When we awoke yesterday morning it was snowing - not a little bit of drizzly sleet but proper, big, slow falling, settling when they landed snowflakes. In no time at all the top of the cars were covered.
Two hours later it was still snowing steadily from a leaden grey sky, the road was slushly, the rooftops were white and Carcassonne had turned into a winter wonderland.
Sadly, the snow turned to rain in the afternoon and the magic slowly disappeared.
It was cold and damp and we didn't really feel like going out. We were also all still full and jaded from Christmas day so decided to postpone the wine tasting with the clients by 24 hours and watch a dvd together instead - it was an excellent decision.
We took a bit of time to get going today as well - I was up to sort breakfast and even Christian was up before 10.00am which is something of a miracle, but we were all a bit half-hearted at the market and a bit lethargic for the rest of the afternoon - well all except Christian, who knocked out another couple of lovely paintings in no time at all in a hastily put together studio in the hallway of the office space - they'll look great on the apartment walls.
I had a night off from cooking. Debrah did the majority, so that whilst I sat and spouted off about wine to our clients, Debrah brought a succession of fabulously tasty morsels to the table that complimented each of the wines we were tasting - which worked really well.
It's all over now - everything except the glasses has been washed up - time for bed.
Saturday 27 December 2008
Thursday 25 December 2008
Well I never!
It's 8pm on Christmas Day and calm has descended on the apartment. The guests have retreated to their room with some dvds, Debrah has tucked herself in bed for a rest and a bit of quiet time and Christian is feeling a little chastened because of the spillage on the shag pile! Me - I'm feeling very mellow and taking stock of our first Christmas with paying guests.
It isn't the first time that I have shared Christmas lunch with complete strangers. A few years ago Debrah and I spent Christmas in Tanzania - but then strangers were expected and anticipated. Once in London, Debrah invited an Australian couple for Christmas and neglected to tell me until two days beforehand - I'd never met them before - that was a bit bizarre.
Today was a totally new experience - guests who had paid to spend Christmas here at 42rvh. Not only that but they are on their honeymoon, having got married last Saturday up at Chateau Rigaud. Apparently they found Rigaud and 42rvh through their own research and contacted us both separately and only then found out that we are best friends from many a year - how serendipitous is that?
Last night we had early evening drinks with them and then took them down to the riverside to watch the spectacular 'son et lumiere' firework display from the old bridge over the Aude river - live on TF3 apparently - and fabulous it was too.
Whilst they dawdled back home we prepared a traditional French Christmas Eve seafood supper, which we laid out in their room with some lit candles and a fire in the hearth. If I say so myself, my oyster shucking was pretty good, but I am by no means as weather beaten and hardy as the boys from Bouzigues who bring the oysters to Carcassonne each week - as my cut hands can bear witness to today.
We had the same seafood supper ourselves and I am proud to be the father of a 19 year old who happily chucks oysters down his throat - something has clearly rubbed off on the boy.
In fact, Christian is my stepson, not my son - but today was momentous, and not only because of being our first guest Christmas. I first met Christian when he was 4 years old and up to the age of six or so he called me Dad - but then his real dad overheard him say that to me and flipped his lid about it. My dark years and Christian's teenage years followed, but today, in front of Debrah and our guests, he formally pronounced me to be his dad.
After all we have been through - and I give no opinion on his dad because I hardly know the man - it came as a bit of a bolt from the blue. I admit that I felt extremely emotional at the time and still do as I write this. I am under no illusions that we won't be arguing about something trivial in the morning, but frankly that cannot dull the glow I am feeling. I have thought of Christian as my son for 15 years now and for him to acknowledge that in front of other people today has still taken me somewhat by surprise. I can't think of a better Christmas present.
Of course, he did his best to dull the glow by throwing a glass of vodka/pomegranite cocktail over the shag pile carpet in the studio - no doubt a result of the wine he had drunk over lunch, but I can't have a go at him about that because I have done many a similar thing myself in the past at his age and since.
I think our guests had a lovely time. I think Debrah and Christian weren't too phased by the whole experience. I think the goose was a hit with the apricot and sage stuffing. I think I'd quite like to settle myself down and start reading my five new cookbooks.
It isn't the first time that I have shared Christmas lunch with complete strangers. A few years ago Debrah and I spent Christmas in Tanzania - but then strangers were expected and anticipated. Once in London, Debrah invited an Australian couple for Christmas and neglected to tell me until two days beforehand - I'd never met them before - that was a bit bizarre.
Today was a totally new experience - guests who had paid to spend Christmas here at 42rvh. Not only that but they are on their honeymoon, having got married last Saturday up at Chateau Rigaud. Apparently they found Rigaud and 42rvh through their own research and contacted us both separately and only then found out that we are best friends from many a year - how serendipitous is that?
Last night we had early evening drinks with them and then took them down to the riverside to watch the spectacular 'son et lumiere' firework display from the old bridge over the Aude river - live on TF3 apparently - and fabulous it was too.
Whilst they dawdled back home we prepared a traditional French Christmas Eve seafood supper, which we laid out in their room with some lit candles and a fire in the hearth. If I say so myself, my oyster shucking was pretty good, but I am by no means as weather beaten and hardy as the boys from Bouzigues who bring the oysters to Carcassonne each week - as my cut hands can bear witness to today.
We had the same seafood supper ourselves and I am proud to be the father of a 19 year old who happily chucks oysters down his throat - something has clearly rubbed off on the boy.
In fact, Christian is my stepson, not my son - but today was momentous, and not only because of being our first guest Christmas. I first met Christian when he was 4 years old and up to the age of six or so he called me Dad - but then his real dad overheard him say that to me and flipped his lid about it. My dark years and Christian's teenage years followed, but today, in front of Debrah and our guests, he formally pronounced me to be his dad.
After all we have been through - and I give no opinion on his dad because I hardly know the man - it came as a bit of a bolt from the blue. I admit that I felt extremely emotional at the time and still do as I write this. I am under no illusions that we won't be arguing about something trivial in the morning, but frankly that cannot dull the glow I am feeling. I have thought of Christian as my son for 15 years now and for him to acknowledge that in front of other people today has still taken me somewhat by surprise. I can't think of a better Christmas present.
Of course, he did his best to dull the glow by throwing a glass of vodka/pomegranite cocktail over the shag pile carpet in the studio - no doubt a result of the wine he had drunk over lunch, but I can't have a go at him about that because I have done many a similar thing myself in the past at his age and since.
I think our guests had a lovely time. I think Debrah and Christian weren't too phased by the whole experience. I think the goose was a hit with the apricot and sage stuffing. I think I'd quite like to settle myself down and start reading my five new cookbooks.
Wednesday 24 December 2008
Fingers crossed
Will everything please stop breaking!
Over the last few days, things breaking seems to be the pattern of life. The tree drama was enough of a disaster but it hasn't stopped there.
When we opened one of the new pan sets that we bought in London, to go in the suites, we found a pan with a broken handle and therefore a useless pan. On Monday whilst emptying the dishwasher, a china spoon exploded into three pieces - it is nothing special really but is part of a set that we use on our breakfast trays and is therefore annoying and inconvenient.
When we arrived back from the supermarket yesterday afternoon, all the dining room lights blew in one enormous bang and fused the circuit - naturally it happened as we got back, not before we went - and I didn't have replacement bulbs in stock for the original 1970's wall lights that adorn our dining room. Fingers crossed that I can find some in town today because I really don't fancy the supermarket on Christmas Eve and besides I have enough to do already.
On Monday I received an email from my father stating that he had been trying to telephone me but that the phone is permanently engaged. I checked and it is - can't phone out and nobody can phone in - a bit of a problem when that is my business number and the only alternatives are expensive English mobile phones.
I went to see France Telecom in their showroom in town, who helpfully told me that the line was 'en service' and that the problem was mine. I told them it had worked perfectly well for two years as it was currently set up and nothing had changed so can you please help me solve it. Er, "Non".
Fortunately, an English lady overheard my stilted French conversation and told me that she'd had exactly the same problem and that it was a fault with the 'livebox' - it was only solved by bringing it into the showroom, shouting a lot and getting them to change the unit. I surveyed the queue of twenty odd customers all trying to buy last minute mobile phone presents, thought about having to disconnect my internet, bring the 'livebox' into the showroom and try and have the necessary conversation and decided to leave it until after Christmas.
When I got back home Christian said "Is there something wrong with the internet - it isn't working" Aaarrgghhhh.
My first fear was that it related to the phone problem, but after a bit of investigation it turned out that the server at France Telecom was the fault and a couple of hours later it came back on line - what a relief.
Now if everything will just keep working and/or just fix itself please, we might be able to get on with looking after our guests.
My fingers are well and truly crossed.
Over the last few days, things breaking seems to be the pattern of life. The tree drama was enough of a disaster but it hasn't stopped there.
When we opened one of the new pan sets that we bought in London, to go in the suites, we found a pan with a broken handle and therefore a useless pan. On Monday whilst emptying the dishwasher, a china spoon exploded into three pieces - it is nothing special really but is part of a set that we use on our breakfast trays and is therefore annoying and inconvenient.
When we arrived back from the supermarket yesterday afternoon, all the dining room lights blew in one enormous bang and fused the circuit - naturally it happened as we got back, not before we went - and I didn't have replacement bulbs in stock for the original 1970's wall lights that adorn our dining room. Fingers crossed that I can find some in town today because I really don't fancy the supermarket on Christmas Eve and besides I have enough to do already.
On Monday I received an email from my father stating that he had been trying to telephone me but that the phone is permanently engaged. I checked and it is - can't phone out and nobody can phone in - a bit of a problem when that is my business number and the only alternatives are expensive English mobile phones.
I went to see France Telecom in their showroom in town, who helpfully told me that the line was 'en service' and that the problem was mine. I told them it had worked perfectly well for two years as it was currently set up and nothing had changed so can you please help me solve it. Er, "Non".
Fortunately, an English lady overheard my stilted French conversation and told me that she'd had exactly the same problem and that it was a fault with the 'livebox' - it was only solved by bringing it into the showroom, shouting a lot and getting them to change the unit. I surveyed the queue of twenty odd customers all trying to buy last minute mobile phone presents, thought about having to disconnect my internet, bring the 'livebox' into the showroom and try and have the necessary conversation and decided to leave it until after Christmas.
When I got back home Christian said "Is there something wrong with the internet - it isn't working" Aaarrgghhhh.
My first fear was that it related to the phone problem, but after a bit of investigation it turned out that the server at France Telecom was the fault and a couple of hours later it came back on line - what a relief.
Now if everything will just keep working and/or just fix itself please, we might be able to get on with looking after our guests.
My fingers are well and truly crossed.
Sunday 21 December 2008
Christmas tree
We had our annual tree disaster today - it fell over whilst we were out and smashed a good many of the new black, white and glass baubles.
Last year it started to fall whilst someone was stood next to it and they managed to stop it going completely. You'd think we would have learned from the experience.
A four metre tree is a bit of a handful to get upright and straight at the best of times but we thought we had it balanced and secure - it stood up for over twenty four hours anyway and then decided to fall over.
It was a bit of a mess to be honest - so now it is tied back to the wall so that it can't fall - and Debrah went out to buy some new baubles and it looks better now than it did before. There is always a silver lining.
Last year it started to fall whilst someone was stood next to it and they managed to stop it going completely. You'd think we would have learned from the experience.
A four metre tree is a bit of a handful to get upright and straight at the best of times but we thought we had it balanced and secure - it stood up for over twenty four hours anyway and then decided to fall over.
It was a bit of a mess to be honest - so now it is tied back to the wall so that it can't fall - and Debrah went out to buy some new baubles and it looks better now than it did before. There is always a silver lining.
Saturday 20 December 2008
Back to work
Well that's a bit of a shock - we've got guests again.
We haven't had any guests here since the end of October and I have to admit to being a bit out of practice. We have a Spanish couple who drove here last night from Barcelona. They arrived in Carcassonne at about 11.00pm and asked where they could get something to eat - er, Barcelona probably - this is a small rural French town - what is it about the Spanish and eating at midnight?
So we put together a tray of charcuterie and cheese and baguette and couple of glasses of wine and delivered it to their room - in-between having to apologise for the electricity going off - how very embarrassing.
I was so out of practice that I didn't have everything I needed for their breakfast tray, but fortunately we had enough time to make a market trip before we had to put it all together for them.
In fact we made three trips to the market this morning - the last one to collect our Christmas tree, which Christian and I carried back up the hill together. It isn't quite as impressive as last years tree but now that it is proudly standing in the corner of the main living room with all its lights and decorations in place (black and white this year) it looks very much the part.
We haven't had any guests here since the end of October and I have to admit to being a bit out of practice. We have a Spanish couple who drove here last night from Barcelona. They arrived in Carcassonne at about 11.00pm and asked where they could get something to eat - er, Barcelona probably - this is a small rural French town - what is it about the Spanish and eating at midnight?
So we put together a tray of charcuterie and cheese and baguette and couple of glasses of wine and delivered it to their room - in-between having to apologise for the electricity going off - how very embarrassing.
I was so out of practice that I didn't have everything I needed for their breakfast tray, but fortunately we had enough time to make a market trip before we had to put it all together for them.
In fact we made three trips to the market this morning - the last one to collect our Christmas tree, which Christian and I carried back up the hill together. It isn't quite as impressive as last years tree but now that it is proudly standing in the corner of the main living room with all its lights and decorations in place (black and white this year) it looks very much the part.
Tuesday 16 December 2008
Driving home for Christmas
That's a relief - getting back to Carcassonne unscathed - at one point I didn't think I was going to get past Calais!
I have been in London for a week and for most of the time I was ill - nothing more I don't think than a nasty cold but I could have done without it - and so could Debrah who is sadly showing signs of coming down with it just as I am beginning to feel better.
I went back to London to see (infect) Debrah, to sort some UK finances (only partly successful so far) and to drive the Renault down to Carcassonne full of accumulated purchases that have been getting in the way in our small London apartment and a few special purchases ahead of our first Christmas and New Year with guests.
So, that's why I was up and out at 4.00am this morning to catch the 6.05am channel tunnel train. I reached Folkestone without incident, bought a coffee and a bacon sarnie and joined the end of the queue for my train - I was the last car onto the upper deck, but only just.
After the, by now, routine security checks, I started the car up again and it immediately revved up to 3000rpm and stuck there - I blipped the throttle to try and free it (before remembering that the days of sticky throttle cables are long gone as it is all controlled by electronics now). I moved off slowly, engine roaring away and then realised I couldn't go any faster than about 15mph in any gear and the dashboard panel was now telling me I had a fuel injection fault.
I was desperately trying to decide what to do. I had a car stuffed to the gills with all sorts and couldn't work out if it was better to break down in the UK or in France, although I was now technically in France because I had gone through passport control - so did that already negate my UK breakdown cover? My mind was racing as fast as the engine and by now I was at the back of the queue at the top the ramp leading down to the train. I turned the engine off and restarted in the hope it might just sort itself out - it's electronics, it's just IT, so re-boot it.
It didn't work - so trying not to draw any attention to myself - I crept onto the train, switched off and spent the 30 minutes so-called relaxing journey time fretting about what to do at the other end if the problem persisted.
Thirty minutes later, as the car in front pulled away, I nervously pushed the starter button and, in the words of Leonard Cohen. Jeff Buckley and Alexandra Burke, to name but three - hallelujah. I was so grateful that I spoke lovely words of encouragement to the car all the way down the 700 miles across France - bonkers I know, but that was actually just the beginning of a stressful day's driving.
France was foggy - I don't mean bits of it, I mean all of it - well all of it until I got to the Languedoc - 600 miles of it. Mile after mile of greyness punctuated by dazzling bright red and white/yellow fog lights and no sense of perspective or distance and road signs glimpsed at the last minute as they loom up out of the gloom. It is two hours since I got back and I still feel totally wired from the effort of concentration all day.
It was freezing point or below for the whole journey too with bits of drizzle here and there to help visibility and then, when I got to the Massif Central, there was the snow! Just a bit to begin with but then later it was clear that a good foot of the stuff had fallen, which meant at least two foot banks of snow on the hard shoulder where the snowploughs had pushed it off the road - and a very good job they had done too - the road was pretty much clear but the Megane on it's side in the middle of the road (it looked as if it had clipped the snow bank and flipped) reminded me to take it easy.
Judging ones pace is the key in conditions like that - too slow and I wouldn't have got here until midnight and would run the risk of someone ploughing into the back of me - too fast and well anything could happen.
It was very wintry, beautiful and Christmassy (as far as I could see into the gloom). Trees were bent over with the weight of snow - a veritable winter wonderland - they should have built one of those closed down 'Lapland' parks near Clermont Ferrand instead of in Hampshire - except the French aren't stupid enough to waste their money on such nonsense.
Miraculously, the fog lifted for 10 kilometres either side of the fabulous Millau bridge and gave me a great view of it - what a fantastic piece of engineering - shame the light was beginning to fade as I got there - it was one of those days really
I have been in London for a week and for most of the time I was ill - nothing more I don't think than a nasty cold but I could have done without it - and so could Debrah who is sadly showing signs of coming down with it just as I am beginning to feel better.
I went back to London to see (infect) Debrah, to sort some UK finances (only partly successful so far) and to drive the Renault down to Carcassonne full of accumulated purchases that have been getting in the way in our small London apartment and a few special purchases ahead of our first Christmas and New Year with guests.
So, that's why I was up and out at 4.00am this morning to catch the 6.05am channel tunnel train. I reached Folkestone without incident, bought a coffee and a bacon sarnie and joined the end of the queue for my train - I was the last car onto the upper deck, but only just.
After the, by now, routine security checks, I started the car up again and it immediately revved up to 3000rpm and stuck there - I blipped the throttle to try and free it (before remembering that the days of sticky throttle cables are long gone as it is all controlled by electronics now). I moved off slowly, engine roaring away and then realised I couldn't go any faster than about 15mph in any gear and the dashboard panel was now telling me I had a fuel injection fault.
I was desperately trying to decide what to do. I had a car stuffed to the gills with all sorts and couldn't work out if it was better to break down in the UK or in France, although I was now technically in France because I had gone through passport control - so did that already negate my UK breakdown cover? My mind was racing as fast as the engine and by now I was at the back of the queue at the top the ramp leading down to the train. I turned the engine off and restarted in the hope it might just sort itself out - it's electronics, it's just IT, so re-boot it.
It didn't work - so trying not to draw any attention to myself - I crept onto the train, switched off and spent the 30 minutes so-called relaxing journey time fretting about what to do at the other end if the problem persisted.
Thirty minutes later, as the car in front pulled away, I nervously pushed the starter button and, in the words of Leonard Cohen. Jeff Buckley and Alexandra Burke, to name but three - hallelujah. I was so grateful that I spoke lovely words of encouragement to the car all the way down the 700 miles across France - bonkers I know, but that was actually just the beginning of a stressful day's driving.
France was foggy - I don't mean bits of it, I mean all of it - well all of it until I got to the Languedoc - 600 miles of it. Mile after mile of greyness punctuated by dazzling bright red and white/yellow fog lights and no sense of perspective or distance and road signs glimpsed at the last minute as they loom up out of the gloom. It is two hours since I got back and I still feel totally wired from the effort of concentration all day.
It was freezing point or below for the whole journey too with bits of drizzle here and there to help visibility and then, when I got to the Massif Central, there was the snow! Just a bit to begin with but then later it was clear that a good foot of the stuff had fallen, which meant at least two foot banks of snow on the hard shoulder where the snowploughs had pushed it off the road - and a very good job they had done too - the road was pretty much clear but the Megane on it's side in the middle of the road (it looked as if it had clipped the snow bank and flipped) reminded me to take it easy.
Judging ones pace is the key in conditions like that - too slow and I wouldn't have got here until midnight and would run the risk of someone ploughing into the back of me - too fast and well anything could happen.
It was very wintry, beautiful and Christmassy (as far as I could see into the gloom). Trees were bent over with the weight of snow - a veritable winter wonderland - they should have built one of those closed down 'Lapland' parks near Clermont Ferrand instead of in Hampshire - except the French aren't stupid enough to waste their money on such nonsense.
Miraculously, the fog lifted for 10 kilometres either side of the fabulous Millau bridge and gave me a great view of it - what a fantastic piece of engineering - shame the light was beginning to fade as I got there - it was one of those days really
Sunday 7 December 2008
Lights off, lights on
Brigitte rang the doorbell on Friday at lunchtime.
"Peetere, we 'ave a problem with ze electricite" she said. She went on to say that she was working and had only come home to find the EDF invoice to give to me so that I could phone them and arrange for someone to come out and fix it and that she didn't have time because she needed to eat a 'leetle something' before rushing back to work.
Manipulation! - you bet it was. How hard would it have been for her to call. rather than me with my imperfect French negotiating a telephone answering system and a faceless voice in the call centre.
I knew we had an electricity problem because when I came home the previous evening the courtyard and the stairwell were pitch black and with a dark brooding sky above it was impossible to see anything. I edged my way in through the main door and up the stairs using the light from my mobile phone. All the power was out in the common parts but fortunately not inside the apartment.
On Friday morning I did my best to see if I could find the problem, but anything other than checking fuses and re-setting the meter is beyond me and the meter absolutely refused to re-set.
Imagine my surprise then, that I not only called EDF and got through 6 levels of answering system to reach the correct department and managed to give them the correct reference numbers but they also turned up within two hours, changed the meter and restored the power. Sometimes I surprise myself and sometimes the French surprise me too.
It's officially Christmas here in Carcassonne. The mayor switched on the lights on Friday evening and the market and the ice rink and the big wheel and the luge are all open for business - and doing good business judging by the number of people in town last night - far more than usual for a Saturday evening - the 'vin chaud' stall was exceptionally busy.
But you can't change all the habits of a lifetime. I had heard that the meat market was opening on Sunday mornings in the run up to Christmas but the reality was that two enterprising stalls, my favourite pork butcher and the Basque Deli, were open and the rest firmly shut.
Both those open were doing good business - they were offering tastings and aperitifs and in return were selling quite a bit of stuff. I had only had a coffee this morning before looking into the market and in no time at all I was sharing some oysters and charcuterie and a glass of wine with stall and bar and restaurant owners and their wives, all before midday - that's the proper alternative French way to start a Sunday if you haven't gone to mass!
I picked up a couple of things for supper this evening, went to the boulangerie and returned home feeling perky enough to decide to make a prune and almond tart.
The lights in the Place Carnot and the Place Gambetta look fabulous and with the ice rink and the music you can't help but feel in a festive mood. It's all very kitsch but also very infectious - so it's a shame that we weren't able to tempt any visitors out here from the UK to sample it.
I did take two bookings yesterday though, so maybe things are looking up.
"Peetere, we 'ave a problem with ze electricite" she said. She went on to say that she was working and had only come home to find the EDF invoice to give to me so that I could phone them and arrange for someone to come out and fix it and that she didn't have time because she needed to eat a 'leetle something' before rushing back to work.
Manipulation! - you bet it was. How hard would it have been for her to call. rather than me with my imperfect French negotiating a telephone answering system and a faceless voice in the call centre.
I knew we had an electricity problem because when I came home the previous evening the courtyard and the stairwell were pitch black and with a dark brooding sky above it was impossible to see anything. I edged my way in through the main door and up the stairs using the light from my mobile phone. All the power was out in the common parts but fortunately not inside the apartment.
On Friday morning I did my best to see if I could find the problem, but anything other than checking fuses and re-setting the meter is beyond me and the meter absolutely refused to re-set.
Imagine my surprise then, that I not only called EDF and got through 6 levels of answering system to reach the correct department and managed to give them the correct reference numbers but they also turned up within two hours, changed the meter and restored the power. Sometimes I surprise myself and sometimes the French surprise me too.
It's officially Christmas here in Carcassonne. The mayor switched on the lights on Friday evening and the market and the ice rink and the big wheel and the luge are all open for business - and doing good business judging by the number of people in town last night - far more than usual for a Saturday evening - the 'vin chaud' stall was exceptionally busy.
But you can't change all the habits of a lifetime. I had heard that the meat market was opening on Sunday mornings in the run up to Christmas but the reality was that two enterprising stalls, my favourite pork butcher and the Basque Deli, were open and the rest firmly shut.
Both those open were doing good business - they were offering tastings and aperitifs and in return were selling quite a bit of stuff. I had only had a coffee this morning before looking into the market and in no time at all I was sharing some oysters and charcuterie and a glass of wine with stall and bar and restaurant owners and their wives, all before midday - that's the proper alternative French way to start a Sunday if you haven't gone to mass!
I picked up a couple of things for supper this evening, went to the boulangerie and returned home feeling perky enough to decide to make a prune and almond tart.
The lights in the Place Carnot and the Place Gambetta look fabulous and with the ice rink and the music you can't help but feel in a festive mood. It's all very kitsch but also very infectious - so it's a shame that we weren't able to tempt any visitors out here from the UK to sample it.
I did take two bookings yesterday though, so maybe things are looking up.
Thursday 4 December 2008
Management
I was the host for the latest meeting on the co-proprietors which took place last evening - time: 6pm, venue: my dining room, my comprehension of five French people talking at the same time: very little.
I might have the largest share of the vote (because I own the greatest proportion of the floor area) but I have the least ability to influence the direction or ultimate outcome of any debates. It is embarrassing and a little tedious (but necessary) that I need to clarify in my poor French (or Brigitte's poor English translation on my behalf) what has just been agreed or decided. That is not a criticism of Brigitte - without her ability to speak some English I would be completely in the dark.
One of the problems of my shortcomings with the language is my inability to understand the psyche of the French mind and the nuances and undercurrents of any decisions. We all have our own motives for doing things or wanting things and it is sometimes hard enough to work that out in one's own language - never mind in one you are considerably less than fluent in. I would hate to think of them manipulating me for their own ends but I can't help but be suspicious because I have no idea if they are or not. In the end you just have to trust your judgement of people and their character.
So, they are a bunch of charlatans who are using me - then, on the other hand, maybe not. I have no idea.
Still, we have reduced the management charge by more than 50% since firing the managing agents and taking over the building ourselves but there is much renovation work to be done on the facade and the stairwell and we have a troublesome tenant on the second floor whom we would all like to see depart as soon as we can find a way to convince the proprietor (who lives in Paris) that he should go - moves are afoot, apparently, from what I can understand.
Sadly, the worldwide economic situation isn't helping our desire to expand the business here. Nobody seems interested in selling. They all think their money is better off in stone and lime mortar than in the banking system and I suspect that there are tax incentives that they are clinging onto - so we are hitting a solid stone wall in our expansion plans. Alors!
Brigitte and Christine (from the beauty salon downstairs) hung around for a bit after everyone else had left - there was an unfinished bottle of wine and, despite the French insistence that they don't drink very much, they weren't leaving until it had been despatched.
Christine had put up with the noise from our renovation directly above her beauty salon for a year or so and this was the first opportunity I'd had to show her the results. Of course she was impressed and very complimentary - everyone is - it is a fantastic space and a fabulous renovation.
It might just be the very best apartment in Carcassonne - so it would be a tragedy to have to give it up but who knows what will happen in these troubled economic times. We have to keep an open mind.
I might have the largest share of the vote (because I own the greatest proportion of the floor area) but I have the least ability to influence the direction or ultimate outcome of any debates. It is embarrassing and a little tedious (but necessary) that I need to clarify in my poor French (or Brigitte's poor English translation on my behalf) what has just been agreed or decided. That is not a criticism of Brigitte - without her ability to speak some English I would be completely in the dark.
One of the problems of my shortcomings with the language is my inability to understand the psyche of the French mind and the nuances and undercurrents of any decisions. We all have our own motives for doing things or wanting things and it is sometimes hard enough to work that out in one's own language - never mind in one you are considerably less than fluent in. I would hate to think of them manipulating me for their own ends but I can't help but be suspicious because I have no idea if they are or not. In the end you just have to trust your judgement of people and their character.
So, they are a bunch of charlatans who are using me - then, on the other hand, maybe not. I have no idea.
Still, we have reduced the management charge by more than 50% since firing the managing agents and taking over the building ourselves but there is much renovation work to be done on the facade and the stairwell and we have a troublesome tenant on the second floor whom we would all like to see depart as soon as we can find a way to convince the proprietor (who lives in Paris) that he should go - moves are afoot, apparently, from what I can understand.
Sadly, the worldwide economic situation isn't helping our desire to expand the business here. Nobody seems interested in selling. They all think their money is better off in stone and lime mortar than in the banking system and I suspect that there are tax incentives that they are clinging onto - so we are hitting a solid stone wall in our expansion plans. Alors!
Brigitte and Christine (from the beauty salon downstairs) hung around for a bit after everyone else had left - there was an unfinished bottle of wine and, despite the French insistence that they don't drink very much, they weren't leaving until it had been despatched.
Christine had put up with the noise from our renovation directly above her beauty salon for a year or so and this was the first opportunity I'd had to show her the results. Of course she was impressed and very complimentary - everyone is - it is a fantastic space and a fabulous renovation.
It might just be the very best apartment in Carcassonne - so it would be a tragedy to have to give it up but who knows what will happen in these troubled economic times. We have to keep an open mind.
Monday 1 December 2008
Know thy neighbour
In anticipation of a meeting of the co-proprietors this week and any discussions about exterior and interior common parts renovations, I visited the 'mairie', from where I was sent off to the OPAH office, for information about any grants available for renovations to historic buildings in the town centre.
In true French bureaucratic style I came away none the wiser, a bit more confused and with a couple of forms to complete. It appears that there are grants available but, no, they couldn't tell me how much or for what until I had completed the forms and taken photographs of the areas to be worked on and had a full and detailed estimate from an approved builder/decorator/supplier - but once I do all that they will make a decision within three weeks - thank god for small mercies.
"Do you have a list of approved suppliers", I asked. "Non", she replied. That's helpful then, I thought as I left.
We had some bad news last week relating to our plans for the takeover of the rest of the apartments at 42rvh - the studio that was for sale on the second floor has been sold to an ex-pat Frenchman living in Korea and will now be rented out.
Brigitte was equally upset as she will now have a new neighbour immediately next to her - she was banking on us buying it and only allowing very quiet guests to stay, which obviously can't be guaranteed either.
Then on Saturday morning the tenant from the courtyard apartment, situated below our bedroom, started moving out and things are looking up again. I was always planning to speak to the owner of that apartment - it is now imperative that we try to get him to sell to us before he puts another tenant in there.
We were being very nosy neighbours from upstairs as the removals commenced - we weren't sure if he was actually moving out or not and wanted to know for certain - that and natural curiosity obviously. When the bed appeared on the back of the trailer that had been brought into the courtyard we were convinced he was going.
When Debrah called me over to the window to show me something astonishing I thought I was about to behold an ugly table lamp or cheap reproduction coffee table, given her abhorrence of bad taste and bad design, but no, it was altogether a much more shocking sight.
Nestled in the protection of the bed were automatic weapons - rifles, pistols and a machine gun. They looked real enough and I have no reason to believe that they weren't - after all the departing tenant was indeed a member of France's armed forces based here in Carcassonne, the 3rd parachute regiment - the same regiment that shot 17 civilians earlier this year during an open day that was designed to bring the army and the townspeople closer together!
As we watched from above, a collection of swords was brought out and added to the haul. They may well have been ceremonial but even so it was quite sobering to think that all those implements of destruction were housed beneath our bedroom for the last year. The tragedy of the open day exposed a myriad of lax procedures relating to weapons and ammunition - I'm glad that I didn't know those weapons were there and I'm equally glad that they are no longer there.
Sleep safely and don't have nightmares.
In true French bureaucratic style I came away none the wiser, a bit more confused and with a couple of forms to complete. It appears that there are grants available but, no, they couldn't tell me how much or for what until I had completed the forms and taken photographs of the areas to be worked on and had a full and detailed estimate from an approved builder/decorator/supplier - but once I do all that they will make a decision within three weeks - thank god for small mercies.
"Do you have a list of approved suppliers", I asked. "Non", she replied. That's helpful then, I thought as I left.
We had some bad news last week relating to our plans for the takeover of the rest of the apartments at 42rvh - the studio that was for sale on the second floor has been sold to an ex-pat Frenchman living in Korea and will now be rented out.
Brigitte was equally upset as she will now have a new neighbour immediately next to her - she was banking on us buying it and only allowing very quiet guests to stay, which obviously can't be guaranteed either.
Then on Saturday morning the tenant from the courtyard apartment, situated below our bedroom, started moving out and things are looking up again. I was always planning to speak to the owner of that apartment - it is now imperative that we try to get him to sell to us before he puts another tenant in there.
We were being very nosy neighbours from upstairs as the removals commenced - we weren't sure if he was actually moving out or not and wanted to know for certain - that and natural curiosity obviously. When the bed appeared on the back of the trailer that had been brought into the courtyard we were convinced he was going.
When Debrah called me over to the window to show me something astonishing I thought I was about to behold an ugly table lamp or cheap reproduction coffee table, given her abhorrence of bad taste and bad design, but no, it was altogether a much more shocking sight.
Nestled in the protection of the bed were automatic weapons - rifles, pistols and a machine gun. They looked real enough and I have no reason to believe that they weren't - after all the departing tenant was indeed a member of France's armed forces based here in Carcassonne, the 3rd parachute regiment - the same regiment that shot 17 civilians earlier this year during an open day that was designed to bring the army and the townspeople closer together!
As we watched from above, a collection of swords was brought out and added to the haul. They may well have been ceremonial but even so it was quite sobering to think that all those implements of destruction were housed beneath our bedroom for the last year. The tragedy of the open day exposed a myriad of lax procedures relating to weapons and ammunition - I'm glad that I didn't know those weapons were there and I'm equally glad that they are no longer there.
Sleep safely and don't have nightmares.
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