Let them eat foie gras ... at will

Last Sunday, around 12:30, we sat down for lunch with a couple of friends and 646 strangers. A few pounds of foie gras and bottles of local wine later, we went home for supper.

Fest'Oie is a weekend-long "Goose Fair" that takes place every year, the third week in February, in Sarlat. It's a big deal. Check out the Sarlat Tourism Office's link for the official info.

The whole weekend is about the bird that is the number one local resource. Geese are celebrated in every way imaginable as they literally take over the town, including a run of the geese (we gave it a pass, having heard about similar events in Spain; people get hurt). The old town in Sarlat becomes a goose-themed playground. There are games, like tossing a ring for a prize at geese in an enclosure (see poster at top, or photo above), tasting booths, music, market stalls, and more.

The main event of the weekend is Sunday lunch.

Of course, calling it simply "lunch" is a bit of an understatement. For one thing, you're in an arena, elbow-to-elbow with hundreds of people, a few locals and many more come from all over France. For another thing, you're eating and drinking for six hours: it was 6:25 when we got up to leave. Take a look at the menu:

To facilitate the digestion and fill gaps in the conversation (though there was no such problem at any table I could see, including ours), non-stop music was provided by two bands taking turns through the afternoon, both very good in their own style, and completely different: one a standard jazz trio with singer, and the other a crazy kind of New Orleans marching band consisting of two trumpets, a bass drum, a snare drum and a bass. While the jazz band was content playing it straight on stage, the marching band stood against the back wall or moved around, ratcheting up the atmosphere.

All through the meal, there was - beside eating and drinking and talking and laughing - various forms of participatory music appreciation including waving and linking arms and yelling "Olé!", conga-line dancing, even body-surfing: when was the last time you saw people interrupt their lunch to lay on the ground flat on their backs, all in a row, to "surf" volunteers, of all ages and genders across the hall?

So, you've got it in a nutshell: abundance in foie gras, wine, company, music, merriment.

And the food, you may ask? The foie gras was very good, and truly at will. The wine was excellent Bordeaux 2007-to-2010 vintages. The staff was terrific and extremely efficient: amazing to think that with 650 people all eating at the same time, every dish arrived perfectly cooked and warm. In closing, the whole kitchen staff came up on stage for a standing, well-deserved ovation.

Supper that evening was a glass of water and a couple of Tylenols by the fire, then early to bed.

Update: Spring will come, but meanwhile ...

It snowed today. As the forecast calls for sub-zero temperatures until later this week, it will likely stay on the ground a few days, though sunshine is supposed to return tomorrow.

I went out and took a few pictures while Nancy knitted by the fire.

We got stone

Good bye concrete: the kitchen finally got its stone floor.

At first we were surprised that after spending so much time with the people at the quarry, choosing with them exactly the colour that we wanted, they delivered something that seemed so much darker.

But the stones were beautiful, and the colour, though darker than expected, still went very well with the other variety of stone used for the walls of the house and with the old oak beams. So we resigned ourselves that we could live with it and would not test the quarry's return-and-refund policy.

In the end though, we did get the colour that we wanted: two days after they had been laid, once the stones were dry through and through, the paler, creamy tone that attracted us originally emerged after all.

We had been told that stone, even hard stone such as the Limeyrat variety, was a porous material and darkened considerably when soaked for cutting and finishing. We just didn't expect such a contrast.

Though the jointing remains to be done (tomorrow), and a good cleaning will have to follow, the floor is beautiful.

Below are some pictures taken over the last couple of days. The difference between the freshly-laid stones and the ones that were laid the day before is striking.

Day One

The stones on the left were laid last yesterday,
while those on the right were laid the day before
and are now thoroughly dry and showing their "true" colour.

Spring is on the way ...

It all started with a sketch

With the completion of the préau, we are now seeing Gaulejac pretty much as it had been envisioned back in 2010, when we first started working with François Coq, the architect who has been the mastermind behind all the activity. 

We are very pleased with the final result.

To say that "we couldn't have done it without him" doesn't even begin to explain his role - or our appreciation for his expertise and his warmth.

Though he carried quite a load on our behalf as designer, technical adviser, general contractor, and project overseer, it seems that François always had time for us and our seemingly endless questions and changing ideas. Through it all, he was consistently patient and diplomatic, though he could be firm and direct when needed but always with tact and humour. 

He has delivered and we are very grateful.

Below is a sketch that François drew early on, which he has graciously allowed us to use and reproduce, followed by a photo of the house as it stands now.

Latest news: Gaulejac now on the Net!

Momentous event: as of this morning, we are again online at home!

Getting closer to a normal life, 
thanks to that little white box 
in the middle.

No more dragging the laptop out, driving several kilometres, then sitting in the car outside MacDonalds' or some other WiFi hot spot, just to check emails or update the blog.

And the bundle includes TV and a land line telephone, too.

We're back in the modern world.

What's a "préau"?

Travel back in time with me, please, to my childhood days.

When I was a little boy at École Voltaire, my elementary school in Asnières (the NW Paris suburb where I grew up), one of my favourite places there was the préau. Probably because it had nothing to do with teachers and classes, quite the contrary. It was part of the schoolyard where twice a day at recess time, we would escape from the classroom, scattering out, invariably shouting with relief at being finally free of the strict code of enforced silence, getting away once more from the torture of having to sit unnaturally still, quiet, and attentive (tough on any boy, in any country) for hours on end.

The préau was the covered area, at one end of the schoolyard, where we could shelter and still play and get some fresh air even if it rained or snowed, or pick a fight in a shady corner, somewhat removed from the supervising teacher's area of scrutiny. It was also where the latrines where located; like I said, it was all about relief.

Fast forward now more than fifty years into the present.

Though Nancy might beg to differ sometimes, I am not a little boy anymore. In fact I am an old man, a retiree, happy to be living back in France. And I have little need for school, because now I have my own préau (no latrines, though).

Childhood memories notwithstanding, the préau has to be one of the features of our house that we have been looking forward to the most, ever since the plans began to take form, three years ago. An outside,covered dining room, breakfast nook, lounging area - with a view.

I am sure that when you visit, once you've had the opportunity to sit there with us at the old oak table, over breakfast or, later in the day, with a glass of Bergerac before you, gazing out across at a 180 degree panorama of our valley, you will agree: the préau is the place to be.

It is conveniently located right by the kitchen door, and while I may not run out shouting, I enjoy even just walking by it sometimes, giving it only a side glance, with the knowledge that this is place that holds many special moments in store.

When we left for Ontario just before Christmas, the préau was still very much an unfinished place. For months it had stood an unfinished structure in an unfinished yard, covered like a makeshift camp with a tattered green tarp, that flapped in the wind and certainly did not do justice to its beautiful oak beams.

The day we returned, last week, as we were driving down our narrow, twisty country road that has become familiar, while neither one of us said anything, we both knew that the other one had his/her eyes trained on the final bend when Gaulejac would reveal itself to us. Would we see that ugly shapeless green still waving insultingly in the wind, or would the roofers have finally delivered?

In fact, there was not a trace of flapping green in site, but instead, a new roof of lovely old canal tiles. Our first Christmas at Gaulejac (in spirit, anyway) and we had received the one present we wished for.

And so now, in full colour, with the usual before-and-after shots, I give you ...

Le préau

Yesterday

May 2011

October 2008

As seen from the driveway:

In 2008

Yesterday

Looking down into the yard, from the upper terrace by the bread oven:

2008

Yesterday

A new tree for a new yard

As previously hinted at, our yard underwent some major cosmetic work in the last few days.

The yard, as seen from the kitchen door, a couple of days ago, with the new tree in place.

The photos below will give you an idea of the transformation over the last few months. They include before-and-after shots, taken from approximately the same angle in October 2008, (when we first saw the property), February and May of this year, with work in full swing, and earlier this week.

October 2008

February 2011

May 2011

This past Thursday

Daily life at Gaulejac

I wouldn't say that we have developed a routine yet. In fact, I rather hope that we never do; that would be too much like life before retirement. Still, as the house is coming together and the list of things for the workers to do is dwindling down daily to smaller and smaller jobs like corrections and touch-ups, there is increasingly some regularity to our daily life. There is also more comfort, though we are resigned to the fact that it will not be achieved fully until our furniture arrives (mid-January, at last update from the shippers).

As an illustration of our daily life at Gaulejac, I have posted below a series of shots that will give you an idea of what a typical day might be like for us.

Nancy has taken to walking into Montignac (4.5 Km one-way) every other morning.
Sometimes I join her, but some days, I just putter around at home
and make coffee while I wait for her to bring home the day's Le Monde
and a fresh baguette for breakfast. Life is tough ...

On the way, she (or we) will often stop by to chat with the pony
who lives in a meadow by the side of the road, and sometimes give him a carrot.

Here she is again, now about half-way home.

If I haven't joined Nancy for the walk to Montignac, I may trundle up the hill
with my camera. The mist and the rising sun always make for magnificent views,
which I manage to capture satisfactorily only on rare occasions. The shot above was taken in the meadow
above our property, looking down on our house (centre), and our neighbour's (roof to the left).

By the time Nancy returns, the workers are hard at it. In the shot above,
they are cutting capping stones which were much too wide: the mechanical saw
that they first used only cut 3/4 of the way deep, so they had to finish the job by hand.
Behind them, you can see the stairs to the workshop, which used to have a stone border
on both sides that were removed the day before. Looks much better, less monumental now.
The yard is really the only area where we've been dissatisfied with some of the execution.
Mostly because it introduced what we felt were "urban" touches, rigid and bold lines
that just did not fit in with the overall rustic style. Otherwise, we're very pleased with the work , inside and out.

Our daily life and comfort took a major turn for the better when we
discovered that the big fireplace in the kitchen works very well,
even without the finishing touches like the cast iron plate
and the cold air intakes that are supposed to be essential
for it to function properly (and that will be in place soon).
So We now have a fire every night at dinnertime. The house is very comfortable anyway,
but it is December after all, it gets dark early, the thermometer drops to single digits quickly,
and in France as in Canada, nothing says "home" like a fire in the hearth.

Good morning Gaulejac!

Sunrise down the valley, from our yard.

Our neighbourhood

Work is progressing steadily at the house, though there is nothing dramatically new to report at this point.

Soon I hope to be able to post some photos of significant progress outside, in the yard and down in front of the house, where the old stone wall is being rebuilt.

Meanwhile, taking advantage of the magnificent weather we are experiencing, I walked around our "neighbourhood" snapping pictures of some of the houses nearby.

Now we blend

Someone I remember fondly used to say "a man needs a truck". This has a particular resonance in Ontario: rural living, handy work, etc. But it is equally true here in rural France, though the saying would translate to something like "a man needs a Partner/Kangoo/Berlingo".

These are the respective model names for the three main French car manufacturers' "utilitaires" (literally "utility vehicles"), the local equivalent to our good ol' North American pickup truck.

What is striking is that here, in the cradle of the free spirit (or so the French like to think), instead of vying for the most original or different approach, Peugeot, Citroen and Renault seem in fact to make a special effort to depart as little as possible from what has become the norm. Whether it's a Berlingo (Citroen), or a Kangoo (Renault), or a Partner (Peugeot), they are remarkably similar in style, shape and colour. They are all two-seater panel trucks approximately the size of a larger compact car (say a four-door Jetta, for example), sometimes with a sliding side door on the right. And they are almost invariably white.

In fact, most utility vehicles in France come in factory white, and many contractors don't even bother to paint them a different colour or even advertise their name. And if they do, the announcement is remarkably modest, usually a single sign on the side, about the size of a standard car window on average.

All that to say that we have taken a major step in becoming locals: we bought Peugeot Partner, with "24" licence plates (denoting the local department of the Dordogne).

And here is a photo of our new wheels, sitting proudly in our driveway ...

Isn't she beautiful?

Hunters, woodpeckers, and other noise makers

We woke up the other day, on our second morning "at home" in Gaulejac, to a persistent tapping noise. We figured we'd slept in and one of the contractors was already hard at work. I scrambled out of bed and ran outside to see who it was, only to scare off a woodpecker who had taken an interest in one of the old beams jutting out of the stone work on the East facade. He flew off with what I took as a joyous call, thanking me for his breakfast.

A few days later, we woke up to different noises: half a dozen hunters, with cars and dogs, gathered just below our windows, before setting out on the day's hunt. It was quite a surprise as we have become accustomed to observing nothing more than birds and other wildlife outside the house most of the time, or the mailman (Monday-Saturday mail delivery), or more rarely a hiker or distant neighbour walking his chocolate brown lab.

I went down to chat and asked them politely to please not park in our driveway. They were very courteous in return, said they'd been gone soon (they were, 15 minutes later), and invited me to join them. I thanked them but declined, assuring them that they probably would regret it if I did as I could be a liability and more likely to scare game away than to help them bag anything, or worse, injure one of them. They didn't insist. Still, it felt good to meet the locals in their regular activities.

(Speaking of locals, we have had some interesting meetings (all pleasant, to be sure). More in a future post.)

As to the other noises referred to in the title? Nothing too dramatic, really. At night, the new oak floors creak and crack in the newly heated atmosphere; the plastic tarp on the soon-to-be-roofed side building (see photos below) slaps in the wind like a sail on a tall ship; and eternally, owls, songbirds, hawks punctuate the near silence or the ambient background of the breeze with their respective calls and notes. We continue to marvel at how quiet it is all around, night and day.

Welcome to Gaulejac!

When we arrived on October 25, the house wasn't quite ready for human habitation: doors, windows and electricity, but no running water or heat. So we stayed in a hotel for a few nights until all that had been taken care of. We finally moved in last Wednesday, November 2nd to running hot and cold water first, followed by heat a few days later. In the meantime, the electrician had lent us a couple of space heaters that were more than sufficient and, anyway, the weather has been exceptionally warm around here, with daytime highs of above 20 Celsius most days and no nighttime frost yet.

The house is essentially finished. What remains to be done now is stone floors in the kitchen and entrance hall, and outside work, including grading in the courtyard and preparation for eventual landscaping.

Here are some photos of the house as it stands now:

The courtyard, with the nearly completed "préau", or covered sitting area.

Add Another view of the préau (including the day's laundry)
and the rest of the old sheds.
The roof over the whole set should be done next week.

The kitchen: we're actually getting used to the Spartan look.
Maybe we don't need all the fancy cabinets and appliances after all ...

The living room, as seen from the top of the stairs,
in the mezzanine area between the two bedrooms.

The master bedroom.

The bathtub in the Master ensuite ...

... and the view.