We found the house on the internet at the French Locations website. Many people advertise their gites there for long winter lets and I emailed a number to ask whether they’d be willing to let for a year. A few said yes, so, in February 2008, we came to view half a dozen, spending a week driving hundred of miles and discovering again what I know but keep forgetting - that France is big and the maps are small. Houses that seem close to each other on the road map turn out to be about the same distance as London and Land's End. No wonder they call us Little Englanders.
We visited five houses.
No. 1] Was in a village on the Dordogne. This one had tenants already in it - a young Dutch couple - photographers - who clearly had no intention of moving out - and who were a bit surprised by our arrival, although they politely showed us round. Embarrassing - we think the landlord used us to give them a hint. Nice.
No 2] Was a tiny two up one down gite attached to a ramshackle farmhouse and vineyard. The gite had tenants who were soon moving out -a middle-aged couple with two huge dogs who lived in a cage in the living room - [the dogs not the couple.]
The English owners were in their forties, trying to make a living from a vineyard and gite business. They seemed like nice people, friendly, a bit anarchic, half-hippy/half-Grand Design hopefuls. They looked exhausted and the place seemed in serious need of cash. Chickens, goats, cats and kids wandered about the overgrown garden. Bits of machinery littered the yard. We could tell they were desperate for us to rent the place and it was cheap. Still, we'd never have got any work done. There was no workshop for him, no writing space for me, so it had to be no. But sometimes now, when the pound's value drops even lower, I think about that place, how we might have saved ourselves loads of money, not just in rent, but in running costs as it was farther south and not high in the hills. If we'd stayed there maybe we'd have reverted to our own half-hippy days, picking grapes, swigging free wine, going barefoot,letting our beards grow for just one more time.
No 3] Was bizarre. Two houses in the middle of nowhere. Big abandoned-looking gites. There was no key to get in with and so we were forced to view through the windows. Dead furniture. Sad kitchen units. Homeless sofas. Outside a half-built swimming-pool with a mosquito conservation area at the bottom. The house minder who was showing us round helpfully told us that there was a legal dispute about the pool which might or might not be sorted when our tenancy began. She was the one who lost the keys and who also let us know that she was going back home [to Scotland] as her husband had brain damage and needed a better climate for his health. They were going back to Perth. I thought she must mean the Australian one. But no, she really meant Perth in Scotland. As I said, bizarre. Nil points.
No 4] Was ok-ish. A nice French country house in the Lot. Looking out over a plain towards distant hills, the house backed onto a farmyard. There was a nice swimming pool and a fantastic,double-sized workshop. But the farmyard was full of tractors and lorries and we imagined them driving in and out each day. And it just didn't have that je ne sais pas.
We were so knackered by driving up and down this particular map page that we couldn’t imagine doing this again, so we began thinking that we should settle for this one, but it felt like a cop-out - surely a proper adventure has to be more than ok. The next bit is going to sound as though I’m making it up but I can’t really help that. Of course I am telling a story - shaping, framing, missing things out. But mostly it’s as true as memories ever are. Sometimes things really do happen the way you hope that they will.
It was late in the afternoon. We drove along the wide Dordogne river valley, past a dam and a lake, then turned onto a much smaller road that climbed into the hills. For an hour this road twisted and turned, passing through the odd hamlet and village, the occasional field, but mostly through huge swathes of empty countryside. Empty of people that is, empty of houses and cars and traffic. Full of trees, streams, rivers. Full of all the creatures living unseen.
The road wound down into the valley and we crossed a bridge over a tree-shadowed river then climbed back up the other side into the village. No cars. No people. I was thinking: bloody hell, bloody hell, bloody hell. Words let you down when you most need them
We visited five houses.
No. 1] Was in a village on the Dordogne. This one had tenants already in it - a young Dutch couple - photographers - who clearly had no intention of moving out - and who were a bit surprised by our arrival, although they politely showed us round. Embarrassing - we think the landlord used us to give them a hint. Nice.
No 2] Was a tiny two up one down gite attached to a ramshackle farmhouse and vineyard. The gite had tenants who were soon moving out -a middle-aged couple with two huge dogs who lived in a cage in the living room - [the dogs not the couple.]
The English owners were in their forties, trying to make a living from a vineyard and gite business. They seemed like nice people, friendly, a bit anarchic, half-hippy/half-Grand Design hopefuls. They looked exhausted and the place seemed in serious need of cash. Chickens, goats, cats and kids wandered about the overgrown garden. Bits of machinery littered the yard. We could tell they were desperate for us to rent the place and it was cheap. Still, we'd never have got any work done. There was no workshop for him, no writing space for me, so it had to be no. But sometimes now, when the pound's value drops even lower, I think about that place, how we might have saved ourselves loads of money, not just in rent, but in running costs as it was farther south and not high in the hills. If we'd stayed there maybe we'd have reverted to our own half-hippy days, picking grapes, swigging free wine, going barefoot,letting our beards grow for just one more time.
No 3] Was bizarre. Two houses in the middle of nowhere. Big abandoned-looking gites. There was no key to get in with and so we were forced to view through the windows. Dead furniture. Sad kitchen units. Homeless sofas. Outside a half-built swimming-pool with a mosquito conservation area at the bottom. The house minder who was showing us round helpfully told us that there was a legal dispute about the pool which might or might not be sorted when our tenancy began. She was the one who lost the keys and who also let us know that she was going back home [to Scotland] as her husband had brain damage and needed a better climate for his health. They were going back to Perth. I thought she must mean the Australian one. But no, she really meant Perth in Scotland. As I said, bizarre. Nil points.
No 4] Was ok-ish. A nice French country house in the Lot. Looking out over a plain towards distant hills, the house backed onto a farmyard. There was a nice swimming pool and a fantastic,double-sized workshop. But the farmyard was full of tractors and lorries and we imagined them driving in and out each day. And it just didn't have that je ne sais pas.
We were so knackered by driving up and down this particular map page that we couldn’t imagine doing this again, so we began thinking that we should settle for this one, but it felt like a cop-out - surely a proper adventure has to be more than ok. The next bit is going to sound as though I’m making it up but I can’t really help that. Of course I am telling a story - shaping, framing, missing things out. But mostly it’s as true as memories ever are. Sometimes things really do happen the way you hope that they will.
It was late in the afternoon. We drove along the wide Dordogne river valley, past a dam and a lake, then turned onto a much smaller road that climbed into the hills. For an hour this road twisted and turned, passing through the odd hamlet and village, the occasional field, but mostly through huge swathes of empty countryside. Empty of people that is, empty of houses and cars and traffic. Full of trees, streams, rivers. Full of all the creatures living unseen.
We came to a viewpoint by the side of the road and stopped to look. On the opposite side of a narrow valley, a village clung to the hillside. Grey stone houses, black slate roofs, a narrow tower with a bent lightning conductor. The sun cast a warm winter light on the village house walls. We stared. We looked at each other. We got back in the car and carried on driving towards it without saying another word.
The road wound down into the valley and we crossed a bridge over a tree-shadowed river then climbed back up the other side into the village. No cars. No people. I was thinking: bloody hell, bloody hell, bloody hell. Words let you down when you most need them
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1 comment:
Hi Heather
Have finally read your site and it's very good. It's really good to read the detail that you couldn't (or shouldn't, or wouldn't) go into on the phone. Makes you feel a bit closer somehow. Hope you are both warm enough. If it makes you feel any better, we are forecast snow (which is supposed to stick) for Mon, Tues, and Weds. The teachers will probably be snowed in although we will still be expected to turn up!!
Keep writing.
Love to you both.
Carol
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