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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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 💩
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.
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.
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.
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!
FocalDreams 