Is this cool , or what?
Le Chateau de Fougeres
As you know, for the past few winters, every month ‘The Epistle’ has featured a local castle or fort that we have visited. This month’s choice is reportedly the largest Medieval Castle in Europe, the Castle of Fougeres. I say ‘reportedly’ because a quick Google search lists a half dozen other castles making the same claim, and we here at ‘The Epistle’ don’t play fast and loose with the facts. Recently we spent a warm sunny day there where we had a superb picnic lunch. [Note to family and friends in Canada: warm and sunny days are what you saw last August, remember? :) ]
Built in 1000, is has seen its share of sieges, fires, pillaging, plundering, destruction, repairs and rebuilds. Visiting it would be any little boy’s dream, not to mention the budding princesses amongst us. The town is one of the prettiest we have seen anywhere, with charm and postcard type beauty rarely found. A creek runs through the medieval section of town, snaking through people’s back yards and the business district. Another unique feature is the numerous “trompe oeuil’s” throughout the town. Some are several stories tall covering the entire side of a building and are as convincing as any Hollywood backdrop I have seen.
Busy as beavers
Realizing that the clock is ticking and that we are running out of time, this month saw us moving ahead on this year’s planned projects. We finished laying the sound insulation barrier and tile in our Master bedroom, bathroom / dressing room. This entire project was no mean feat as it enlarges the usable footprint of the house by 25%. The area encompasses the entire 3rd floor of the house and is larger than all 3 of our guest bedrooms combined.
Knarly, twisted, warped beams
testify to the age of the house
Wood pegs hold mortise and tendon jointery
Having heard that a local had their hot water heater replaced and then presented with a $1,600. bill, I decided that a smart boy would do a little preventative maintenance and replace ours before we left. As things always take longer than expected, I allowed several days to get it done. Good thing too. Predictably, everything that could have gone wrong did. I have been blessed with three homes that have impossibly confined mechanical closets. I appreciate the extra space for years, then curse my decision when it comes time to service anything. I'm getting in the zone though as I will be replacing the hot water heater next month in California also.
Next, we tackled building Janice a ‘Breton’ bookcase. We found the face of an old Breton bed enclosure at a salvage yard and built a bookcase into it, mounting it in the living room. If it appears small for a bed, it is because it is. Historically, the Breton’s were very short people to start with and believed that only the dead laid down, so they would sit up to sleep. They built an enclosure with sliding doors or curtains that would close the front so they would be warmer inside as the homes were not well heated.
I got the finishing touches done on all the bits and pieces I have forged over the winter to take back to the Bee. Our village blacksmith who has been my 'instructor' for the past few winters mentioned that I have made a lot of progress this year. He said that I used to be a danger to have around but now I was just useless to have around. He said that if I made as much progress next year he would get me a 'junior blacksmith' medal. I will miss him too.
Installing Satellite dishes: Yet another
occupation I don't want to do for a living
To wrap things up we got rid of our poorly installed, useless French satellite and replaced it with a proper English system. This allows us to see UK satellite TV, some of which is US programming sold to the UK for re-broadcasting.
Our friends Carl & Jacqui have installed so many of these that they were almost able to point directly at the satellite and had us up and running in no time.
We also decided that in spite of our best intentions, the kitchen remodel was not going to happen this winter. Too much play, not enough work. That’s OK, we will have that much more to look forward to when we do get around to it.
Did you know…..
Many people don’t realize that when you board an airplane to any foreign destination, from virtually any location, during your flight your passport number and personal identification information is forwarded to a modern 5 story building in Lyon, here in France. There, the information is checked against the database for stolen passports, known terrorists and other wanted persons lists at Interpol’s global headquarters.
Currently headed by the first non European, is American Secretary General R. Noble, former undersecretary for enforcement at the US Treasury- who oversaw the Secret Service and ATF, the Bureau of Alcohol Tobacco and Firearms. Because of their efforts, bad guys are routinely met worldwide and arrested at their gate upon arrival.
We don’t live in Paris!
Occasionally, I still have friends in America ask me “So, how’s Paris?” It’s understandable, I guess, when they are so far away and they know that we are in France. But it is a little bit like someone asking you “So, how’s Kansas city?” Other than what you hear in the news, how on earth would you know?
People often assume that if you are staying in some little hole in the wall in France it could only be in Paris. It is probably for the same reason that any first time visitor from America to France would be unlikely to visit anyplace in the country before going to Paris. Ditto for Rome in Italy, London in England, etc.
The average French man (French person) typically thinks of ‘travel’ as going somewhere within their own country. When they do travel to foreign destinations, North America is not usually their first choice. A real revelation to me was that even when they do venture there they often choose to go to Quebec City in Canada.
Quebec City?
Quebec City gives them a feeling that they have gone “all the way over there” but in a familiar setting (old town Quebec looks a lot like parts of France) and being the only part of North America that predominantly speaks French. They then return and tell all their friends that they too have seen and visited ‘America’. The really bold and adventurous types fly to NYC as it holds the same magical fantasy lifestyle images in their minds as Paris does to ours.
What’s a Langoat?
It’s not a what, it’s a where, and it’s here where we have our little hole in the wall in France. It is not pronounced LAN –GOAT but rather Lan-go-at. I have not done a good job of describing the location in my monthly ramblings in the past so I will attempt to do better here.
If you look at the map of France
you can see where we are situated relative to Paris. Brittany is due west of Paris on a spit of land that juts out into the English Channel. The Normandy beaches would lie between us and Paris. We are right on the Atlantic coast, only a hundred or so miles from England. We are 6 hours from Paris by car or about 3 ½ hours by high speed train with the station being about 25 minutes from the house. We have an airport nearby but the daily flight departs and arrives at times that make it impractical to fly to and from Paris when we come and go.
Historical photo of our village shows very tip of our
chimney. Other than the paved street and the cafe
now being a private residence, it’s exactly the same.
Our village is on the banks of the tidal river “Jaudy”. When the tide is in, it fills the river bank to bank but when it is out, it leaves only a muddy river bottom. It is as if someone pulled the bathtub plug. We have the remains of a Roman path at both ends of the village. Our coastal area is full of diverse beaches; some are sandy like our beach at home in California, some have house sized pink granite boulders, some look like the beaches of Monterey, others are beaches where the tide can recede as much as 3 miles. We have never seen such a wide variety of beaches so close together anywhere in the world. It is here that we have found our winter maison-away-from-home.
Our village only has a thousand people in it, and that includes all the farmers within a 1 mile radius. We live in the very heart of the village, ground zero on the main street. Langoat only has 8 businesses: a grocer (about the size of a ‘stop-n-rob’), a physical therapist, a hairdresser, a bar, (more like a newspaper, tobacco and coffee shop combo), a blacksmith, 2 mechanics and the can’t-live-without-them bakery / patisserie. Otherwise, there is the mayor’s office, a tiny library, the church, 2 chapels (closed) and two primary schools.
Photo taken a few feet from our front door. Again,
other than the paved street, time has stood still
Within spitting distance, we have 3 “Petite Cite de Charactere” [Little cities of Character]. These are villages that have received this designation from The French government as a result of their ‘displaying characteristics of a historic town and an urban heritage which reflects their history and once prestigious role, including a minimum of one listed or classified monument and a collection of interesting and homogeneous old buildings’. They are amongst the classiest villages and there are only 21 of them in all of Brittany.
Our home, “Le Coq Noir” ["The Black Rooster"], so named because of the large forged sculpture featured by the front door, is a maison, or town house, while a manoir, is a larger house sometimes with a tower. Our attic is made from wooden beams that are numbered and notched. Our home has a nice terrace, framed by a stone wall, providing privacy, quiet, and the perfect place to read or listen to the church bells that chime each hour, as they have for centuries.
Our friends Lucy and Sophie occasionally drop
by after school to do crafts and 'help' us make pizza
While we are here, we try our best to fit in to the local scene and lifestyle. We have adapted to many local traditions, including some of which seem odd but are always cute. We furnished our home with several pieces of traditional ‘Breton’ furniture. Stuff I wouldn’t be caught dead with owning at home, but very appropriate here.
We eat dinner European style at 7:30-8:30PM (time here is spoken of based on the 24 hour clock so Janice, never quite having caught on, calls it "21,300 o'clock!"), and then revert to the earlier meal when we go back for the summer and fall. Speaking of dinner, here Janice makes her salads the “French” way, that is, salad with lettuce leaves only, which is served at the end of the meal. This is followed by the obligatory cheese platter. Cheese is great but with every meal? Its ok I guess, if you are a cheese freak but with well over 200 types available, it’s hard not to be one.
Again, a few feet from our front door, Gen. Patton's
US Army freeing our village from German occupation
While here, we even set the table the traditional ‘Breton’ style, with the forks laid backwards. The tradition came about when people had their family crest stamped on the back of the utensils and this was the way to display it. We have no such crest of course, but it is a tradition we follow regardless.
We were invited to neighbors for lunch recently, and we sat at the table for 5 ½ hours, eating , talking, eating, visiting, and eating some more. After 4 ½ hours I cracked a joke about “when was dinner going to be served”? When they did not seem to find it funny, I upped the ante by saying that if we stayed any longer we would have to spend the night. Clearly not amused, they looked at me as thought I was being rude and in some kind of hurry. I tried to play it off but the damage was done so I vowed to sit there all night long if necessary but I was not going to be the first one to get up. When we did, my butt was numb from having sat so long. Here, you have to stay long to get along.
Newspaper article regarding our participation in local
beach cleanup after huge storm. Just typical non Kyoto
signing Americans single handedly cleaning up the planet!
Predictably, eating in a foreign country can expose you to some interesting dishes. Some very good, some…..well, not so very wonderful. One host served us Tripe soup, which consists of the lining from the first three of a cow’s four stomachs, the fourth being used for making dog food. It was unquestionably the second most revolting thing I have ever put in my mouth, topped only by a plate of octopus suction cups I was once served in Mexico. It tasted like a cross between a bowl of pus and vomit. Try that and remaining diplomatic….
Real resistance
I have written before about the number of older French men who “remember” just how heroic they were in resisting the German occupation during WWII. I always listen to such stories with a huge grain of salt because time has a way of embellishing the events for dramatic effect. Recently though I did hear of an event that has weathered the withering scrutiny that we subject it to before sharing it with you.
It seems that in July of 1944, German troops in our area were alerted to a cache of weapons being stored for the resistance at a local farm called Covenant Pennec. Descending upon it, they searched the house from top to bottom and then began searching the barn, sheds and all of the outbuildings. Standing by in the adjacent field was an artillery piece, ready to level the house if anything was found. The execution of all of the family members would have surely followed.
When the searching troops got to the pig barn, one of the sows felt quite threatened over all the excitement and began taking an aggressive defensive stand to protect her young. Deciding that they had had enough, the soldiers determined that having found nothing, this was going to be ‘good enough’ and left. All of the pistols, ammunition and machine guns stored in the rafters above their heads were never found. The house has been renovated and is now owned by our friends John and Claire who are currently converting the old pig barn into a playhouse for their 4 children.
On the road again...
As we go to press we have just arrived for a 2 week vacation in England followed by a week in the Netherlands. We drove up the French coast yesterday, stopping in Avranche to visit another WWII Normandy invasion museum and then had a picnic lunch at the harbor in Le Havre (A UNESCO World Heritage Site). We crossed the 20 mile channel by ferry and drove to Bedford, just outside of London. [Full disclosure: Our Brit friends go postal when I describe distances like this. They consider a mere 56 miles wayyyyy out of London. To put this in perspective, consider that all of England would fit in Southern California.]
It sure seemed odd to have a couple of Americans driving their French car in England at night in the pouring rain....on the 'wrong' side of the road. We are joined by my aunt and uncle from Arizona who will be staying with us at a home exchange we had arranged. All the gory details and a full report on whether we are still family to follow next month.
