The Journey home

Saturday morning arrived, as they usually do at the end of a holiday, and all we had to do was pack and leave the Gite clean and in good order, but our minds were buzzing with the discoveries we had made and the decision we were about to make. We said farewell to our hosts, having first been invited to view some of their daughter's paintings and prints. They were impressive and we were to discover more of her work in later years.
The journey back to the French coast was fairly uneventful, but with a slightly different route, this time back to St Malo, it was enjoyable. The difference being the thoughts we had about the possibility of actually buying a little piece of France, something we had never seriously contemplated.
Was it all a dream? Could it really be possible? Were we really serious about this, and of equal minds. Were we just plain "bonkers" to even think of such a thing, and if so, should we spend some more time searching for the right property, in the right location, with a more conventional profile. So many questions, so many doubts, so many possibilities, so very exciting.
Our arrival back in Portsmouth saw us busily pursuing the many agents we discovered who were seling properties in France and we began putting together a formidable portfolio of prospective houses.
There was just one problem. I was working full time and the opportunity to hop back and fore to France to view properties did not seem even a remote possibility at the time. One only did that once a year for the annual vacation, and it was a significant operation requiring planning, routes, insurance and all the other little jobs that make going on holiday such hard work, but loaded with eager anticipation. Which left us with the inevitable choice of either putting in an offer for what we had seen, or shelving the whole idea until some time in the future.
The choice was obvious, make an offer and have an open mind as to what to do if this was rejected, and so the process began.

Still more rooms to discover

Turning left at the top of the street around the corner of the house we climbed up 3 typically French concrete steps and entered the "school room". Why this extraordinary name you may ask. There was little evidence to suggest it had ever been used in this way apart from a faded paper list pinned to the back of the door, and one or two other remnants of paper which may well have been left by children at some time, although there was little evidence throughout the building that children had ever played there. This room is sandwiched between the garden room below and the straw bedroom above in a section which seems to link two halves of the house and is still the "school room", but the other notable feature here are the two enormous beams which support what is thought to be a typical Louis XIV ceiling with grooved rafters.

The final door took a little while to open mainly because the lock had clearly been installed the wrong way round and Francoise had difficulty until she realised it was necessary to turn the key as if to lock the door to open it!! This led into what might loosely be described as the garage. In one corner was an even larger "cuve" or "barrique" which this time really did look the business, because alongside it was a wine press with all the necessary bits and pieces, all of which looked as if they had been used until quite recently.
In addition there was the usual assortment of rubbish and a wooden staircase leading to a similar sized room above which became the "studio". Both these rooms had a network of wire fastened to the ceiling, which we were told had been used to dry tobacco, another important product grown in the region. The stairs, which we mounted with caution, were covered with old and very dusty straw, which made it almost impossible to see the treads, and there was a great deal more in the room above.

At the rear of the garage was a wide opening leading into the "cart room". Another large room filled with the remains of a cart, two sets of very large cart wheels and an assortment of agricultural machinery, rakes, ploughs and all the usual gear found the the average down beat French barn, together with a pile of logs for the fire, old barrels and a huge assortment of hoops, bicycle frames and wheels, and yet more rubbish, and would you believe it, another room above this which was literally piled up with straw, the only place in the building where it almost seemed logical to use it for that purpose! The roof and floors in this part of the building were decidedly suspect and in need of repair. There was one more part of the building which was of the same order as this and was the "cellar" beneath the cart room.
Apart from exploring the pig sty, which was on two floors, presumably with chickens on the first floor, judging by the netting wire closures at the front and the internal perches, we had completed our "viewing" and were left with some pretty serious thinking to occupy our minds on the return journey.
Who in their right minds would have even given it a second thought? If first impressions were anything to go by, then the visit we had made on the previous evening should have been sufficient to warn us off. What we had seen during the afternoon merely confirmed these first impressions ; and yet, perhaps there was a huge potential here for some adventure, an experimental playground, a challenge, an opportunity to purchase a little bit of France for silly money and really embark on a project which would last a lifetime.
That, I feel, is exactly what happened.

Curiouser, and curiouser.

Perhaps one of the reasons why we became bewitched by this house, was the extraordinary way we had to enter various sections of it from the street. We were able to enter another part of the building lower down the street, by a double barn door, which looked as if it had been a stable, or that animals had been kept in there, tethered to the walls. There was still evidence of chains and rings and things, but these had long since ceased to be used, and the livestock had been replaced by an army of ill assorted spiders, with enough webs to weave a doormat, and no doubt a sprinkling of mice. Above the collapsing wooden ceiling/floor of this part of the house, was the huge space I mentioned, open to the roof, two stories above. There was a huge "lintel" or "threshold" above a blocked up opening, which looked as if at one time it had connected to the kitchen.
Back to the street, and in via another double barn door into a cavernous space and our first sight of one of the large fireplaces mentioned by Francoise. The room was also filled with an extraordinary amount of rubbish, a "cuve" (huge wine vat), used in the initial fermentation of wine, numerous old barrels, bicycle frames and discarded wheels, logs and firewood, all on a sloping, seemingly dirt floor, although the fireplace would indicate that it had been a room of some significance at one time.
In one corner was a home made rustic ladder leading to a floor above, which was covered to a depth of 18 inches with "twigs" which we later discovered were vine prunings. Why anyone would save such things and store them at this level we never discovered. This room of course became the "twig room", but it was soon to disappear from the inventory for reasons I shall explain later.
In the "big room" room one could see evidence of a doorway which led into the back hall, but which had been completely plastered over on the hall side.
Leading from the "big room" was a low door which led to another room of almost the same size and with a cobbled floor done in the Italian style and usually only found in chateaux or houses of some distinction. A door from this room led in to the garden and naturally this became the "garden room". There was also evidence of a blocked doorway into the next part of the building, and to the room above.
Still two more doors to open and the visit will be complete.

Our first exploration of the house

As we made our way to the village the sky became darker and there was a little light rain which made the whole exercise even more suspect. Who wants to view a house with the prospect of buying it, in the rain, particularly in France. Clearly, I said to myself," this is a waste of time" and we could have saved Francoise the trouble of spending a couple of hours with two mad English people who had no intention of buying the place.
After all we were just on holiday!
However, armed with my ancient camcorder, which did not like the low light conditions, or the rain come to that, we stepped inside the kitchen and began the exploration of the house.
We soon discovered that there was electricity, albeit in need of re-wiring, running water, if only of the cold variety, which supplied a tap over the concrete kitchen sink, with the drain taking the form of a pipe through the wall to discharge into the street; ( that still happens in some of the houses in the village) and the third most important item, a lavatory, fairly recently installed and which discharged into a "fosse septique".
This last feature was in the back hall behind the kitchen and was separated from the hallway by a wooden partition and a fairly primitive but sufficiently effective door. The doorway from the rear of this hall led in to the "garden", an overgrown piece of land with some "pig styes" and a chicken run, together with the inevitable lavatory at the bottom of the garden, which looked as if it had been used in the not too distant past. (Old habits die hard). The garden walls were in a very broken down condition and the rear entrance, of just about vehicular size, was closed off with a couple of sheets of bent and rusty corrugated iron.
We moved back into the house and looked at the two bedrooms on the first floor above the kitchen and hall. They were inter-connecting, but of adequate size, and one of them still contained an iron bedstead,complete with ill fitting mattress.
Leading from the bedroom was another more primitive staircase which led up to a large landing which was open to the roof, and another very large bedroom measuring about 7m x 5m.
The ceiling of this bedroom was lath and plaster, which had seen better days, and was collapsing on one side because of a leak in the roof at some time. There was a long wooden clothes hanger on the wall with about twelve wooden pegs which looked as if a community of monks had just vacated the premises, and for some unexplained reason this room has always been called "The blue bedroom", possibly because it had a muddy grey/blue door, which is still there! We gave all the rooms names in order to identify which part of the house we were discussing, which names have continued to this day, despite the many changes we have made.

There were two other doors on the landing. One led into another bedroom which was full of straw to about 5 feet in the middle, which inevitably became "The straw bedroom" and the other door which was opened with care by Francoise who cautioned us because there were no floors in that space which was open to the roof. In my mind I could imagine hanging a huge "mobile" or some other creative structure in that voluminous space, although how we could have reached to the roof timbers to fix it I had no idea.
We returned to the kitchen and needed to go into the street to view the next part of the building, and began to realize why Francoise had such a large bunch of keys.

The search begins

After the first few tentative searches in various windows I made a timorous approach to the secretary of one of the local Immobiliers, who fortunately spoke a little English and was pleased to give me details of the properties we had spotted. Armed with only the briefest of details (we soon discovered that Estate Agents in France were not particularly fulsome in their description of houses at that time) we went away to consider the possibility of making a purchase, and the die was cast.
A visit to one Agent was soon followed by a visit to the second, who also was most helpful and spoke rather better English.
Appointments were made, slotted in between visits, after all were were just on holiday, and in due course we were taken to view various properties.
We looked at a Presbytery in the village of St Orse only to be told the next day that the vendor had taken it off the market and was selling to a friend!
We were taken to a house next to a farm in the middle of the apple growing area. There was some question concerning the access, and the possibility of re-routing it to avoid the farm and approach the house from the other direction. This would involve negotiations with the farmer to purchase a strip of land on the other side of the house.
That together with the fact that being in the middle of orchards, my wife was concerned about crop spraying and other unforeseen hazards, meant that it too dropped off the list.
We visited another house/farm which was vacant and in the process of being restored, but which lay immediately alongside the main road, and didn't quite fit into our image of a French Idyll. Still needed a lot of work to complete, and make habitable.
The very large barn overlooking the river and facing a small Chateau on the other bank was tempting, but with no services connected and a huge amount of work to convert, it seemed too large a task to undertake.
After all we were just on holiday!
We were then introduced to another "house" by the second Agent who described it variously as "A Monastery" or "A Chateau", and which contained some huge and magnificent fireplaces. At this point we really were becoming seriously interested, but also, for me anyway, a little overwrought by this exercise. But it was Thursday, and if we were to follow up on this we needed to move quickly, and so an appointment was made for the Friday afternoon.
Being impatient and more than a little curious we drove to the village that evening to have a preview of the house, and soon found it without any difficulty. It was rather difficult to decide just how much of this enormous building was "for sale" and almost impossible to discover what the rooms inside would look like, if in fact there were any rooms. The most daunting aspect of the property however, was the height and condition of the roof. It clearly needed a lot of work, only one section had been recently repaired, and the whole exercise seemed totally impractical.

Friday morning was clear, but with gathering clouds. It was the last day of the holiday and we had planned to visit Brantome for the market and perhaps a visit to the Abbey. This delightful small town known as the Venice of the north, is perfect for a day out, with lunch in one of the many cafes along the river.
The appointment we had made to view the "chateau" seemed to me to be quite inappropriate, since my initial reaction on seeing it the night before had convinced me that it was too large and expensive an undertaking, and I was intent on cancelling it. My wife on the other hand was determined to see this interesting house, having made the arrangement, and so with some reluctance I drove back to Excideuil to keep our rendezvous.

Areas of Prehistory

The delightful small town of Montignac is close by the cave of Lascaux, which must be high on the list of any traveller in this region. Depending on the season, tickets for the Cave, set high on the hillside above the town, need to be purchased in advance, and tours in the various languages take place every hour or two, making the timing of visits slightly important.

The original cave, discovered some years ago by a group of small boys out with their dog, has been closed to all but the most important visitors and then only one small group each day, to prevent the damage being caused by ever increasing numbers of visitors. It is a great tribute to French engineering that they have reproduced, to the very fraction of a millimeter an exact replica of the original, and even taking the trouble to copy the paintings using the same pigments and "brushes" used thousands of years ago. The paintings are stunning, and the whole experience most memorable.

A day is quickly swallowed up by these excursions, but we also visited Les Eyzies and the Museum of Prehistory, and Le Thot, the reproduction of an ancient village with the flora and fauna which existed at that time, and a very fine audio visual presentation.
All these, and many more visits, were we able to make during the five days remaining of our holiday,including a visit to Bergerac, but somewhere along the line, about the Tuesday or Wednesday we began to idly look in the windows of various "Immobiliers" and could not help being attracted to the various properties for sale, particularly because of the price,.
It was at this point that our destiny took a dramatic change in direction which was to shape our lives from that time on.

Five days of Discovery

O.K so its Monday morning and time to begin our journey of discovery into the many treasures of the Dordogne. Not in any chronological order, but to give you some idea of our itinerary, we visited the regional capitol Perigueux, and its fascinating Cathedral of St Front together with the Wednesday market, and the excellent Museum and fascinating small streets and squares close to the Cathedral.

The colours of the Perigord

We were soon to discover that the Perigord region was split into various colours, originally to describe the landscape.Vert for the northern part with its rolling hills and valleys, Blanc for the central area where the landscape changes to the outcrops of limestone and dramatic cliffs. Noir for the area around Sarlat, Les Eyzies, with its National Museum of Prehistory, Beynac, and the troglodyte village of Roque St Christophe, where people have lived for 50,000 years. Then most recently they have introduced Perigord Poupre to denote the Bergerac wine growing area, to the south-west towards Bordeaux.
So here we are, in this region of prehistory, with so many ancient sites to visit. Caves and Chateaux, Plus beaux Villages de France, vinyards, and ancient cities. A bewildering choice to focus on for the seven days at our disposal.
Having travelled through France for a couple of days, visiting Chateaux, and following my "most direct" but tortuous route we were happy to stay around the farm for the Sunday, and as it happened we were to have a visit from some friends from Wales who were staying in the Charente and decided it would be a nice idea for them to visit us for lunch.The day was hot and sunny, the air was warm and full of good conversation, as the food and wine began to cast its spell. Altogether a splendid start to our holiday in the Dordogne. Even better when Madame spotted me early in the morning and enquired if we liked "haricot verte" and invited me to join her and gather a basket full.
But enough of this, we had places to go, visits to make, adventures to enjoy, and much to discover. At this point, I must emphasize, we were still enjoying an innocent holiday in France. The age of innocence was soon to pass!

Discovering the Dordogne

I did manage to make that telephone call. Have you ever felt compelled to use a French Telephone Box, with limited French, and no idea how much to feed into the machine. Anyway, I made it, was connected to "mine hostess", and explained that we were at Chalus and would be arriving in about an hour or so. I guess she could work out how long it would take to drive the distance. I have no idea what she said in reply but I felt pleased to have made contact and was convinced that she had understood me.
This level of optimism, that people have understood my French, has remained with me ever since, although there have been times when my confidence has lapsed, either because their eyes take on a glazed look, or they come back with a totally different response from the one I expected. "Eh bien, cest la vie".

We did eventually find the Gite and discovered to our delight that it was a working farm with an apartment over the garage, which was normally occupied by the daughter, an artist of some repute, who vacated her home for some months during the season, to generate some income.

It was spacious, with two bedrooms and very well equipped so we were soon encamped, and ready for our discovery of this much loved region of France.

France on the Backroads

What could be more delightful than to travel the open road in France on a sunny afternoon, with only the occasional tractor to overtake, and miles, sorry kilometres, of straight, well surfaced road. I was reminded of a previous visit following in the footsteps of a friend with whom we were going to rendezvous in the Italian lakes. He wrote me a card with brief directions, but was at pains to mention the numerous stretches of "Chaussee deformee" with the appropriate words of caution. Thank goodness those days have long since disappeared although the sign does pop up from time to time still, but the degree of Deformee is for the most part much less serious.
We were soon passing by the walls of the charming town of Richlieu, quoted as "the finest village in the universe". The Cardinal was not satisfied with that and decided it should become the capital of France, around 1630, however, there was no time to dally and I made a mental note to allow for a visit on a subsequent trip.
We skirted Chatellerault and drove through the lovely little town of Chauvigny, then on to Confolens and eventually arrived in Chalus, and the route of Richard, Coeur du Lion.
A word of advice at this point, if anyone is thinking of following this route I would advise against it. Although at the time it seemed to us to be ideal, needless to say, by this time we were considerably behind schedule and I was moved to try to make a telephone call to our hosts to warn them of our somewhat later than estimated time of arrival. What gave me the confidence to think I could negotiate the intricacies of a French Public Phone Box I do not know to this day, or that I would be able to adequately convey to Madame the essence of my message with my almost non-existent French, but more of that later.

Discovering Chateaux

The hotel was comfortable, the breakfast predictable, the morning bright and beautiful,( after all this is France), and the open road beckoning. Noticeably at this early stage the Kilometers flashed by with amazing speed and soon we were travelling along the Loire towards Langeais.
Only when you approach the little town nestled on the north bank of the Loire and you catch the first sighting of the Chateau do you realize what an imposing fortress it is, towering above the town in all its Gothic splendour. Being on the border between Touraine and Anjou its possession was hotly disputed between the Counts of those regions, and being rebuilt in the thirteenth century, the chateau served as a hide-out for English captains during the Hundred Years War. As a result of which it was completely destroyed.
We were to discover that wherever we travelled in France the French would mention the Hundred Years War at every opportunity, albeit with a little Gallic shrug, and to which we responded with a little Anglo Saxon smile.
On instruction by Louis XI the citadel was rebuilt by Jean Bourre, and the one significant event of historic importance, the marriage of Anne of Brittany to Charles VIII , took place on the 16th December 1491.
In contrast to the formidable outer appearance, the bareness of the walls inside was concealed by glittering tapestries, and the huge and expansive fireplaces seemed to be a feature of every room.
Crossing the river and travelling along the south bank towards Tours we soon came to the magnificent chateau of Villandry, which is actually on the banks of the river Cher, but still quite close to the Loire.
Villandry, in contrast to the chateau at Langeais, is a good example of a beautiful Rennaisance building, with its symmetrical facades, and superb parterre gardens. Having experienced one tour of a chateau and listened to the French guide wax eloquently about the furnishings and tapestries, and many other features of the building, it was, for me, a delightful contrast to be able to wander in the warm September sunshine around the magnificent ornamental and kitchen gardens, together with the herb gardens and terraces, and marvel at the fact that in the eighteenth century all this had been landscaped, and walled up only to be restored by a subsequent owner, Dr Carvallo.
Time, however, was overtaking us, and we needed to move swiftly on if we were to reach the Dordogne at our estimated time. I had deliberately chosen a route to avoid major roads and Autoroutes and so we set off on the road for Richelieu and Chatellerault, but making one more visit, this time to the chateau at Azay-le.-Rideau.
The chateau of Azay-le-Rideau is set like like a jewel by the river, on pile foundations, and the two main buildings were finished in 1524. It is considered to be traditional in style and shows the essential features of flamboyant Gothic, rising as it does on a bend of the Indre, and seemingly floating in the landscape. But still more magnificent tapestries and a grand staircase left us feeling that it was time to attend to the rather more pressing task of continuing our journey without delay, still being optimistic that our route, carefully mapped out by me, was by far the most direct and easiest way to our ultimate destination in the top right hand corner of the Dordogne. Another mistake, but more of that later.

In the beginning

Like all good fairy stories perhaps I should begin by saying "Once upon a time" because that's exactly how it feels now, some 17 years later.
It was just a simple holiday in mid September. Suddenly we had some time free to escape the daily round and decided to spend 10 days in France. Advice came from all directions but a good friend who knew France well said,"At this time of the year, go south of the Loire and you are sure to have better weather.In fact better than that, go to the Dordogne".
That, and the possibility of visiting a few Chateaux en route and we were excitedly consulting routes, stop-overs (in Logis de France of course) and agents advertising Gites to rent. Before you could say "toute suite" everything was arranged. We would spend a couple of nights on the Loire and gently move down towards the North East corner of the Dordogne Region, having visited three or four chateau, carefully chosen, along the route.
With schoolboy French and a few subsequent visits, mainly en-route to camp in Italy, out came the phrase books, the maps, by now long out of date, and the Michelin Guide, even more out of date, but still valuable and packed with vital information, none of which I needed to use!
We booked the whole holiday with Brittany Ferries, sailing to Caen (Ouistreham) staying in one of their Gites and returning via St Malo.
Fair set the wind for France, or so I thought, and because it had been many years since we had crossed the Channel I assured my wife that she was a good traveller and would not need a travel tablet. First mistake. She was unable to leave the cabin for the whole crossing, but I did manage to feed her a sandwich under the door as we approaced the French coast.
The port of Ouistreham is a small friendly place and all we had to do was follow the directions out of the port and make for the open road south, carefully by-passing Caen.
Second mistake! which I discovered to my cost when negotiating the circuitous route through the suburbs of Caen, before eventually finding the carefully planned route towards the Loire an hour later.! Fortunately I had selected a few posible stop-overs along the route depending upon the distance we might travel, and so the first part of this exciting journey was completed and the night's rest was spent in a very comfortable Logis de France..... I had the feeling that this was going to be a very enjoyable experience.