out from use.  And then we happened upon herds of elephants, with adolescents in tow. 

Elephants – always

Due to the density of the wildebeest in the Serengeti, there were a fair amount of carcasses but in the Masai Mara we didn’t run into as much, but you still see the occasional bones, and wonder how many generations they have been sitting there. 

Julius had been informed that there had been a leopard sighting and if there was any event that dulled my experience it was the fifteen some-odd vehicles crammed around a grove of acacias to catch a glimpse.  When we arrived there were a few vehicles that were shamelessly crushing their way into the trees for a better view.  Julius said the leopard was asleep and would probably leave once the vehicles were gone.  I told him Hakuna Matata – this is not how I wanted to experience the local wildlife.  We abandoned the love-fest and headed up to a knoll where we stopped and settled in for a sundowner; this would be my last afternoon safari and I celebrated the day with a nice spot of whiskey.  

Below us was the leopard-grove, hiding the cluster of vehicles, and I was content to watch the sun draw down into a beautiful evening.  The gazelles were kicking up dust as they clustered together for the evening.  I asked Julius if they did that for safety reasons and he said yes, the herds will start coming together at dusk for the “night is dark and full of terrors.” 

Sundowner on the Masai Mara

The leopard-grove-love-fest vehicles had dispersed, and we ventured back down to see if we could catch a glimpse of the feline in question, but it was too dark and Julius suspected that he had moved on.  We headed back to the lodge as the plains drew her curtains and we arrived to the glow of lanterns marking the pathways and a welcoming campfire.  

During the night I heard the occasional hyena, but otherwise dreamt about legacies of bones and filaments of grass disturbed only by the passing of a cheetah.  

In the morning we set out for the Mara Concession; Bob remained absent and bid me an adventurous morning.  As the sun rose, I could see giraffes patterned in miniature against the dawn.  We drove through some pretty rough roads reminiscent of the Ngorongoro Crater, but soon came to the gate:  Only private vehicles were allowed and a limit of five at that.  

Within the concession was a Masai village that had been purposefully set-aside for the local tribe as indeed, they had lived for generations on the Mara.  I’m sure Karen Blixen and Denys Finch-Hatton would have been thrilled to know that there were those who carried on their vision of preservation; hold-outs against the hubris of greed that has left Nairobi in the state it is currently in.  

The roads then changed dramatically – they were dirt but well-groomed and I settled in as we passed through rolling hills and watering holes teeming with Cape Buffalo and then we broke over the crest onto a vast, flat plain.  Here there were herds of Hartebeest that I had not seen since South Africa, and for a while the concession seemed devoid of game with a scattering of lone trees.  

Cape Buffalo

Julius said we were heading for the Mara River, yes, the same one that feeds the Serengeti.  As we neared, you could see the groves of trees hugging the banks and then large herds of giraffe and antelope emerged; it was as though we were heading into an unexplored wildlife corridor.  

The Mara Concession

We ventured to the precipice of the river; the area struck me as the perfect camping spot and if it wasn’t protected, I could well imagine it would have been overrun by now.  The guides set up the bush breakfast and we sat on the escarpment with a clear view of hippos, crocodiles and a herd of timid zebras on the other side.

This is what happens when you get my age

The swifts and the colorful bee eaters were swimming on the skin of the river, diving into their muddy nests, while the eagles became grounded in the trees.  It was a veritable quandary of wildlife; Julius said this was his favorite spot and I would concur; it is a place where the likes of John Muir would set foot, not so much to find the truth but to return to it. 

The zebra eventually dared one another to dodge the sleeping slug-of-a-hippo for a drink in the river. It’s a stressful affair because even if the hippos don’t scare you off, the insidious crocodiles may be in striking distance.  This went on for a good half-hour with only two of the zebras wandering to the shore and successfully satiating themselves.  

A typical day on the Mara River

We packed up (I was somewhat reluctant but vowed to commit to this place in memory) and headed out for the plains where we found lions mating in the shade of a bush and further on a large male guarding the remains of a zebra.  I had only seen wildebeest kills and the hide of the zebra created a contrast against the muted tones of the lion.  He had had his fill and was panting heavily, and I suspect would be in for a very long nap.  An observant hyena noted this, and within a blink of an eye, retrieved a leg and high-tailed it to a safe spot.  

A not so petit dejeuner

As the temperature rose I could actually see the mirage of heat coming off the grass, yet it really didn’t feel too intense. 

And…more elephants

As we headed back, we skirted the Masai village, women in their colorful robes looking like facets of beads strung across the neck of a tree, swaying with the wind.  

This would be my last safari drive and I was grateful to have ended it at the Mara Expedition Camp.  It was everything I had imagined, if not more; it could have easily stayed a few more days.

Once back at the camp, Bob said the staff had found a nest of Bush Babies (tiny nocturnal primates), we stopped by one of the thick acacia trees and up in the branches one was slung over a limb, awake and staring at us with those huge eyes. Since they are nocturnal so it was a real treat. Then he pointed out the baby Bush Baby – I melted on the spot.  I wish I could take one home!!

When we reached the tent I decided to lay down for a while; the flame of this experience finally burned down and I wound up convalescing in the tent; my body raging against the altitude and my inability to consume anymore.  Unfortunately it was our anniversary and I was out of commission – it was almost as if the build up and let down of such overpowering experiences had depleted all my resources. Fortunately, even though Chem Chem had the date wrong, we at least had a once-in-a-lifetime celebration in the bush.  

We were set to leave the next day: I managed some toast for breakfast and then the staff danced in with our anniversary cake that almost reduced me to tears (see the camp reel below). I had to tear myself away from this place, the atmosphere had put me in a dream-like trance despite my ailments.  

On our way to the airstrip Julius got word that two cheetah brothers had been sighted; considering that Bob had not been on safari during our stay in the Masai Mara, this was a real treat.  We arrived with only a few other vehicles nearby and there they sat, under a large tree, observing a herd of gazelles – or trying to if they could just stay awake. 

Our safari ends in feline splendor

I’ve noted that lions will look at you but cheetahs look past or through you – as if you don’t exist, as if humans are so inferior we aren’t worth the bother.  It is somehow fitting for the haute couture of the savannah. 

Thank you Mama Africa for such an exemplary farewell, your children have delighted us beyond measure and I will think often of your treasures.  The safari couldn’t have been scripted any better, except that I wish I could have enjoyed your embrace a bit longer.

Mara Expedition Camp Reel

Julius and Diana waited until our flight took off, it was a larger plane with only one stop in Amboseli.  We soon arrived at the funky Diani Beach airport in the pouring rain, yet I felt like I could stand there and let it wash me clean.  We were now south of Mombasa, on the Swahili Coast and back at sea level.  At the private resort of Kinondo Kwetu we found a thatched roof paradise reminiscent of Hawaii, void of the summer crowds with only the antics of monkeys.  I felt like I was floating to and fro with the surf, bathed in the perfect temperature ranging between 70-80 degrees.  

https://www.kinondo-kwetu.com/

We were well away from Diani Beach itself, with its cluster of large resorts reminiscent of Honolulu.  Kinondo is very secluded, I felt as though we were in our own bubble, virtually undisturbed, unencumbered, in the drift, and I was starting to feel like my old self. We stayed grounded for the most part, lounging around the pools and cabanas, save for our meals that were always served at a different venue in the resort. 

Funky cabana-style lunch venue in an old boat

Besides the thieving black faced monkeys there was a family of beautiful Colobus monkeys that came through the resort, oddly disinterested in our food our belongings and were a joy to watch.

Colobus monkey

We ventured out for short shopping and snorkeling trips and were very content just to return to the resort where we could meander freely into the evening without the threat of being eaten, and at times collecting impressive shells on the beach that had washed upon virtually untouched shores. 

Snorkeling in the Indian Ocean

On our last evening the staff set up a private table by the pool; they troubled themselves to bring the food from the kitchen to this unexpected, and final, venue. Lanterns lit the path and the pool surround, and we found ourselves dining in tropical splendor – the only sound being the surf and the wind in the palms.  We don’t know why we were chosen for this particular experience but we lingered in the moment; it’s as though our anniversary dinner was transported from the Masai Mara to Diani Beach🥰

Who would ever want to leave such a place and would you ever grow bored??

I’m going to really miss this place

Though we weren’t heading back to a career or workplace, we knew the transition of reality would still be difficult after such phenomenal experiences, and that we may never venture to this level of travel-euphoria again.  The price of privacy can be unobtainable for many, and we have been blessed to be able to indulge in such a fashion🙏

The next day we landed back at the Fairview, we decided to have one last dinner by the pool before our flight home; but our venue was short-lived when the heavens opened up and Nairobi gave us a monsoonal deluge, a sort of equatorial send-off sending everyone rushing for the cover of the bar:  It was as if Africa was washing away the dust of our experience, preparing us for the stage of our journey.  

In Conclusion 

Africa in an untouched state is a formidable land, with roots that run deep into the human psyche…if you open your heart wide enough to let her in. When we left it was like a dear friend who had passed on; you navigated the headwinds together and the precious trinkets you’ve gathered have taken on a soul of their own.  We surround ourselves with souvenirs until they too become bones on some distant plain.  

There are no straight lines on the savannah, no matter how much you can try, Mama Africa will not allow it.  She will wash out your roads, feed you a buffet of dust, and displace your sweat to the clouds. You cannot tame her elephants or zebras and her guardians will disperse you if you misbehave where her children are concerned.  

I have reflected several times on the curious behavior of the eagle that had landed on the lawn when I was visiting the Blixen museum.  It wandered about, like a protectorate of sorts.  If Karen Blixen had a spirit-animal I do wonder if it would be an eagle, untethered, flying to great heights, drifting above the fray, while civilization forced the land creatures into an unnatural migration from the Ngong to the plains.  But not the birds, as their song softens the blow of civilization to counter-balance its progress. Eagles, like the two lovers who soared across the Great Rift Valley, float in the elusive animal-ether of which the Baroness was a part.  Silence will speak, said the animal spirit…if you just take a moment to listen.

September 9-12 Serengeti, Tanzania Africa

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Just the name sets the imagination on fire:  Songs have been written about it, countless documentaries have been created, especially coverage of the “Greatest Show on Earth” – referring to the Great Migration. We had planned the timing of our safari in hopes of seeing herds of wildebeests make the harrowing crossing of the Mara river.  It’s never predictable as they follow the rain and last year the migration didn’t happen until October.  People come from all over the world and drive up from central Serengeti and camp out for days, sometimes to no avail.  

Wildebeest are “dumb” – this is the conclusion of every guide you meet.  It takes just one to start the stampede for the river, and even when they arrive they might not find it suitable, at the particular moment, to cross and will mill around for days. 

Not long after flying from the Ngorongoro Highlands, we were eying herds of elephants, zebras and wildebeests as we descended over the Mara River and the legendary landscapes of the Serengeti.  

Our first encounter with the migration came in the form of a non-landing event at the Kogatende airstrip; I was wondering why our landing was so incredibly bumpy and if that was just normal – we jolted up and down a few times and then suddenly were airborne again, then I peered out the side window and saw a herd of wildebeest right below us, so close it was as if we were skimming their manes.  The cabin filled with varying degrees of expletives bordering on screams of terror. 

As it turns out, wildlife on the runway is not uncommon this time of year, and the bush pilots have become very skilled at “buzzing them off.”  We were successful on the third try and landed in a suitable manner on the small airstrip.  While this introduction was not a famous river crossing, it set us up for the next few days of adventure. 

The Serengeti – is known in Swahili as the endless plain spanning a massive area of Tanzania. While I wouldn’t compare this portion of the Serengeti to the vast plains of the Masai Mara, especially in the Mara River region, you definitely feel you have finally arrived in the wilds of Africa, the one you’ve always held in your imagination.

Several land rovers (always land cruisers really but I just call them land rovers for consistency) were parked ready to whisk excited safari goers to their lodges.  We met with yet another Emanuel, a younger, strapping Tanzanian who would be our driver for the next few days.

We collected our luggage which was wheeled around the dirt parking area until it was miraculously matched up with the respective owners.  Upon using the facilities there was of course, no toilet paper. With all the money that comes through this area you would think there would be some that would help support the accompanying infrastructure but as I’ve discovered as we’ve traveled through East Africa, that the facilities are surprisingly third world.  It does make you wonder.  But being the seasoned traveler that I am, I always carry tissue with me and also helped a few stranded travelers along the way.  

We settled in, again to our delight, we had our own private 4×4 and driver and headed into the grasslands.  It was hot, which is so typical of high plateau plains, while you freeze in the mornings.  Much to our relief, it started to rain and we stayed pretty much dry but it was so refreshing and the perfume coming off the grass was potent.  We saw wildebeests and antelope as we entered some beautiful grassy knolls also called kopjes, with massive granite outcroppings and rebellious fig trees (a favorite of leopards) growing from the crevices.  It was quite other-worldly and apparently a good place for felines to hole up for the afternoon; alas we didn’t see any. 

We bumped our way to the lodge, and as we were coming through a rather contentious gully, Emanuel pointed and said lion. My eyes overshot where he was indicating as I thought it would be further away, but then I realized, with a fleeting sense of shock that this young male was a few feet to the left of us sitting on a ridge; if he felt like it he could have leapt right into our vehicle. But it was the afternoon and he certainly wasn’t bothered with lifting a paw.

We then crested with a view into one of the valleys and there sat our accommodation; it could have been vintage Africa with the way the clutch of canvas tents lay across the landscape.

The Serengeti Safari lodge is a mobile camp so it is very understated and is real tenting vs. stationary glamping tents being built on top of stone and or wood. Nomad, the tour company who owns this and Entamanu, packs up every four months to follow the migration, which must be quite the feat.  There are about six tents plus the staff quarters in all that makes for a more intimate setting and they’ve furnished the main lounge and dining area with comfy, rustic furniture and this is also the charging station area as electricity to the rooms is limited – no hair dryers for the more fashion-minded.

Upon arrival, we were fed a simple buffet (because it is necessary to be overfed everywhere you go), and settled into the lounge area to get our briefing on the bucket showers, meal times, charging stations and most importantly:  Safety – there is nothing between us and the wildlife that would include not just antelope, felines, hyenas, but elephants and buffalo.  At dawn and dusk we were escorted by Masai staff with spears and flashlights.  Our tent was close to the main area so we didn’t have far to go.  The code to get their attention after dark is to wave the flashlight in the tent entrance and they will come and retrieve you.  You have to admire all of these staff as they are up most of the night and/or early in the morning for coffee runs, wake up calls and escorting you around with the potential of lethal wildlife in the vicinity.

We got to our tent and unpacked (this is when the 15kg limit comes in handy as you don’t have much and there is laundry service at every lodge). Though very rustic, there are bathrooms complete with a dressing area, chemical toilet and an innovative bucket shower that is filled with hot water when you wish to wash off the dust of the day.  While not as luxurious as the others places we stayed so far, it was definitely a bump up from our usual tent camping along the Metolius River in central Oregon.  

We also had a small covered veranda with table and chairs where you can relax and watch the game roam around the valley.  

As it had already been a very long day, I decided to take a nap, enveloped in solitude, and Bob wandered to the main tent lounge to catch up on journaling and charge up his devices.  The main area reminds me a bit of bedouin tent-style but with nice sofas, chairs, furniture and rugs and in the afternoon into the evening, a stylish pop-up bar.

The dining area had one long table for groups and other tables scattered on the perimeter beautifully lit up at night with kerosene lanterns.  

It was a quiet afternoon as everyone else was out tracking the great migration and we wanted to save our energy for the next two days.  After feeling a bit refreshed, I spent time with the binoculars on the front “porch” with a cup of tea and tracked some zebras and baboons in the distance. I was not seeking any bragging rights, just taking some time to breath in the atmosphere. I also downloaded my photos from the Ngorongoro with hopes of doing some journaling but the next thing we knew it was getting dark (in equatorial Tanzania it gets dark around 7:00), and the houseboy came around with the lamps. 

During happy hour the thunder began to roll in and sheet lightning lit up the savannah, it was at that moment I was swallowed whole by the Serengeti.

At dinner we ran into the American couple who had been staying an Entamanu and had some nice conversation over drinks.  The lovely pop-up bar was set up with a with just about every mixer you could think of.  It felt like a whiskey evening with the rolling thunder and the general rustic ambiance.  They built a fire in the pit nearby for anyone who wished to spin their tales from the day but most of us seemed content to lounge around the sofas and talk.  The rest of the guests were British which is not surprising.  Emanuel dropped in to brief us on our expectations for the next morning; we could very well be camped out by the Mara River for most of the day depending on the mood of the wildebeests.

Considering how open our circumstances were I did not feel unsafe – I think the lights and fire with the staff on the perimeter makes for a very enjoyable, casual experience.  

The rain passed us by and we were escorted to our tents to take in the night sounds and we were not disappointed:  During the night we heard a chorus of hyena and lion then later on we tried to decipher the noise outside and realized the wildebeests were grazing along the perimeter of our tent. The tearing and snorting of their feeding was novel as you don’t really experience that effect when you are driving about, but it went on for quite a while.

We woke around 6:00 with coffee delivered – this service turned out to be one of our favorite experiences.  We could also even order tea to be brought at anytime.  We bundled up and met Emanuel outside the main tent just as the sun was starting to rise.  Typically I wore my safari hat due to the intensity of the equatorial sun, a T-shirt, a zip up, scarf, safari vest, trousers and hikers.  All this was a perfect combination of tans and greens to blend in and the vest is great for a photographer like me.  I love having pockets handy!  We looked the part, not because we simply wanted to be fashionistas, but to blend in and also to be able to peel off layers which usually happened around 11:00.  And if you happened to be behind another vehicle the dust could get pretty thick.  And you always have to be prepared for every adventure, especially when you really go off-road, sometimes through muddy gullies to get to a sighting. 

As we went through the ever-fascinating kopjes, I vowed to photograph them in infrared before we left.  We encountered a family of ostriches with some charming chicks of which, we were informed, very few would survive – poor babies.  

Soon we came upon a pride of two mama lions and five male cubs around a wildebeest kill (wildebeest are so ubiquitous they could be called “the chicken of the savannah”).   Emanuel knew this pride well and you could tell that he adored them.  There were two other rovers nearby but there was plenty of breathing space for everyone.  

We pulled close to the kill and soon the mama lion was further into the guts and once she opened up the stomach the stench wafted our way!  I’m sure it was like caviar to her but…dang.  The smell would drift off and on as one of the cubs joined the feast.  The others were larking around and it looked like they had already had some breakfast and it was time to burn off some energy. 

Lion kill with five cubs

We could see the vultures circling nearby and mama lion eventually hauled off the carcass to a safer place.  The other mama lion stood watch over the breakfast table. 

The air was clear and the lighting was superb – I mean seriously.

Lioness in all her glory

Emanuel said it was time for us to go and see if we could catch some of the migration as the herds had been moving towards the river the last day or two.  This is probably the hardest thing for the guides; he warned us again that we could wind up spending most of the day by the river waiting for them to cross – if they cross at all – and you needed to be at the right crossing as there are around ten of them spread up and down the river. He said last year the rains didn’t come until October, so all the tourists who came in September didn’t get to see much.  We kept our fingers crossed (excuse the pun!). 

As we headed towards the river we started to see increasingly larger herds, they were somewhat restless, then they started to go into single file.  The sheer scale of the migration reminds me of what it must have been like in the great plains of America when they were thick with buffalo – what a sight to behold.  

Then the thundering began as they started running, primarily in a ragged single file and en masse.  Emanuel was trying to lower the windshield but the mechanism had gotten stuck, he was starting to get stressed “they’re running for the river!!” Bob helped him loosen the latch and we literally sprinted, ignoring the rough terrain, towards the river.  As we approached another rover was making its way down the opposite side. “They’re crossing!!!”  Emanuel jockeyed into his favorite position, taking pride in beating the other tour operators to such an excellent viewpoint.  

We watched as hundreds waded, leapt and tumbled into the river making their distinct grunting noises, almost like they were honking in varying octaves, powering through the river and making a mad scramble up the embankment. The remaining herd was kicking up dust as they raced through the acacia groves and we could see their hooves pounding through the trees.  It had become a stampede and we were front and center, watching what we considered to be miraculously good luck, to the Great Migration.  

We were well within fifteen minutes of our wow moment when we figured it would slow down as many times it’s only a small herd that passes through and the guides call it a day…but they just kept coming. Then we saw two crocodiles making their way towards the cacophony.  Emanuel said they probably wouldn’t attack as they have been feeding heavily for the last month.  And…they just sat there, looking menacing just above the waterline, and did nothing.  After about an hour the migration was still in full swing, taking different routes or doubling up and snaking around us. By this time other tour operators were attempting to crowd us but we were conveniently on a ledge.

Emanuel said this is the longest crossing he had seen all season as it had recently rained heavily in the southern Serengeti.  Then we saw a herd of zebra make the trek alongside the wildebeest.  

It only takes one wildebeest to start the stampede – like sheep they just mindlessly follow along.  Members of the herd literally hurl themselves into the water in a frantic bid to get to the other side without being mauled by a crocodile.  It boggles the mind to think the nearly 2 million wildebeest make this trek all through the year to find better feeding grounds.  

We humans also migrate to see the migration😂. Interesting that we are so fascinated by animal behaviors. 

The Great Migration – Mara River, Serengeti

We were two hours in when the stampede started to ebb; just watching the spectacle worked up an appetite:  It was nearly 10:00 and we were ready for a celebratory bush breakfast!!!  

We trundled off to a grassy knoll, not far from a grove of acacia trees, with a view down to the river.  And wow, did the lodge deliver: Emanuel pulled out a table, chairs, linens, coffee, a full-on breakfast fit for a crowd.  We sat, our senses flourishing in concert with our surroundings.  I love eating in the bush and I don’t require anything too fancy; just the idea of being in the wilds of Africa, connecting with a sense of nature akin to camping.  But this wasn’t Oregon, it was the glorious Serengeti.  

Elevenses on the Serengeti

I really hadn’t known what to expect, and were surprisingly taken in by the terrain that ran along the Mara River.  And I was trying to process that we actually witnessed what we had dreamed about forever:   The Great Migration. How freakin fortunate we were.  #pinchmenow 

I breathed in a moment of bliss, wanting to exhale a scream of joy but that would have probably not been a good idea.  It was quiet, save for the sound of birds and breeze and no sign of humanity for miles.  

This is around the time the layers come off as the sun begins to warm things up.  We packed up and Emanuel proceeded to take us up and down the river to see what else we could see.  It was around this time, with the heat kicking up that I had my first encounter with a tsetse fly:  They look like a cross between a honey bee and a fly and I let out a yelp as one of them dug into my arm.  Bob didn’t seem to be attracting them for some reason, and now I understood the use of the cowhide and tail fly swatter as I spent a good portion of my time swishing it around my person.  

While I was warding off pests, Emanuel took us upriver to a crocodile haven.  Upon closer inspection we observed an array of around ten wildebeest carcasses floating, in a sort of random surrealism, in the water.  This, apparently, was a crocodile “pantry” where they stash their kills and let the water tenderize the carcasses: It makes it easier to eat them that way.🐊

After contemplating this rather gruesome, yet fascinating bistro, we then headed out to flatter terrain to see if we could see some cheetahs as unlike the other cats, daytime is when the cheetahs are on the prowl for dinner.  We encountered the of elephants, hippos, giraffe, and some lovely bird life but alas no cheetah today.  It was getting hot, stirring up the flies so we headed back to the lodge.  

Life along the Mara River

We decided not to do the afternoon drive as we had had our fill for the day and it was nice just to relax after such an exciting morning, and by the time we got back it was already early afternoon.

Others began returning to the camp and had not seen the crossing; they were apparently too far down the river and weren’t aware of the stampede up river until it was too late. Hopefully they would catch it the next day.  

As we had to get up at 4:30 to get to the sunrise hot air balloon ride, we made it an early night.  It proved to be a noisy one as the wildebeests were restless and calling to one another for several hours from different locations in the camp😫. Bob wanted to go out and shoo them away but…on second thought…a bad idea as the background noise also included hyenas. Hyenas don’t suffocate their prey first like the other predators, they just start tearing and eating with little regard for the victim.  

The morning proved to be unsurprisingly cold, with Emanuel wrapped in a gator and accompanying beanie with a puffy jacket, looking like he was ready to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro.  Our vehicle was open air, though hot water bottles and blankets were provided (they make good use of hot water bottles on safari!).  It was still dark when we arrived at the launch site, with a few balloons being spread out.  We could hear a lion nearby and Emanuel assured us it was across the river – it sounded pretty dang close.

We were offered tea or coffee and as the light improved we were given our briefing; there were sixteen of us in one balloon and we had to enter it much like you would store your wine.  I’m glad I did this now and not into my 70’s as maneuvering could become a bit challenging.  Soon the balloon righted itself and we started dragging slowly across the grass, then very slowly we began to launch.  I love feeling like a bird, I had this sensation when I went paragliding once and for a while you are part of the kingdom of birds.  

The sun rose over the Mara River, and as we floated we scattered herds of wildebeests and zebras.  Then an elephant turned and charged us, ears flapping, looking at us as though we were some predator descending from the sky.

Keep your distance!

Before we knew it we were landing, bracing ourselves for impact.  We bounded around about three times before skidding to a stop but not before clods of dirt sprayed the basket.  We managed to extricate ourselves, dusting off clods of dirt and stood warming ourselves in the morning sun. 

Hot Air Ballon Ride – Serengeti

We then attended an elaborate breakfast that harked back to the days of British Colonialism, with some champagne and a loo with a view – of elephants!  

After we finished feasting, Emanuel arrived to take us out for the rest of the morning safari where we saw the birth of an impala – very rare indeed!  We paused for a good half-hour watching the fawn emerge and then mama licking and encouraging it to get up. It certainly doesn’t take long and you are at once in awe and then worried that in such a vulnerable state that a nearby predator will…you know…I can’t go there🙏

Witnessing the birth of an impala

Emanuel received info that a leopard had been spotted not far away so we were off again to find the most elusive of African felines. When we arrived there was a camera crew near a tree and a surprising absence of other vehicles – I guess they didn’t get the memo. We could barely see her in the underbrush then boom! She darted up a fig tree but then decided it wasn’t an appropriate venue to drape on. She then climbed back down and disappeared into the bush. This last a total of about ten minutes, though I suppose it was better than nothing at all. Except for the camera crew we were not allowed to venture any closer anyway so we soon aborted and went to the camp for lunch. Emanuel said we could come back in the afternoon as she might be on the rocks with her cubs: I’m in for that!!

Leopard sighting!

After lunch there wasn’t much time until the next safari drive so I charged up my devices and did some downloading. I wound up going solo – Bob decided not to go as he was fatigued and wanted to catch up on journaling.  This was my opportunity to do some infrared shots and I had Emanuel drive me around the kopje’s and spent some time contemplating the game as we made our way back to the leopard sighting.

When we arrived, it turned out to be rather busy including the same film crew; apparently the word had gotten out as there were several other vehicles in attendance.  This time the leopard had migrated to the rocks with her cubs.  We were a ways away so I switched between the binoculars and my camera for better viewing.  We spent a good half hour in their presence; everyone was quiet and respectful and we enjoyed some ginger honey beer (a local soft drink) as the sun dipped into the horizon, setting the sky on fire.  We stayed until the light got so low we could not longer see them. What a brilliant sundowner on my final night in the Serengeti…in the company of leopards.

Leopard with cubs – Serengeti

We got back before it was completely dark and I imbibed in a whiskey at my favorite pop-up bar, and relaxed on the couch reflecting on yet another astounding day.  In the distance the animals stirred and Bob and I enjoyed dinner by the lantern light with the campfire blazing nearby.  They had a bucket shower ready for me when I got back from dinner that I was so grateful for as I had doused myself in suntan lotion and bug spray and had picked up some stray dust.  My mind was consumed by the blur of the last two days and fatigue was rapidly setting in.  I didn’t have to dream about the calls of the wild during the night as they were real with the lions and hyena strolling restlessly around the camp perimeter. This had caused the wildebeest to scatter though when we woke in the morning we found one had peed on the table on our veranda🙄 #bushcamping

We bid farewell to the lodge; the always-attentive staff gathered outside the main tent and sang for us as Emanuel set off for the airstrip. When we arrived he stayed until he knew were were actually on the plane: The planes are either early or late, and sometimes don’t arrive at all so the lodge ensures the guests actually board and the plane takes off. This time we would land and disembark before we made it to the Kenyan border as we needed to go through passport control before boarding yet another flight for the Masai Mara.

As we ascended into the heavens, the Mara River snaked below us and for me this would be the most intense part of our safari; from below and above, the void was filled with life, as pure as thunder and as untouchable as lightning.

September 7-9, 2024 Ngorongoro Tanzania, Africa

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After a lovely farewell from the staff at Chem Chem we made our way back to the entrance of the gate keeping our eyes peeled for any unexpected wildlife sightings; we did see more impala and as I write this I am sure they a paying little or no attention to the comings and goings of these strange humans.  When I leave a place I reflect on the silence brought about by our absence and the freedom that comes with that thought.  

We were met at the gate of the concession by our guides, Emanuel and Logi, from the Entamanu Safari Lodge.  Emanuel was an older gentleman having been a guide in this area for over 30 years and in my view it felt as if he was more of a wise sage accompanying us on our journey.  Logi was his apprentice whom he had known for a long time and was set to take over from Emanuel when he retired – which he hoped was soon; Bob and I could sympathize with his desires. The guides and drivers work very long hours and seem to spend most of their time on rough roads; they must adapt to this sort of thing that would make the rest of us go somewhat insane.  Yet they are always excited about the wildlife and showing us their treasures, especially the hidden ones.  

We spent most of the drive on a nicely paved highway that apparently takes you all the way to Egypt which was an interesting thought.  We then veered through more Masai land herding their cows and goats that for me was an interesting comparative study to the Native Americans who also managed to thrive in a place that seemed rather devoid of any lush accompaniments, but that consideration alone discriminates against a people who live in relative satisfaction with their lives – so who is really the more privileged?  As I sat in the comfort of the land rover, rolling by in relative ease, internalizing, much like I did in Nairobi, especially as we drove by the interminable Kibera slums (over 2 million people), at how much of the world does not experience my immunity to that way of life. 

Emanuel insisted that Entamanu wasn’t Chem Chem and Bob and I had no issue since we weren’t subscribers to Architectural Digest and had expectations of something a bit more rustic.  Emanuel said there are other “fancy people” lodges in the vicinity but not at the elevation of this one.  We didn’t come to Africa to be pampered, you can get that at any resort along the Mediterranean, though we did start growing accustomed to the outstanding service levels we were to meet along our trek.  

After a few hours we started climbing into the highlands with its deep red soil and lush vegetation.  The air reminded me of the Pacific Northwest for some reason though the landscape was set in a more jungle-like atmosphere much like Hawaii.  The elevation and positioning near the equator creates a rich elixir for the senses with a fascination of vines and thick undergrowth.  We passed through one of the local towns with its usual madness of tuk tuks, motorcycles and donkeys.  It’s a fusion of the new and the old, with the old ways being somewhat more practical when modern civilization fails you.  Though one does wonder how the art of carrying the sofa on the back of a motorcycle is cultivated.  

Soon we arrived at the gate to the crater.  The Ngorongoro Crater is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and the largest unbroken caldera in the world.  The road that leads to the crater is not paved and the larger potholes are filled only every few months to no avail…as if by design; it was very busy so we had a lot of bumps, curves, exhaust, dust and what appeared to be near misses with other vehicles, but that was only true in the over-civilized imagination.  

I discovered that there are two classifications of dust on the safari circuit: Civilized dust that occurs on structured roads that is mixed with exhaust and sets your sinuses on fire and the uncivilized kind that blows through you as you rough-road through a savannah, seeping into your cells so you can become one with the earth, a visit back to a forgotten self. The latter is the kind of “dust” I hope to visit in my dreams. 

After what seemed like an eternity, (an exaggeration on about 45 minutes) we came across an orderly battlement of vehicles worthy of an outdoor cinema; this was a front row seat into the caldera from the viewpoint of a bird.  Like the Grand Canyon, you momentarily forget all your senses as you peer through the gates of heaven trying to reconcile that such a magnificent vista really exists.  Here Mama Africa cupped her hands and cried tears of joy as she gave birth, flooding the plains with a deluge of creation.  

We moved further up to our lunch venue near facilities (many times there are attendants who come and clean after the “flush” with a hose, because the water pressure may be in question) that apparently is a common meeting ground for tour groups.  I have found that many of the general tourist-area toilets (very true for the bush airports) are wanting for some reason – considering the volume of visitors.  The lodge facilities are typically great if not outstanding.  

We settled on stumps and fold-out chairs, mostly to avoid the ants at the picnic tables, and ate what had been given us from Chem Chem, sharing much of it with our guides as we were at this point already being overfed; such is the tradition in Africa.  

Unfortunately, Emanuel’s sandwich was torn from his hand by a passing eagle😫 On the bright side it could have been a seagull or a crow, but he was afforded a more prestigious grab.

We then meandered through the equatorial jungle that broke into highland grasslands, passing through more Masai country with their bomas, and as we gained elevation we could see the distant plains of the Serengeti and its earthly haze.  We turned off to the road leading to the Entamanu Lodge – the highest one in the Ngorongoro Highlands and in its own unique location on the rim; this location also affords you access to the crater floor before just about everyone else. 

https://www.nomad-tanzania.com/camps/northern-tanzania/ngorongoro-crater/entamanu

We arrived and after our briefing, decided to go on a walk around the highlands to stretch our legs.  We were accompanied by a ranger complete with a rifle and a Masai with a spear and a walking stick that I decided to use on the downhill slope.  It was a beautiful and clear day through forest and grasslands, there were elephant and antelope sightings though we didn’t encounter any, but we were graced by the giraffes who poked their heads above the acacia trees; referred to fondly by the Masai as “bush towers.”  We learned about the trees and medicinal properties of many of the plants.  We encountered the ubiquitous cattle drive, with the soothing tinkling of bells and momentarily became herders ourselves.  We managed to get about an hour of elevation cardio in before we went to our room and freshened up for dinner.  

We had our sundowner with others in the lodge, set near a lovely fire. We ran into Americans who would be staying at the Serengeti Safari Lodge so we would have a somewhat shared experience moving forward.  

At this height, It doesn’t take long for it to get cold and windy and after a nice supper we were escorted to our room (a practice we would find at every lodge) with a nice gas fireplace – that was truly welcome!  Our room had a bit of a Scandinavian vibe to it; very understated with cow skins and rugs so you could settle in for an evening, protected against the elements. 

During the night, the wind rattled things a bit and we were awoken at 5:00 with a tray of superb coffee that was placed in a kiosk built into the wall – much like a stationary dumbwaiter, so we can easily retrieve it without too much disturbance, and also letting the cold in.  We huddled in bed until the fire got us warm enough to get dressed.  As we stepped outside, bundled in almost every layer we had thought to bring, the wind mixed with the fog made for a very atmospheric, almost jack-the-ripper start to the day. We were escorted to the land rover, complete with blankets and hot water bottles.  We retraced our way to the entrance that lead to the crater floor; we wound down this portion of the road that has been, thankfully, repaved into cobblestone.  The mist started to lift and the sun eventually parted, revealing the treasures below.  

At the threshold of the cauldron, a rhino was spotted in the distance but it was too far for my camera lense, but we watched as he sauntered across the grasslands in solitude.  There were currently very few other vehicles in the vicinity.  

Our first stop was a fresh lion kill which at the time was a very novel event for us.  We were glad we were early birds because in about an hour nearly 20 other vehicles started to pile up for a look, even though only five vehicles are technically allowed at a time.  Many had up to six people packed in trying to get selfies; and fortunately for us being early gave us the best vantage point and the lions would be fast asleep by the time many of the other sightseers arrived. 

The morning meal with the lion family was a sight to behold, giving us Africa in all her savage glory; blood soaked faces and mama licking her cub clean.  The tearing of the flesh and breaking of bones is an auditory and elemental experience. 

We also had a chance to study two magnificent male lions before they too passed out for a day-long siesta.  Emanuel called one of them “Mufasa” and they were certainly stunning specimens (I sometimes wonder if he isn’t also referring to himself!).  There had been two kills as the remains of a wildebeest were not far away, on the other side of the road.  When you observe the family, even though their bellies appear horrendously full, they keep eating as they sometimes don’t know when their next meal will be. 

Mufasa

There was a troupe of hyenas and circling vultures nearby, but they hadn’t ventured too far as the two male lions were not far away, and I guess that was more than the scavengers could bear for now.  

As we were by a lake, we saw plenty of bird life including flamingos.  The area was rife with hippos who would move occasionally but were otherwise content to be enormous slugs along the shoreline.  

We managed to squeeze past the increasing number of vehicles, some that were blocking our progress, and at the point were happy to be extricated from the fray, and proceeded through the vast ecosystem seeing some stunning bird life – the Crowned Crane topped the list and proliferated everywhere it seemed. 

Gray Crowned Crane

We saw Ostrich couples and studied the vultures that looked very similar to condors. Many people think they are ugly, but like the hyena, they are very unique and necessary to the savannah.  I find them quite fascinating.  

We then moved onto more hippos including the rare experience of a mating couple  🫣. We then stopped for breakfast, which is basically an area reserved for tourists with decent bathrooms.  It was set overlooking a lake with an accompanying marsh with elephants, more birds and of course hippos; we witnessed two sparring which was a treat and of course you don’t venture too close to that sort of spectacle (one gentleman was getting too close and the guides started to freak out). 

As we ate and chased away the neon blue starlings on the hunt for breakfast bits… but this time the eagles were absent and we managed a meal in relative peace. The sun was breaking through the cloud layer making for ethereal backdrops with the game seemingly small against the dramatic escarpment. We even encountered a small wildebeest migration crossing the road; a prelude to what we hoped we would experience in the Serengeti.  The crater is an astounding area within its own microcosm, protected so the inhabitants can live out their daily lives in relative peace (save for us tourists but rangers can come and break up the “party” if the drivers get too aggressive).

We stopped off on a knoll overlooking the grasslands, a gentle wind ushered in a peaceful vista, filling my lungs to capacity.  I can imagine at night, even when the predators are restless, the peace here is palpable and it’s when the cauldron truly comes to life.  When one thinks of a cauldron it usually means fire, but here, this is a cauldron of life.  

We made our way back to the rim and ended the day with a highland bush walk, again with a ranger and a Masai guide that took us through a herd of giraffes who poked their heads above the canopy – they stopped and watched as we walked past.  We headed for our sundowner spot, all set up with an open bar and a lovely view, across the landscapes of the Ngorongoro – the sky becoming a picturesque magenta. 

We then began to hear the chants as dancers from the local Masai village filed in, in all their respective glory; it was certainly one of the highlights of the day.  

As the dancing faded we could once again hear the cow bells from the nearby herds, a background symphony that earned this area its name:  Ngorongoro echoes the tune of cow bells, as demonstrated by a song rolling off the tongue of our Masai guide.  There is no end to the charm of this place.  

The next morning our guides took us back down the road-from-hell and it seemed like even more tourists were winding their way back up.  After about 45 minutes we reached the gate and the accompanying mayhem.  It certainly makes for great people watching. I’m torn by the need for tourism to fund the people of Tanzania, and the abuses that accompany this sort of progress.  

Back on smooth roads again we were driven to the Manyara airstrip for our next stop, the Serengeti and the Great Migration. The strip is small and we were flying in a cessna so it was going to be cozy to say the least.  We bid Emanuel and Logi a fond farewell – we felt so blessed to have had a private vehicle with two excellent guides; they did an incredible job of showing us the sights and skirting any potential hoards.   We soon squeezed our way into the cabin. The she-captain tells you to fasten your seat belts but the gentleman across from us couldn’t get his belt to work so he tied it around his waist #thisisafrica.  As we ascended, the crater opened up below us, giving us a parting panorama as the massive cauldron and its inhabitants slid into the distance.  

The Ngorongoro

September 2-7, 2024 Nairobi to Lake Manyara Africa

Posted on Posted in Africa, The French LifeTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , 1 Comment

We checked our bags in Toulouse thinking we would see them in Amsterdam as we were staying overnight to visit a friend – but KLM, being as efficient as they are, checked them through to Nairobi.  I was hoping for my toothbrush and comb then I realized as we walked through the airport it was as though the universe had beat back time to 1993 when my only possessions were my camera and a few pieces of clothing.  Outside of feeling hungover even though I haven’t had anything to drink, sore shoulders and a questionable knee, I could be back in the Amazon – feeling more weighed down by the humidity than my luggage.  

When I watch movies about the western frontier, I’m thinking those folks haven’t had a change of clothing or a good wash up in a long time.  It’s always good to keep things in perspective. 

The small glimpse of Amsterdam I witnessed in the fading light was an impressive collection of architecture with contemporary structures competing with one another. The bicycle culture races by with many of them piled up on or near the racks, holding after dinner conversations I suppose, until the next rider appears to disrupt the party.  

The next morning we caught up with one of our friends who had moved to Holland from the states and we had a long breakfast discussing our respective immigration challenges and reminiscing about the good old times.  It was so lovely to catch up on a walk around the canals.  We then embarked on our 8 hour flight to Nairobi that all-in-all turned out to be uneventful.  And…the anticipated ground crew strike had been averted for now so we held out hope that our luggage would follow us unhindered to Nairobi.  

When we arrived later in the evening, we were met with red carpet service by two charming Kenyan gals from the travel agent, who got us through our visa processing and customs in an obscenely short amount of time.  We were then whisked away to the Fairview Hotel, a lovely British Colonial-style resort hotel, shrouded in security to the extent they x-rayed our bags before entering the hotel.  This we figured was to prevent any terrorist attacks on the hotels – the same thing goes for the malls.  

Though it’s always tiring going on long-haul flights we at least didn’t have to grapple with jet-lag. 

The next day we visited the Blixen Museum, the former home of Baroness Karen Blixen, the author of Out of Africa; her influence cuts an impressive swath through this area known as the Karen District. She introduced coffee to Kenya and on her plantation grew Arabica beans.  I knew she grew coffee but did not know that she grew that brand.  I will have a new appreciation when I go shopping for coffee from now on!  

The tour was much more comprehensive than the last time I was there 34 years ago.  We were given a thorough history and tour; as we walked the path between the kitchen and the main house the scent of jasmine wove its way through our senses – much like her writing.  

Once in the house we entered her study where her typewriter, the cuckoo clock, the gramophone Denys Finch-Hatton had given her and also a large collection of his books donated by his family; a fitting addition to the house considering their equal obsession with literature. 

In the room was also a french screen with many different pictures that served as a foil for her stories; she would have a guest pick one of the scenes and she would spin a tale, entertaining them for hours in front of the fireplace.  

The house is not large, not like the one in the movie, and it is decorated with animal skins and other African artifacts including her lovely paintings; she had quite the talent it turns out.  The largest room was the dining room, laid out as if she was expecting us for dinner.  

We then walked across the vast lawn to the path that led to the coffee mill; on the way an eagle landed, a rather impressive specimen that had no reason to visit as there was nothing of interest in the lawn itself.  He sat for a few minutes, cocking his head like they do while watching us.  He walked around for a few minutes and did not leave, even as we entered the forest.  It was quite intriguing to encounter one of the Eagles of the Ngong that the baroness speaks so fondly of in her writings.

Her tale ends in devastating sadness as the plantation went bust and shortly before she had to leave to go back to Denmark, Denys was killed in a plane crash.  In her autobiography it was conveyed that she and Denys had ended their relationship as being the wild thing that he was, and though they had been soulmates for years, he still would not commit to her.  She considered herself “dead” to him then and in the end, his untimely demise was the last cruel hand that fate dealt her as he was now dead to her.

Their story took us over to the Ngong Hills where, after driving the chaos of Nairobi and washer board roads, we came to an obscure field edged by a hedgerow with a phone number on corrugated metal on where to call for entry. 

We were met by Damares who let us into Denys’s gravesite; equally manicured and appropriately surrounded by wild bush.  Damares is the great grand daughter of Kamante, Karen’s houseboy.  Karen and Denys would “escape” to this place that was once a grassy knoll in the hills with a view of the plains.  Back then it was a day-long trek to get to the site and back in the 1920’s it was pretty easy to get lost up there.  In this place they would cocoon, as lovers do, and it was during their romance that he said he wanted to be buried there.  Karen had the same idea but it never came to fruition.  Denys was killed when he crashed his Gypsy Moth and it burst into flames, Karen, his friends and colleagues took his coffin via oxcart all the way up to this spot.  When he was buried it was only marked with four stones.  Later, his family erected the obelisk, and on his epitaph a quote of the rhyme of the Ancient Mariner.  

Spending time with Damares – the great granddaughter of Kamante

The rocks were then replaced with rounded, sculptured stones.  Others were also near the site, but were a bit overgrown now and Damares said those were probably placed there so that Karen could be buried next to Denys.  

In the 1920’s the Ngong Hills were home to big game including lions.  Shortly after Karen left, a lion and lioness visited Denys’s grave – as fantastical as it sounds, as we thought it was just something manufactured by Hollywood for the movie, Damares assured us the story was true as it was Kamante, who visit from time to time, who had witnessed them.  

We took in the atmosphere of the grave and its surroundings, imagining the grassy knoll and the view of the grave Karen could see from her house.  

Their story was one of the great romances to come out of that era and it is as magical as the writing the earned Karen Blixen, aka Isak Denisen her stature as one of the foremost story tellers of the 20th century. 

It seems odd that someone as legendary as Denys Finch-Hatton, who even has a bridge named after him at Eton, is buried in a rarely visited grave in the Ngong Hills – or maybe not – this is where he spent the most precious moments with the loves of his life: Karen and the wilds of Africa.

After winding our way back through the Ngong Hills and on down to the main streets of Nairobi we turned off into a secluded resort area. We ended the day with a lovely meal of “wet” chicken cooked in earthy spices, green mashed potatoes (green because they use pumpkin leaf) and kale.  Our Kikuyu guide had given us an outstanding day roaming around the influences and history of an enigmatic storyteller.  

The following day we wanted to get some shopping in as we would not have a chance on the safari circuit.  Our guide from the Fairview, Bernard, took us to the Kobe Tough (Kobe means turtle in Swahili…to be interpreted as these women having a touch shell), a bead shop that was developed to employ impoverished women. We were greeted with song and impressed with this whole enterprise to help women of lesser means find employment.  I think my favorite purchase on this safari is the Masai Apple Watch band that has now become a conversation piece. It’s a lovely beaded piece that I hope will last for a very long time.  

We packed up our purchases and left them with the front desk of the Fairview so we could collect them before our final flight home.

The next day we flew into Arusha, getting through the visa process with relative ease; it pays to have the forms filled out and your cash ready.

We were escorted to the lovely Arusha coffee lodge where we overnighted and headed out the next morning to our first stop on the safari circuit.

After an uneventful two hour drive from Arusha to Lake Manyara, we arrived at the stunning Chem Chem lodge where we were greeted by the staff with those huge African smiles including three magnificent Masai Warriors – a vision that reduced me to tears. Chem Chem is a private concession in the Tarangire and Manyara Lake reserve areas that provides an upscale safari experience while funding the preservation of the local wildlife corridor.  

It’s a tent lodge though is a permanent installation set upon stone and boardwalks that lead you to the main area.  It’s ranked as one of the top African lodges and looks like a feature out of Architectural Digest.  It’s very spread out, in elegant repose, with the main area overlooking a watering hole, or oasis as the palm trees make for a tropical effect, and you can sit and watch the wildlife come and go; they call it “bush tv.”   The area is thick with baboons, monkeys and impala; they peak out from under the boardwalk at you, completely indifferent to your presence.  

The area is hot and dry, yet the humidity is low making it comfortable.  Inside our tent we had all the comforts of home including a shower in the room and one right outside (walled off in stone), where you can wash up “in the wild” though the monkeys really take no notice.  And we had a full coffee station with an espresso machine!! There is glamping and then there is Chem Chem.  

After freshening up, Nenga, our driver, soon whisked us out on safari where we were blessed with elephants galore and Bob was able to take a ride in the “safari seat” up close and personal to a curious pachyderm. 

Close but not too close!

A herd then made their way to the local watering hole complete with a hide where we could watch in relative safety:  Nenga was really excited as this event is a hit or miss. 

He then got a call that a pride of lions had been spotted and we soon found them laying across the road, finishing off a day’s nap and getting ready for their evening haunts. 

Not much going on here but still…anything could happen

We had our first “sundowner”  – basically drinks in the bush watching the sunset against the super exotic baobab trees with giraffes wandering by making the evening quite mesmerizing.  Suffice it to say, we immediately went into sensory overload. 

Our first African sunset

We got back for dinner as the light grew dim and were escorted to a private setting with a backdrop of lanterns recessed into a massive termite hill, the table was lovingly strewn with orchid petals; they somehow knew our anniversary was coming up and had set aside a lovely dinner with champagne!  

Happy and exhausted we settled into tent, shrouded in mosquito netting and fell asleep to the night sounds of the bush. 

During the night we were woken abruptly by the shrieking of baboons and monkeys.  This racket went on for a good hour and half and while we found it disconcerting, it did occur to us that there must have been a predator nearby.  The unbroken rule at all safari camps is no one goes out after dark without an escort and this first night confirmed why that was.  Soon we could hear the lion in the distance as he walked his territory.  

After a fitful night sleep we awoke to impala grazing right outside our tent, and then soon a herd of zebra wandered by.  I sat and let my mind go until we were beckoned to our morning jaunt.

We stretched our legs on a bush walk with Nenga alongside a Masai Warrior, discovering different aspects of the fauna and the Masai way of life.  The walk ended in a bush breakfast that could not be equaled:  Set under a baobab tree on a huge live-edge table was our feast, elegant and seemingly spare compared to the table we were being served on.  There were staff who had prepared breakfast over an open fire including a steaming hot water pot where they prepared coffee at the table.  Even the toilet facilities were crafted in a thatched hut, rustic yet practical with running water  – it was hard to believe we were in the middle of a game park.  

After recovering from this culinary event, we retreated to our landrover, and ventured to one of the local villages where we met a Masai chief and his four wives.  We learned more about the structure of the Masai village and culture, and challenges the chief faced with running this sizeable operation, most conflicts related to animals, property rights and marriages.  

His main residence was small but well structured out of timber, mud, dung and urine that also doubled as an insect repellent.  The spare rooms were segregated with the wife-of-the-moment in one room and the children residing in the other.  After much discussion, the chief wanted to bless us for our long marriage and though we felt it was more of a touristy gesture, we obliged though were certainly out of sorts being white people in this setting.  

Back at the lodge we had lunch in one of the towers that gave us a lovely view of the lake and where we could watch the game come and go and relax for a few moments. #bushtv 

We rested for just a little while until we headed out on the afternoon safari where we found a pride of lions tucked into the high grass; it’s a bit disconcerting if you think of Masai walking around minding their business and then you run into a pride – they are so difficult to see and many are in sleeping under the bushes.  Nenga’s sharp eyes somehow sussed them out and we spent the remainder of the drive watching as they started to wake, literally watching the papa lion fade into the sunset.  

This ended our first stop on the Tanzanian circuit, we were set to go to the Ngorogoro Crater in the morning. I’ve included some of my infrared work while I was out and about; I was especially taken with the baobab trees❤️

Masai Warrior on bush walk
Baobab Tree
Masai Village

Spring 2024 Wales to Versailles

Posted on Posted in American Expat, Beauxvillage, Dordogne, Expatriation, France, French, Jardin, Lotetgaronne, maison de campagne, The French Life, Travel, Voyage en FranceTagged , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

It is a spring morning in Southwest France.  The moon rises in the west, in a half-lidded sleep disturbed by the awakenings of dawn, the sun then simultaneously awakes in the east as if to say “it is my turn now, and the birds concur.”

This was my first birthday in France; I realized my last two birthdays were spent in Hawaii and Venice.  As that sentiment rolled around my consciousness I feared I was becoming a snob. Yet, fifty years ago I was a country bumpkin oblivious to either one of those venues and my exposure to French culture came in the form of words like “Bon Marche” and a concoction called “french dressing”  that was best reserved for “french fries.”  

After struggling with these conflicting perspectives, I was soon abandoned to the day and the few chores I needed to accomplish before heading out for my birthday lunch.   

As it turned out it was actually a surprise lunch as I was greeted by our neighbors and smattering of American friends we had collected over the last year.  I am really starting to feel more at home, especially now that we have gotten our Carte de Sejours (residency cards).  Though I do wonder if the French have an installation on Mars; so much of the paperwork is copious – bordering on the obscene and many of their systems are still manual instead of online – it really does make you wonder.  Now that we have completed our paperwork we can actually have a celebratory bonfire to get rid of the backup materials that certainly came in handy but are taking up way to much space.  

Otherwise we have been busy in the garden, coping with (and dodging) the torrential rains that per everyone we talk to, are quite unprecedented, and those few days of sunshine and perfect temperatures only makes one yearn for more of the same. 

We had much to do before heading for the UK, as we are planning to spend time with Bob’s sister and brother-in-law in Malvern, and then vacation on a barge, boating our way through the canals of Northern Wales for four days.  

We managed to get the potager planted and some of our privet hedges in before taking off as it would soon be too dry for planting.  With our new 3200 liter underground water tank we can set the sprinkler on a timer and the tank replenishes itself when it rains so we really aren’t wasting any water while we are away.  

The drive from Doudrac to Rouen was a grueling 10 hours as we had some unexpected diversions; we were rightly exhausted once we arrived at the hotel.  The next day we had the adventure of taking our car on the “LeShuttle” through the channel tunnel to England.  It is quite a feat of engineering!

When we disembarked we were driving on the left side of the road which as it turned out, Bob navigated rather nicely.  His British muscle memory kicked in though I still felt dyslexic as being on the opposite side is very unnatural for me.  We got to Malvern late in the afternoon; it was interesting being back in an English-speaking country though I had to catch myself so I wasn’t expressing French greetings!  

After getting settled in at Bruce and Kathryn’s place,  we headed to Boots that is like an American CVS pharmacy where we can get over-the-counter meds that aren’t easily accessible in France, such as saline eye drops in a bottle (the French have these little vials they use that is really an eye wash), Deet insect spray – simple things like that. Basically it was easier purchasing these items instead of performing pantomimes at the French pharmacy.

We then had a great evening at the Rotary where Bruce is president and enjoyed a tasty meal on a stellar golf course; this gave us a chance to dress up for a change.  

We had nice weather in Malvern and besides going for walks, we also rearranged our luggage for the four day barge cruise on the canals in Wales.  It’s only a two hour drive from Malvern, and after long days in the car from France to the UK it was a welcome relief. 

Wales is one of the wettest spots in England and as you drive through the countryside, the hills are of a lush green, partitioned by hedgerows, with the sheep and the Tudor-style homes; you do realize why this area is so special.  England is more dense than France, due to the physics of size but the English oaks and chestnuts seem more grand, I think because of their “wingspan.”  Many sit apart from their brethren, dominating the fields with their massive limbs, occasionally accompanied by willows and birches.

One can argue that the Dordogne is equally lush, though I think the Perigordian stone, that bleached stone that you see on the signature structures in the south of France, has a bit of a Mediterranean flair.  And the French farmlands are vast by comparison, with dryer and warmer summers.  It’s the summer thunderstorms that keep the area green – though violent they certainly help to maintain a balance to the farming community.

As we drove through canopies of trees, it felt more like a primordial jungle that had been fashioned by a hungry dinosaur instead of modern-day commerce.  

We arrived at the Blackwater Meadow Marina, the beginning of our trek along the Llangollen Canal.  We unpacked our cars sans the luggage bags (like the RV there is only so much space) and set off down the canal.  The weather was lovely, warm and in the 60’s, and we hoped it would hold for the majority of the trip.  

As we embarked we were greeted by some swans and ducks and we kept seeing the goslings – they were so darling!  We otherwise floated quietly through the farmlands. 

Bob and Bruce managed the till and we went up the river for a few hours and stopped as it was already getting late; we moored up for the night in a beautiful location overlooking rolling meadows and a dairy farm.  

We were able to get out and stretch our legs along the towpath; back in the day the barges were towed by horses so these are well-tread paths along the entire length of the canals.  

We settled in for a nice cottage pie and awoke the next morning to several cows staring at us!  

After breakfast we headed out and were greeted by two locks that took about ten minutes to fill and are manually opened and closed.  

We spent a relaxing few hours moored off in a wooded area for our tea which consisted of scones, jam and…clotted cream – one of my favorite British delicacies.  After that indulgence I took off for a nice trek along the towpath; the weather was perfect, it was not crowded and I was able to do some “tree-bathing.”  Soon I stumbled up on the England/Wales border with an English translation of Welsh on the signs.  Then came the tunnel where the barges pass through on their way to and from the famous Pontcysylite Aqueduct.  

I greeted our barge on my trek back and we made our way to the tunnel that turned out to be a bit of an adventure as there is no system such as a green light telling you when you can go, and we wound up having another barge reverse back out of the tunnel as we made our way through.  It takes about ten minutes and there are apparently bats🦇

Bruce ran the length of the tunnel with his cell phone to navigate our passage😉

We soon passed over the Chirk Acqueduct and then across the Pontcysylite Aqueduct that is a World Heritage Site and an astounding feat of engineering.  It can also be dangerous as the entry (gap) to the boats don’t provide any protection from falling off into the meadow far below – eeek!  

We decided to moor up in nearby Trevor.  As it was a beautiful day, Kathryn and I went for a hike under the aqueduct; it’s a very manageable trek along the river where you can sit and take in the woods and the spectacular arches of the aqueduct. 

We decided to spend the night in this area and as we sat down for dinner, alas, the rain came. 

We were socked in for the night and then into the following day. We decided to make a slow and steady journey back and as it was raining pretty hard at times so we were limited in our adventure options.   It turned out to be a bit miserable for the guys as they had to remain outside to steer the barge.  

By mid-afternoon the rain let up a bit and we moored up at the Lion’s Quay, an upscale resort and made reservations for a proper sit-down dinner.  I went for a walk up to the golf course and experienced a sort of Watership Down as there were rabbits popping out of the hedgerows…everywhere! I got a decent walk in and then we had coffee at the resort then soon we were off to drinks and a nice dinner.  

As we were near a busy street we boated downstream a bit more to a quiet area so we could have a peaceful night’s sleep.  

Our adventure through the canals of Wales

The next day we headed at a slow pace back to the Marina, so far the weather was holding up. We disembarked and returned to Malvern and were back by early evening. All in all it was a very relaxing time and we got some much needed rest that has been seemingly impossible when we are at home.  

We spent a few days at Bruce and Kathryn’s, including hikes through the Malvern Hills which was spectacular.  

Hiking through the Malvern Hills

We then headed to Basingstoke and onto the Winchester to visit more of the family before landing in Dorset on the last leg of our trip in England.

Sadly we learned we lost Bob’s favorite Aunt Brenda Montgomery, a powerhouse in the Canadian medical community; we thankfully had a chance to visit on our RV trip in Nova Scotia. ❤️‍🩹

On our way back to France we visited Bob’s Uncle and then overnighted in Dorset at the Coppelridge – an ode to a place we stayed when we first met 30 years ago.

30 years on at the Coppelridge – we had more hair back then!

We stopped in for lunch with the incomparable and renowned British Explorer Colonel John Blashford-Snell and his lovely wife Judith whom we had traveled with to Guyana and Nepal.

https://www.johnblashfordsnell.org.uk

This break also included a stroll through the quintessential charm of Shaftesbury, known for its meandering streets, thatched-roof cottages and lovely views of Dorset.

The famous Gold Hill in Shaftesbury

After some interminable stop and go traffic through south London, we finally made our way to the channel tunnel where we experienced further delays.  At this point we were looking forward to getting home but we had one last stop:

The Palace of Versailles.

The massive scale with the accompanying level of artistry is nothing short of astonishing.  The landscape and architecture is, as is always the way with the French, the celebration of the art form; meticulously crafted and restored everywhere you look.  The grounds, canals and waterworks go on forever; even after a one hour bike ride and 23k steps 😫you still can’t take it all in.  While you can’t call it “restrained” by any means, it differs in other palaces such as Lindorf in Germany which borders on the grotesque with all of its overbearing embellishments.  

And the queen’s hamlet (a bit like a hobbit village but inspired by the colombage architecture of Normandy), is just another example of lavish spending by the royals of the day so you can imagine why the hungry and weary decided to revolt and take Mademoiselle’s head.  

Versailles was created as an idea – a fantastical playground cordoned off from reality.  It just kept growing over the centuries until it became the phenomenal sprawl that it is today.  

When the baroque music plays throughout the garden you can easily envisage the royals and entourage in all of their finery.

What I liked the most: 

Overlooking the canals and gardens, it creates a soothing balm to wander around and it wasn’t too terribly crowded.

The Hall of Mirrors

The Queen’s Hamlet

Breezeways with pink marble and black and white tile of the Grand Trianon.  We got lost wandering through the gardens and stumbled up on an incredible foundation, recently restored and not on any map or brochure.  It’s quite an astounding thing!  

Lastly, the signature French architecture with the dark gray and gold embellishments (just the best).

The weather gods were kind to us as well.  We had a spit of rain during our bike ride, but the skies cleared a bit and we had good weather whilst strolling through the Grand Trianon.  When we got back to the canal (Petite Venice) we scored a seat at the restaurant just as the thunder cracked and shortly after we were seated the skies let loose in monsoonal splendor.  We watched as several other tourists came hurtling in for lunch – some of them pretty dang wet.  

By the time we finished eating, the skies had cleared and we made the way to the main palace for our 4:30 time slot. 

Note – the Chinese tourists are back in full bore; due to their restrictions even post-Covid we were spared the swarms during our RV trip. We were especially thankful as the national parks were crowded even without too many foreign tourists. Sadly, overcrowding at any popular tourist destinations is becoming a real issue everywhere.

Trekking through Versailles

We got home late the next day to an overgrown garden that would keep us busy for quite a while – though we were glad to be back in our La Maison.  

We are looking forward to summer and are excited that the Tour de France is coming through our area – we plan to watch the tour pass through on July 11🥰

Now for a French moment:

While we were in the UK, Bob’s sister gave us a lovely book full of whimsical illustrations by an Englishmen who lives in the Southwest France.  What a delight to read such relatable expressions!

Humor during the pandemic😆

March 2024 Our Dream Maison a Year Later

Posted on Posted in American Expat, Beauxvillage, Dordogne, Expatriation, France, French, Jardin, Lotetgaronne, Maison, maison de campagne, Photography, The French Life, Voyage en FranceTagged , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Was it really a year ago that we collected the keys and took possession of a decade-old dream of moving to France?  Sure, the expectation was to be excited beyond belief, yet we found that our elation had been replaced with relief, excitement with anticipation; our foray into the French delivery system (as in goods), as I would soon learn, begged the same treatment as an entire chapter out of a Peter Mayle novel.  It’s difficult to invoke the anticipated glassy-eyed euphoria since we had nothing to sleep on 😁 and soon learned our bed had gone MIA, though we did have our washer, dryer, freezer and TV delivered as promised, so were far better than anyone on the Gaza Strip.  And…having an established address cures so many of the French administration requirements for “proof of residency,” as we now have utility bills to prove we are in fact residents.  So there👈

We did manage to get our bed, a manic adventure that warranted more than a good night’s sleep. While we were living the spare life, we had plenty to do before our container arrived, including curating furniture to replace what we had divested back in Oregon. We ventured to brocantes and online shops to find pieces that would fit the theme of our new digs.  I also managed to get the paint color matched up, again much to my relief, but then to my dismay discovered the lack of coverage (as in watery thin) and ridiculous price for 3 liters of paint could only be made up by wine, cheese and copious amounts of baguettes.  Sure, I could find some cheap and cheerful color knock-offs, but they wouldn’t match the color that the majority of the interior was painted in. And it was a nice warm cream color that enhanced the amber and gold light that blessed our mornings and evenings that make Southwest France so appealing.  You have to make concessions every once in a while. 

Master bedroom before and after

Dining room before and after

Terrace before and after

Even though it’s been a year we are still finding a home for some of items, especially our artwork.

Bob’s birthday lands in January and we opted to go to the lovely L’Atelier, that was once a Michelin star restaurant, and still provides the same level of service and outstanding food presentation; in fact they were ranked #1 by National Geographic for food lovers exploring the culinary delights of France. This, mind you, is a few minutes from our house in the charming bastide of Issigeac. Being that it was chilly, and a Sunday, I decided it was best to make reservations as the French tend to flutter into the local restaurants after Sunday church services and al fresco was not on the menu.  We scored a lovely table next to the cavernous dining room fireplace.  And as predicted, we were soon surrounded by what appeared to be some rather well-off Brits and French floating in for a long “repas” or meal.

L’ Atelier on a summer day

Much to my surprise they had the black squid-ink pasta; I had tried to obtain this delicacy in Venice, but it wasn’t on the menu of the restaurant that was recommended to us.  The meal was your standard two hour French affair with the added bonus of the artistic flair and mouth-watering delights that the French are famous for.  In America, in a small town of this nature I would be lucky to find a Denny’s!  We have visited our fair share of “greasy spoons”, though tragically I do miss the Denny’s grand slam breakfast with the hash browns and American bacon. We have to settle for the British variety of bacon which isn’t exactly the same, but not all is lost as we have been able to obtain Bisquick for an occasional pancake feast.  

After enduring the torrential rains of last fall, January saw a dip in temperatures, but unlike our friends in Portland, Oregon who had sub-freezing temperatures, with trees collapsing on their homes and their pipes bursting, we had our heat pumps and wood stove to keep us cozy.  

We welcomed a thick layer of frost that enveloped the surrounding fields like a dusting of snow, making for a dreamy albeit bracing experience upon exiting the house.  When the sun burst through, it disrupted the vision causing temporary blindness, with its threat of rainbows and warmth, it otherwise was a tease and never really warmed up for the entire day.  This only lasted for about a week and then we went to the other extreme with temperatures cresting 60 degrees; confusing the bees – though the butterflies apparently couldn’t be bothered; I don’t know that bees are dumber than butterflies but they were having some challenges to say the least. 

The weather finally leveled out to more normal temperatures for February, thankfully without the flooding we had in the fall. Everyone says spring has come a month early; the rosemary is blooming giving the bees something to feast on and the mock cherry trees are  even budding, providing some healthy competition to the daffodils.    

We are now falling into a bit of routine with our weekly trips to the Saturday Market in Villereal.  Villereal is small (a whopping 1200 residents) but is a bustling community that supports the surrounding population and is rather crowded during the tourist season.  We aren’t near any really large cities, both Bergerac and Villeneuve-sur-lot are 22 – 27,000 inhabitants respectively, and are only a half hour away through the valley, interrupted only by the occasional commune or bastide.  They have everything we need including most of the French big box chains and charming medieval city centers where you can grab a cuppa and watch the world go by.  We are over two hours from Bordeaux and further southeast lies Toulouse. Toulouse is one of the largest cities in France and is another couple of hours away; it’s not quite on the scale as Seattle but it sure has the population density feel to it.  It has a good airport and we tend towards flying out of there so we aren’t stuck with the Ryan air cheap-seats out of Bergerac which is fine if you’re going to Paris but not anyplace much further.  They both have Ikea and just about everything you could possibly need including better options for Asian faire. 

Suffice it to say we are a respectable distance from any major centers and Villereal, with our doctors, nail and hair salons only ten minutes down the road.  Heck I would drive that far in Portland for many of my appointments anyway!  Here we glide through the backroads of countryside, vineyards, orchards, and rustic farms to our appointments. There’s also a smattering of horse stables nearby and we have on occasion have had to slow down to let riders and trotters (with carriages) pass.   It takes a bit getting used to and adds to the local charm.  

Our upgrades on the house continue – though not the major renovations like we did in 2023; we had guttering installed on the south side of the house to mitigate the problems with flooding in the cellar (not to be confused with some magical wine cave as it houses the boiler, washer and freezer), we will be able to capture more water and also pump the overflow away from the house into the nearby field. The rest of the house had guttering except for this side for some reason.  

I completed the painting and the floor treatment in the upstairs hallway; my aging body is glad this is now completed and in recovery. The hallway had been bit of a train wreck for a while with unpacked boxes and “stuff” that was placed there to be attended to “another day.”  It appeared the floors hadn’t been touched in decades and some stain and wax gave them a lovely rustic patina. We now have a gallery wall to include some of my photography and art collections and books. I love using picture ledges as they give you more freedom on appointing art without copious amounts of wall-banging. These walls are thankfully drywall, but much of the house is stone so one must use discretion.

Upstairs hallway updates

The wall leading to the office is what I have deemed a “memory wall” (in progress) so we can reflect upon our loved-ones, living and passed on, as go about dealing with the copious amounts of paperwork required to maintain our existence in France.

In the meantime, Bob has been turning over the garden plot with manure and compost so we can get some planting done this year.  Our water tank is in the ground and operational; we are certainly not lacking water right now with unprecedented rain systems hitting us, but we could wind up with a summer drought at which time we’ll be thankful for the water buts and tanks.  We have an additional tank (but) installed on the northwest side of the house to water the “acid garden” which will include the blueberries that we will be planting in the next month.  Otherwise, we are still navigating the mud-scape but will be planting grass soon and look forward to the pool area being landscaped later this year.  

We are also invited to a feast sponsored by the commune (Doudrac) where we were introduced as new residents – we are the only Americans in this vicinity so are a bit of a novelty; it seems everywhere we go when they find out we’re Americans they seem so pleased; I took my ankle boots to the cordonnier (shoe repair shop) in Eymet which is a British enclave not too far from us – when he looked at my boots he said they were very good and I mentioned they are American and that I’m American – he thought it was the coolest thing!  I can only assume it’s due to the popularity of American items in France and also our efforts during the war.  We are always very welcomed pretty much everywhere we go.  We are now able to hold down some albeit stilted conversations in French when we visit the market or the pharmacy which is rather exciting.  

We are looking forward to spring and getting our vegetable plot going, known in France as a potager. Bob is also designing a flower garden that will include gladiolus, dhalias and an array of wild flowers.

In May are planning a trip to the UK, specifically Wales, to enjoy a barge trip through the Welsh countryside and catching up with relatives.  More to come on our spring exploits!

…Now for a French moment:

French farmers block the streets of Paris in protest of too many restrictions and too many exports of foreign produce. This mayhem extended all the way to our area including spewing manure on McDonalds, supermarket chains and government buildings 💩

Farewell 2023 – Welcome 2024!

Posted on Posted in American Expat, Dordogne, Expatriation, France, France, French, Lotetgaronne, The French Life, Travel, Voyage en FranceTagged , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

It never ceases to amaze us that it’s been over two years since we embarked on an ambitious plan to retire, travel through the US and Canada, then move to France. I remember sitting in our lovely backyard back in Portland during the summer of 2021, the pandemic was still with us as we worked on the early stages of our transition; setting up yard sales to divest our belongings and planning our travel route for the following year. All that work culminated in 2022 being an extraordinary year as we motored to far flung places (when you think of the Yukon, even the name itself provokes images of a vast, untouched wilderness)  finally landing in France in November (yes, that too is far flung!)  – a foray into a different kind of unknown.

Enjoying fire and ice in the Yukon, celebrating the sale of our house in Portland, right before the market started to slide – of course! 

Now, as we close out 2023, I find myself reflecting on how manic the last few years have been: Retiring…supposedly, just no longer working at a career! Downsizing, Rving across US and Canada, downsizing (again) and packing for international shipping, selling our house, then…selling our RV post walkabout, pulling our Visas while on the road, and then landing in France with a bunch of luggage with our minds set on finding that dream home in the countryside.

December 31, 2022 Recapping an Extraordinary Year 

We hit the deck running and luckily, within a month, we scored a lovely french colombage cottage (as it really is humble with those classic stone walls and timbers) and…then came the waiting game. 

Welcome to 2023:  Let the games begin.  After securing our dream home, we were still wading through the banking challenges (the US FACTA regulations that really create problems for American expats) and trying to line up appliances for the house while navigating the language challenges, and not yet having a French bank account or credit card.  March 1st marked the signing of our home and we gathered our keys, but we did not rush to the house in a fit of euphoria as we had to make a visit to the French Government to apply for our Carte Vitales (healthcare), which at the time we were told would take only a few weeks…after nearly weekly calls Bob finally received his in June, mine finally arrived in November!  

We had scheduled our first European road trip to Venice in April, but of course our container of belongings had been delayed by three weeks – so to add to our drama we had to unload everything from the moving truck to the house and gite the day before we were set to take off for vacation.  Completely exhausted from this ordeal, I virtually passed out at the hotel on the first night of our trip.  I had managed to twist my knee a few weeks earlier, and while we were out touring I came down with a cold, but somehow managed to enjoy the sights of Venice, albeit I would have preferred to have been in better shape.  

April 26 – May 7th Venice by way of the French Riviera 

My cold got worse, and when we finally got back I was able to crash and burn, though it was hard to ignore the hundreds of boxes and the general carnage…argh.  I eventually got some rest and started to feel better, and it was actually quite exciting to dig through the mountains of supposedly downsized possessions to find the stuff that actually did bring me 🤩 

Upon reflection, if we had received our container as scheduled, it would have been super nice to have gotten somewhat settled before road trip…but that somehow has not been our Karma since arriving; many of those mission critical action items came through at the last minute much like the epic climax of a B-rated movie.  

Come late May, the pool was installed, during a torrent of spring rain – of course. It’s a lovely addition to our lifestyle that we have used throughout the summer, but we are in dire need of landscaping as we have these sort of steampunk tractor-track sculptures embedded in much of our lawn, and a rather large plot of thick mud that soon became reminiscent of Death Valley as the summer heat settled in for a long hello.  

This heady weather beckoned our relatives from the UK and we suspect that will become a common occurrence in the coming years.  

With so much to do, and with our solar, air conditioning and other improvements on the way we thankfully stayed put for the summer, venturing out on the rare occasion to visit cool castles (chateaus) and explore the neighboring villages and bastides that ooze with charm.  

Despite our challenges, when we have been out and about on our bikes, or walks or generally driving, we marvel at the surrounding beauty; the quietude, the stars, the well-cultivated farmland and vineyards set among soft rolling hills.  When people talk about a quiet place in the countryside, we certainly nailed it.  The universe has rewarded us generously for our efforts.  

In the fall we took a break and motored up to Normandy – an emotional and fulfilling respite from our challenges.  

November 11, 2023 Veteran’s Day – a Special Tribute

We came back with the air conditioning, solar, water tank, water softener all in the final stages of completion; we were prepared for a Zombie invasion, or more down to earth, for climate change as the weather systems, so we are told by long-term residents, has caused the summers to get hotter and as we have experienced through most of November and into December, torrentially wet; it has not been this wet in this region of France for over ten years and we felt like we have been back in the Pacific Northwest.  This unprecedented moisture caused the local rivers to overflow and in some cases we were cut off from the access roads into town.  I felt bad for those who had structures, especially mills (moulins) as they were suffering the most being built virtually on top of some of these minor rivers that were bursting over the roads.  

The end of our garden turned into a bit of a marsh and our cellar, which resides in a concave below the house, got some minor flooding that we had to pump out – again we were told this has never happened.  So hopefully we will be rewarded with our foresight of the coming challenges by preparing for floods, droughts and heatwaves.

The rain finally subsided and I envied those gorgeous hilltop bastides; like any war zone, those lofty structures remain somewhat immune to the insanity unfolding below.  A beautiful sort of insanity.  

Approaching the holidays, we decided to attend a class hosted by one of our French friends on the art of making Foie Gras.  This included dismembering a duck and removing the rather impressive liver this particular delicacy is known for.  

Duck fat and Foie Gras

It was a long two day adventure and we sat at her lovely farmhouse table in what can really only be described as the quintessential French kitchen with a fireplace and room for a small army.  There was a group of about ten of us enjoying duck soup (literally yes – the remnants of our efforts!), and some nice Sauterne.  

As the year closes out, we are relieved to have gotten through most of the heavy lifting with our French paperwork..and our major home improvements done. Though we have our work cut out for us next year with the landscaping challenges, we can do a lot of that at our leisure.  Fortunately, our lovely neighbor who installed our underground water tank (for the garden) has access to a supply of topsoil, so come spring we can get the lawn back into shape and I’ll be able to work on my potager that I’m really excited about. 

And thankfully, and much to our elation, we had our appointment with the prefecture in Agen (think of it as a state capitol) to complete our processing to receive our Carte de Sejour, it is a fitting closure to the year and a welcome sigh of relief.  

For Christmas we decided to stay local with a few days in Carcassonne – an astounding medieval fortress (also referred to as a fortified city) that is a UNESCO World Heritage site.  It is the largest walled city in Europe. 

On the way, we stopped by Toulouse to check out their Christmas Festival which was buzzing with activity and charm. 

Christmas Fete in Toulouse

Yet, it was nothing compared to what met us when we arrived at our hotel in Carcassonne on Christmas Eve:  We had a view of the fortress that became increasingly dramatic as the sun set. 

 It’s like experiencing time travel – magnificent

We ventured out to the town festivals and were met with an astounding array of Christmas Villages throughout the city; I felt as though I was walking through a wizardry of light, the surrounding vibe matching the festive ambience. Many areas were constructed as amusement parks for the kids.  This is the night that the French come out in force to celebrate what is known as Bonne Fete (good festival) coupled with Joyeux Noel (Merry Christmas).  We huddled with the masses, feeling much like the kids who played in eye-wide wonder everywhere we went.  

Christmas Eve in Carcassonne

After logging in copious amounts of steps and being thoroughly amused, we freshened up for dinner that we were told included a lovely jazz trio.  When the band struck up we were serenaded with classic crooner type jazz in English!  The music drifted into the dining area and as is much of the case in France, dinner is usually later in the evening and an affair that lingers for hours.  

After dinner we sat in the lounge drinking our cafe cremes, in a setting similar to a good old 1920’s jazz club (not an exact replica but as close as you’re going to get these days😉). 

On Christmas Day we went to the stately medieval fortress itself, admission is free except for the actual ramparts that were closed for Christmas.  Despite that we were blessed with very few tourists; like Mont St. Michel, Carcassonne is usually packed with tourists.  This made for some fun roaming around pretty much undisturbed.  

We were so enamored we went back the next day and did the tour of the ramparts – while there were a fair amount of tourists I wouldn’t say that it was crowded and we were delighted at the fantastical history of this sprawling fortress.  

An added bonus is that the weather was startlingly clear and we got some good cardio hiking up to the cite. We could see the Pyrenees in the distance, their peaks glinting with snow and ice.

A stroll the the medieval fortress of Carcassonne

We stopped by Toulouse on the way back to check out the famous Victor Hugo market that is seen on just about every travel show on the area.  Toulouse turned out to be jammed with people, and with the weather being as it was, we skirted the crowds and dropped into a fantastic find-of-a-restaurant that sported dim sum and dumplings.  This was definitely going to be a new haunt being a classic Chinese diner with black vinegar sauces that shot me straight into orbit!

The Victor Hugo Market in Toulouse

We meandered our way home, always grateful when we crest the hillsides and slide into the Dordogne Valley, traveling through the backroads and the welcoming solitude. Sometimes you need to experience the madness of civilization to further appreciate the serenity of a rural homestead. With a long sigh, we are can now settle into the New Year, puttering away at our remaining projects at our leisure. 

In a few months, I will be able to enjoy a leisurely cup of tea in the garden, breathing in the blossoming air, bathed by the sun. At noon the church bells of our local commune will ring in the distance, giving us pause from our tasks.  All will be quiet except for the sound of nature at its best; the only interruption being the occasional passing of a tractor or a thunderous announcement from the French Airforce out on maneuvers. If those are the only fleeting interruptions on a typical day in the French countryside, then I have surely found my slice of heaven on earth.  😌 

Happy New Year to one and all and may you have a peaceful and prosperous 2024!

Now for a French Moment…

An entire village of chocolate #willywonka

December 1, 2023 – Our First Year in France

Posted on Posted in American Expat, Beauxvillage, Dordogne, French, Lotetgaronne, maison de campagne, The French Life, Travel, Voyage en FranceTagged , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

November 17th marked our first official year in France! The same day, ironically, I received the receipt for my Carte de Sejour – meaning my long term residency visa is being processed❤️  On the other hand, while Bob got enrolled in the healthcare system by early summer, I only recently received my paperwork to finalize my Carte Vitale. For some folks it goes quickly, for others it can take over a year or more which apparently appears to be the case with me.  We also received the renewal for our car insurance, realizing that yeah, it really was a year ago when we landed in France and managed to get our lovely Renault within a few weeks.  Within another month we had found our dream home. Yes, we know time slips away while you are busy doing life things, but this last year seems to have gone by really really fast.  

Looking back, one of the biggest challenges, aside from dealing with the legendary French administration and language barriers, was the lack of predictability; we had been on the move since the beginning of 2022, not knowing where we were going to eventually wind up, except that it would be somewhere in the Dordogne.  We were confronted with a constant stream of challenges; for Americans it can be daunting as you aren’t prepared for the banking and driving license issues – there’s some mention of these issues in the “playbook” but those are mostly relegated to Facebook groups that can be fraught with misinformation.  Many times we felt like we were in a B-rated movie where everything came through, frantically, at the last minute – I mean everything like – you can’t close on your house until the money is transferred but you can easily miss the deadline due to the banks taking days and days to get you your money😅

Granted, our experience is not exactly “A Year in Provence,”  but there are definitely certain sentiments that echo that ideal and make it all worth it:  The lovely countryside (I would argue the area we live in is equally as stunning as Provence, but not as touristed or otherwise known by Americans), the ancient beaux villages, incomparable cheese, wine and spirits and frankly, we have found the French to be quite lovely people. Due to the lassez faire culture, we have been forced to wind down and adapt, into an alien “whatever” or “it’s France” 🤷‍♀️way of thinking which is a far cry from the American New-York-minute mentality.

It takes time. 

One of the other challenges was finding contractors who could help us with the upgrades to our La Maison.  The stories you read in all the books are true, with the Facebook pages recounting stories of paying money to contractors and then they no-show for months or simply disappear altogether.  

We lucked out on a great British firm based in France for our general home improvements to include:  Solar panels, partitioning off the gite (the reconverted barn) so we can have a home gym and “woman cave.”  We added a water softener as the water is so hard here, we have been chipping calcification residue off our small appliances; we have a black kitchen sink – this does not bode well with the current water situation.  And thankfully we had split air conditioning installed so we can endure increasingly hotter summers; people who have been here for 20-30 years have never seen this region of France get so hot – it would rarely breach 90 degrees.  

We also added an underground water tank and an extra water “but” to capture rain for the garden areas; climate change brought us an unseasonably warm fall – into the upper 80’s well into October – that was then followed by unprecedented rains and flooding in the north.  

Our pool that is still awaiting a retaining wall thankfully did not become a mud bath.  The rain was so biblical, the surrounding unfinished trenches started to fill up at an alarming rate causing the mud wall on the north side to collapse into the trench itself, thus making matters worse. Fortunately our fabulous pool installers foresaw this calamity and had installed a drainage system so the overflow runs down the lower part of the property.  It creates a bit of a marsh and the frogs are in paradise.  

Yet, there is so much mud that Bob went to the local dechetterie to get compost (yes they have free wood compost in these places).  That way we can walk around the property without gaining inches of height – just cleaning your boots of the wet clay becomes a Herculean task.  We are looking forward to next year when the landscaping will be complete!!  

And…then there were the stink bugs.  What we didn’t know is that this invasive species loves to propagate amongst the sunflowers.  While we were enjoying la la land, they were happily proliferating amongst the acres and acres of flowers that besides providing necessary oil, are also a major tourist attraction.  In September, when the flowers had been harvested, we were flooded by hoards of escapees that set up house in every crevice they could find.  We reinforced the window screens with tape and created a Tupperware “piscine” where they were offered free swimming lessons. 

Add to that, it was well into the 60’s until mid-November, which is unprecedented like every other weather event it seems.  This has confused some of the flowers and insects who should have been in hibernation by now.  We found ourselves actually looking forward to a cold, dry fall and winter so we could get some reprieve as even the mosquitoes were still active!  Granted it’s annoying, but it was nothing compared to some of the insects we encountered in Canada and the Southern U.S. 

We decided to take a break from our “endless” transitioning with a trip to Normandy by way of a few UNESCO sites. You can read up on the Normandy experience in my previous blog:

November 11, 2023 Veteran’s Day – a Special Tribute

Our first stop was the rather impressive Chateau de Chambord – we have been to many of the castles scattered around our region, yet they are more like fortifications perching atop cliffs; grand in scale where you imagine dragons knocking around in secret underground caverns.  Chateau Chambord is a unique filigree of architecture – a lovely revelation in curiosity; grandiose but not too gaudy.  The massive oil paintings, some with royalty portrayed as sultans, remind us that this is a place worthy of kings. Otherwise the scale was spared in favor of a more intricate nature – at sea level. Here, as I wandered up the double helix staircases and through the paneled rooms, I felt surrounded by epitome of french refinement.  

I originally mistook some of the spires for Russian, then when I thumbed through the book at the gift shop it suddenly hit me, of course, the architecture was inspired by grand east-Indian palaces, or what are referred to as mahals, as in the Taj Mahal.  This created a rather evocative playground; what child-like imagination was let loose to invent the mazes of rooms and double helix staircases much to the delight of the likes of Marie Antoinette. The original architect is unknown, the records were destroyed, yet the inspiration for this fantastical edifice has been traced back to Leonardo DaVinci; such intrigue!  This ah-ha moment, like any DaVinci puzzle, makes the experience even more provocative.  

A visual snapshot of Chateau de Chambord

The chateau is a bit off the beaten tourist track and was used during the war to house some of the great works of art from the Louvre such as the Mona Lisa and Venus de Milo.  An exhibit is dedicated to the courageous Rose Valland (think of the movie “Monuments Men”), who risked her life to save over 60,000 pieces of priceless art.  

Well, Chateau de Chambord turned out to be an unexpected delight, it’s a helluva place that I wouldn’t mind poking around a bit more on a jaunt to, maybe Paris.  The joy of living in Europe; I get to be a kid again.  

The rain set in for the rest of the day and we were looking forward to tucking into a cozy room for the evening. We had booked a lovely hotel – it was more like a manor with those obscenely high ceilings you see in chateaus and posey Parisian apartments. Considering it was a reasonably priced accommodation we were well impressed.  A simple dinner with a gin and tonic next to the fire topped off our evening.

After we completed our pilgrimage to Normandy to visit the stirring memorials, we headed for the legendary Mont St. Michel.  As we toodled through the countryside I went into a zen-like state – I always take pleasure in this, and imagine if fortune provides, a convertible sports car on a summer day wouldn’t be out of the question; France shamelessly warrants this level of indulgence.

Then, from a misty distance, like you experience as you approach a large snow-capped mountain on a misty morning, Mont St. Michel slowly begins to reveal itself.  It is more of a science-fiction fantasy experience as it appears as though it’s a disembodied citadel that’s floating above the surrounding delta.  

We had snagged a hotel with a view and luckily, walking distance along the boardwalk to city.  That was you can get an assortment of angles and include some roving sheep to add to the perfect backdrop.  

We walked around much of the perimeter, watching groups of bare-footed tourists in what appeared to be arranged tours, wading through the mud; we weren’t so inclined to take part in that once-in-a-lifetime experience so stuck to the sandy bits.  We arrived at the village complete with tourists shops and yes, even more shops and even more tourists.  We hiked all the way to the top to explore the gravity-defying abbey and the surrounding bay – I felt like a seagull, sailing along an endless swirl of sand and sea, the curvature carved from the unrelenting shift of the ocean.  

Then it began to rain, actually it was more like a deluge. We picked our way down the stone steps that soon turned into water falls.  We stopped off for a welcome chocolat chaud, and thankfully, the storm subsided and sun burst through as if to say – “I was only joking.” 😎  Being from the Pacific Northwest, we had brought our Gore-Tex that got a workout that afternoon.  

After hiking six or so miles, we rested up and then went down for dinner at the hotel; unless you were staying at the village in St. Michel there were few options this time of year.  We entertained ourselves watching a Korean tour group navigate their way through a french meal.  

The following day, we made our way down the Atlantic coast to La Rochelle and through the Bordeaux region. We arrived at our La Maison to find our solar panels completely installed and functioning along with a battery backup that added to the array of electronics being added to our “garage.”  We are gradually divesting ourselves from the grid which will drastically reduce our electrical bills and we will also be less of a burden to the grid.  Not to mention that we are also reducing our carbon footprint.

It was starting to feel more like autumn as the temperature finally started to recede along with the bugs.  Thanksgiving was right around the corner and I had ordered Libby’s pumpkin off the “MyAmericanMarket” site so we could have a taste of home during the feast.  Our guests included a mix of American, French, English, Irish and a New Zealander.  

It was great to break out the good silverware and china to celebrate.  What we didn’t anticipate was the size of the turkey that we ordered from a butcher (boucherie) that came in at a whopping 23 pounds.  We were barely able to get it on the barbecue! We gathered around the charcuterie board that consisted of various forms of Foie Gras, hams and of course cheese.  I had gotten a reasonably priced 1990 Sauternes, a lovely golden yellow dessert wine that enhanced the glow of the season; it was a hit and wound up being consumed before the evening was done.  

Around 4:00 as we were indulging in Bob’s famous cheesecake and a traditional American Pumpkin Pie when the power went down.  This drama was caused by one of the farmers running his tractor into a power pole in his field.  The catastrophe occured just down the road from us so we could witness the carnage first hand.  

As the light was fading, and though the candles were blazing around the house, we were running out of light sources and ideas on how to preserve the leftovers.  We bid farewell to our guests and sealed up the remainder of our rather large feast, and transported it to the back terrace where it would stay adequately chilled overnight.  This is a time we were thankful for the chilly season and yes – our new wood stove saved us from freezing …so much to be thankful for despite the setback🙏

While the estimate was that the power was supposed to be back on by 10:00 p.m. (sure…), our neighbor advised us that EDF had packed up for the night and would be back the next morning, basically stranding our neighborhood 🫣

I was rather shocked; in America the power companies are on 24/7.  

🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

The power finally came back on at 1:00ish the next day; we hailed its arrival reminding ourselves how dependent we are on electricity, that we had done our fair share of roughing it so not all is lost, and thankful all our frozen food hadn’t melted. Our neighbor assured us that this was an exceptional accident and otherwise the grid is pretty stable.

With our visas being processed to include the requisite appointment for fingerprinting and signature, we decided it would be prudent to stay local for Christmas this year.  We have planned to spend the holiday in the fortress city of Carcassone…more to come on that adventure as we approach 2024! 

Now…for a French moment:

Yes, they celebrate Halloween in France!

Getting our Steampunk vibe on!