Today
is a Saturday and I am in the south of France; to be precise, at our
home, The Hearth, between the hamlet of l'Escale and the Forêt
de Picaussel – living on the edge, you might say! We came here in
2014, a month after our wedding. We spoke of the adventure of living
outside the UK, and promised ourselves “three years in the sun”.
Once
we were here we dreamed dreams of making this old stone house and
attached barn into a place of generous hospitality. We planned a
large eating-kitchen, several bedrooms and bathrooms, level access,
possible programmes of activity, reflection, and relaxation, film
nights, tours of the Cathar region, visits to vineyards and markets,
excursions to Andorra...
Working
largely on our own, we got as far as clearing the barn, renovating
the attic, re-creating the garden, and excavating 'Brambly Hollow' –
our bit of wilderness, much loved by deer and sanglier (wild boar),
owls, jays, and woodpeckers. In breaks from labouring, we checked out
the markets, vineyards, Cathar castles, local spa towns and ski
centres; we walked, sat, explored, welcomed many guests to stay, and
entertained even more around our garden table (up-cycled by The
William from a huge wooden trunk left abandoned in the attic); we
sang, talked, wrote, took photos, star-gazed, watched eagles soaring
above us, and dreamed more dreams. We believed we had found our
for-ever home, and there was much to make us happy, in addition to
being together again after 37 years of separation - but that's a
different story! (And yes, we are that old!)
But,
sadly for them as much as for us, some of our neighbours did not
welcome the changes we were making, however positive; some even
claimed rights over our land, despite assurances to the contrary from
our Notaire and visible proof from the bornage (boundary markers).
Our plans were vehemently opposed; we became the target of verbal
abuse, and under threat of court action.
As
we saw it, this was a lose-lose situation. If we went to court and
lost, we wouldn't
be able to achieve our dreams; if we went to court and won, we'd have
to face the antipathy of the local bullies on a daily basis – not
the ethos of the dream. Sadly, angrily, frustratingly, and
eventually, we came to the conclusion that the dream is not
achievable here. As one of the former villagers has recently said
(having moved away herself): “L'ambiance ici, c'est merde!” And
it was well said. So, where to go? what to do?
I
often, perhaps boringly, say that whatever decisions one makes,
they're the best decisions possible at the time. And I do believe
that. But I also believe in learning from experience. After much
soul-searching, we're trying as far as is reasonably possible to take
these latter, unhappy experiences as a lesson: a lesson which
confirms that neither of us are confrontational people, that we are
inclined to live and let live, that sunshine and beautiful scenery do
not of themselves make us happy, and that, instead of aiming to
provide comfort and re-creation for others, we need more than ever
actually to achieve it for ourselves.
So,
despite post-Brexit uncertainties, we are going to give France, and
ourselves, another chance – but a long way from here: in fact, in
Brittany. We have accepted an offer on our house, made an acceptable
offer on a house in the Côtes
d'Armor, and are halfway through packing up. Six weeks from now,
we''ll be gone - and probably forgotten soon after. Dust will be
shaken from our sandals as we go onward and upward... and we did get
those three years in the sun!
But
this time, using that precious and hard-won hindsight to guide us,
we've made different choices. Climate, landscape, and, in our
experience, people, are extreme here, and we're not fans of extremism
of any sort. In Brittany we know that the climate and the landscape
are gentler: we hope to find the people so too! Also, instead of what
very soon became recognisable as a renovation project in a small
enclave, we've chosen a detached house, with a clearly defined plot,
still on the edge of a village but with a road that goes both ways –
no more cul de sacs for us, thank you. And no more long trips to the
shops, doctor, vet, what have you: we'll be less than 15 minutes
drive away from two sizeable towns, one of which hosts an
English-speaking congregation on two Sundays a month. We've missed
the opportunity to worship and to socialise in the safe environment
that we have previously, if not always, found churches to be, and,
feeling somewhat bruised, we want a bit of a haven, as well as the
spiritual and intellectual stimulation that the best churches
provoke!
So,
change of place, change of life-style (do I get to throw away all
those worn out work clothes now?), and a change of name: no longer
The Hearth, but Karningul. As I'm sure you know, or at least if you
know some Westron as well as Elvish, Karningul was the Last Homely
House, west of the mountains, east of the sea: "a perfect house,
whether you like food or sleep or story-telling or singing, or just
sitting and thinking best, or a pleasant mixture of them all".
Sounds good to me.
