And on that farm they had some furniture....E,I,E,I,..No!

After our meeting in the notare’s office with our immobilier, and the seller, we left her office and made our way onto the century’s old sidewalk of Duras. As arranged the seller was to meet us at the property and give us a tour and an overview of the various systems. The best way of accomplishing this was for us to follow him to the farm. We were used to a few of the main roads, but he chose to go the back roads, we quickly arrived at the property.
Driving up the driveway there were minor indicators that all was not the way we left it. Previously there was aluminum corral fencing, now gone. There were half a dozen agricultural tractor attachments on the right side of the driveway, gone. A trailers parking spot was vacant; looking into one of the three garages just showed a pile of broken boxes, empty cloth bags piled in a disheveled burial mound off to the side of the garage. As we rounded the driveway and approached the old girl, I noticed that she was still in her spot, looking off to the neighboring fertile fields with envy.
She was built in the beginning of the last century, very well built and typical of the formal farmhouses of the time. The family was obviously wealthy and paid for details that spruced up the attractive structure, had only the family that built her passed down to their generations the care required to maintain a building of this quality. She had seen annual crops planted, cared for, and harvested. Also livestock bred, raised, and invited to dinner. As the crops were repeatedly harvested, and winters reeled off the calendar, she watched. The roof suffered the most, by repeated beatings by rain and snow, the maintenance was neglected. There were telltale signs where water meandered from the roof leaks, down the walls to the dried puddles of wall plaster on the cupped floorboards. The second floor landing bore the brunt of the weather allowed inside the house, the floor boards are now in need of replacing. Wall plaster show cracks and ceilings are shrouded in spider webs, like some old Vincent Price set. But it was her complexion, the outer surfaces that require the most attention.
As we parked our cars, I got out and regarded her. I was thinking “ I hope being away for so long that first seeing her, that she is still the beauty I remembered her as from across the world.” This was a frightful test, looking at her, walking to a couple different vantage points, she did not disappoint.
The seller led Cindy and I into the nearest barn, the one attached to the back of the farmhouse, and indicated where and how to turn on the house water heater. And yes I noted the deserted nature of the place, there had been a lot of misc. tools, another of those trailer vacated parking spaces, and small piles of debris. We had inventoried the property six months earlier, and the seller reviewed it and crossed off different items that he had either committed to others, wanted for himself, or weren’t his to give with the property. The revised four pages and what existed now were not remotely the same. It turns out the seller’s son and daughter had escorted a dealer through the house and added up anything, and I mean anything that was worth a cent. The seller was horrified and ashamed, but didn’t want to cause a row with his children, so he compensated us with the large tractor, and some euros. We were happy with the accounting, but none the less deflated as we walked around the ghost town. We had wanted to put our personal touches, just not that many, as we now had an essentially blank canvas to work with. This blank canvas however required a rebuilt frame and new canvas, but again we knew what we were getting into. Hard to complain about buying an ancient farmhouse in France, and whining about the work you knew it required. We continued to walk the property and be instructed in one hour the acquired knowledge that had been passed down the generations of his family; he skipped the maintenance aspect of the farm and kept it pretty simple. We did not tour the inside of the house as that might have been too depressing for the seller, and to tell you the truth, he was a pretty special man, we knew he had been a man of his word, undermined by his younger generation. After a walk in the pasture, he parted.
Our plan was to set up a bedroom and temp. Kitchen, and clean up the house, so that after our house in California sold we could transfer over to the farm. We entered the house; it had been closed up for a year or so and hadn’t really seen the bottom of a mop in probably 20 years. The smell was terrible, opening windows only brushed off a stronger stench from under the floor boards. It was depressing and took probably three days to air out the house, that and Cindy and I investing backbreaking cleaning, strong chemicals, and a couple bottles of Wine. When the dust settled we were able to slowly transform the abandoned house into pretty nice temporary digs.
The majority of the furniture, for that matter all the worthwhile contents in the house were gone. We did have one bed and a mattress. We spent quite a while bagging trash and transporting discarded items into the barn, we were going to have a container come and pick up the collected waste. As the week progressed we got the house sorted, and swept away spider webs from the inside and outside of the farmhouse, especially the windows. We had a lot of things to accomplish during this ten day recon, appointments for extended stay visa’s, doctors appointments for the residency visa’s, and buying supplies from Home Chateaux type stores.
We awoke the next day and I drove down the street about 600 yards to the Boulangerie and bought a fresh warm baguette from decidedly one of the best bakers in Aquitaine, France. It made up for all the perceived shortcomings of the property, hot coffee and a piece of baguette.

Old MacDonald bought a farm....E,I,E,I....Doh!

I write this back in the comfort of our house in Topanga, Ca., where warm autumn breezes lift the aroma of roses and rosemary from Cindy’s garden through the window to the living room as I write this. The ten days we took off from work, were basically seven days working on the farm house, like the exchange rate it didn’t really favor us too well. The one break we got was being bumped from coach to premier class, this was a hopeful sign. We arrived at the Charles De Gaulle airport in Paris and transferred to a smaller plane for the flight to Bordeaux. Once we deplaned in Bordeaux, we made our way to the car rental counter; the Peugeot 206 I was hoping for was substituted for a Renault Clio, thankfully not the STD Clio. The Clio was Frances answer to the wrong question; Sherlock Holmes could not have found an identity for this car. I’m just saying, if Malibu Barbie’s friend without benefits “Ken” drove a car; this would be it. Anyway after getting the car loaded, Cindy and I drove off to Duras, as we had treated ourselves to a night in a hotel. We ate at the hotel’s restaurant and had an incredible meal. Cindy started off with an aperitif of Champagne blended with raspberry and a local flower infusion. The waiter then arrived with a small slate, shingle shaped, dish on which were four different flavored foie gras’s on small toasted pieces of baguette. We each had our assortment which was part of the 26 euro special. I had ordered a nice bottle of the red wine from Duras (considered from the Bordeaux region), 2005. (I had read an article that mentioned that Bordeaux’s of the 2005 vintage were spectacular, and was riding that horse for all it was worth.) After the stuffed goose liver we were given a citron sorbet floating in chilled vodka. I embarrassed Cindy by slurping and licking the small shot glass it was served in, then did likewise to Cindy’s amount she had missed, the table beside us were telling a joke or something as all I heard as I put her dry shot glass in front of her; was the sound of laughter.
The very observant waiter returned and inspected the now desert dry glasses, shrugged and walked off. When he returned, he brought the main course, mine was rump sirloin, and Cindy had the sturgeon. She won that round as mine was chewy in a kind of chewy way; I think it was nearer to the saddle than the rump. The sauce was however spectacular and I sopped that up with the accompanying bread. After the main course we finished with dessert, Cindy chose to have three different cheeses from the frommage cart, and I had the Crème brulee assortment. Cindy had a piece of Roquefort, a commte, and a local cheese. We left the restaurant, and that was the most comfortable period we had all trip, also the nicest smelling part.
The next morning we had a quick cup of coffee, and made our way down the street to the Immobiliers office (Realtor) after a quick recap of the last six months since we had seen them we made our way down the rue (street) to the assurances office (house insurance), they had pre-prepared a dossier for two policies, one for the farmhouse and one for the land. We signed the assorted documents, and again walked down the rue to the Notaries’ office. Once we were all seated in the waiting room, the owner of the farm arrived and we all shook each other’s hands and again sat down. It was at this point as I was saying how much we loved Petit Clos (The name of the farm, also the initials of Cindy and my last names) that I chided myself for slacking off with my French lessons. He understood what I meant, just that he looked at me the way you look at someone in a tuxedo saying “I reckon I oughten to git them thar sponges outta the cement pond.”
Once we all paraded into the notare’s office and were seated, the show began. The Notare is in France, even the Marie (mayor), the most respected person in a town. This woman, in our case, was on top of everything, each document was scrutinized for any discrepancy, and each question was rolled around in her head as she dissected it from each point of view. In France if you have a document go thru a notare’s office and something is incorrect, she is responsible for it, financially; completely.
Then the notaire reviewed the parcels that made up the property, each and every parcel, of which there are over thirty pieces that make up 20 hectares ( a hectare is about 2 and ½ acres). There were times when the Notaire would dwell on one parcel and ask a few questions over and over, the seller waffled and would amend his answer until the notaire was satisfied with his revised answer. So then the next act was the signing scene, firstly the seller who was recovering from a stroke, labouredly signed his Jacques Hancock. Then Cindy and I Initialed our documents, I initialed in French. HP see.
We all shook each other’s hands and smiled, I murmured “Viva Le France”, and the seller kissed me.
Tommorrow, We arrive at the house and all is not well.

Petit Clos a go-go

We have landed; our flight to Paris from Los Angeles was great. While waiting in the holding area, they announced about twenty names, of which Cindy and I were included, so I went to the counter and gave them our boarding passes and we were bumped up to premier class seating. Thats a first, with our usual luck i thought we were to be bumped to either overhead seating or the cargo standby. We arrived Paris and then caught our connecting flight to Bordeaux, no problem. At Bordeaux we collected our luggage and made our way to Sixt car rental and picked up the Renault Clio. Sounds like a std but not as roomy. We were operating on an internal time clock that made our systems think it was actually 3 in the morning, our drive to Duras was fortunately uneventful, we swang by the farm and noticed that anything not bolted down was gone. We checked into the hotel and enjoyed one of the best dinners in years. We managed to stay awake until 9 ish and then go to sleep, waking up throughout the night and awaking at 5:30 am.

Sitting here in Limbo, after buying the farm.

So a week before we left, we found a farm. The farm is located in a small village called Saint Jean De Duras, down the street from the local boulangerie. ( bakery ) The picture above is of the property, with the farm house in the foreground, behind it is a large barn. The barn appears closer than it actually is, luckily its 40 feet away from the farmhouse. We put in a strong offer for it, and it was accepted. There were proviso's for the seller and buyer, so that both parties are protected. We have gotten to the point now where in a couple weeks or so it should be ours. Our house in Los Angeles is still on the market, and after four months we have a couple interested parties, who knows? The stress has been mounting, and mounting for weeks, as we don't have much say in our lot these days. We are fed by the limitless possibilities, and starved by the realities that bind us. The amount of pre planning has been monumental, we've had a garage sale where most of my power tools went fast, too fast. We've had three different international moving / shipping companies come to our house and give their best guess, sure to have a fuel surcharge dropped on us once the order is placed. I've been researching different cars vs. trucks, depending on our needs when there, right now the vw transporter turbo diesel with removable seats is the front runner. And possibly a Peugeot 406 sedan for family duties, another dependable little diesel. We have worked on a few budget spread sheets, and linked one to a weekly schedule program, it looks very impressive, but will be outdated the minute it is printed, typical of project schedules in residential construction. The house is in a constant state of readiness, should the illusive buyer want to meander into the snare...um potential home that will complete their lives. It has been a fantastic home for us, all the improvements over the years, it will enable us to realise our next chapter....likely a chapter 11, but a chapter that Cindy and I have dreamed of, and one we hope Caleigh will thank us for after the Kramer vs. Kramer chapter of her life.

The End

So we are in London, having an exhausting time walking everywhere. The Blog is finished for now, there is a part two that I'll start in a few months, an ambitious part two so two speak. I thank you all for investing your time in reading this semi-regular posting service. I will update you-all when there is printable news, as we have to protect the innocent, and more importantly the guilty, may god have mercy on my soul.

Le Bricabrack

Cindy and I joined Hannah’s parents for a trip through the countryside, with the purpose of browsing through a couple of the French flea markets. We followed their car as they meandered through the towns, it felt as though we were following someone to their hidden bat cave or moonshine still. There was probably little chance we could have found it ourselves the next week, also the thing is in a different town every week.
Once in the initial French bazaar, we walked the circuit of stalls. The difference between a flea market in the States and in France, is the one in France had a lot more older stuff. The adage that one mans/woman’s trash is another mans/woman’s treasure was illustrated today. If we had a house over here, we would have needed to buy a trailer, because I felt as though there were tons of things that struck my fancy. I have no idea where someone’s fancy is located, but I know mine was struck quite a few times. The need to sift through the needless stuff, to pan out the occasional gold nuggets, would require a jewelers eye. Luckily we were being shown the ropes by our good experienced friends, I would point something out that struck my you know what, and our guides would glance at it and advise. Usually they would give a history of that type of a piece, and tell me the market value, most often it would be the price quoted, and they would walk to the next stall, kindly implying save your money for something that’s a more desirable deal. We finished the first flea market and drove together to the next flea market, we were in the right town, but not having any luck finding this weeks location, and I spotted this mid-80’s Peugeot 505 turbo that had been at the first flea market, and suggested we follow it to the next flea market. So we followed it down a half dozen streets, and started feeling a bit stalker-ish, and started wondering if this guy knew we were following him. Well after ten minutes of winding our way down various streets the guy pulls into his driveway, and we continue on past him as though we had business in this residential community, and hoped he wasn’t a drug courier with a bad temper, a hangover, and a full Glock 9mm.
That seemed to reset our internal compass, and after a couple moments asked at a local Tabac , eh Voila! When Hannah’s dad returned we made our way, armed with Le directione’s.
We enjoyed the second market more than the first, and my fancy was getting quite the work out. So hoping kids aren’t reading this. There were some beautiful old plates, bowls, and silverware sets; all antiques. Even got a history on the mending of old broken ornamental bowl, serving plates, that were mended a hundred years ago. Seems this traveling metal smith would go from town to town and the residents would bring out their nice plates that may have broken, and this gentleman would piece them back together with these malleable staple devices, which was usually the sign of an important plate, or ye olde pissed parents who wanted to teach their ye spoiled clumsy kids a lesson.

Mr. Speaker of the House

The “La Sauvetat Du Dropt sans frontieres” presentation was a success. The whole town, it seemed, turned out. I was impressed by the effort of the council, the presentation was informative, fun, and completely worth it.
The evening started out with us leaving our rented farmhouse and driving into town to pick up Madame Delaporte. She is our French teacher, who does a lot more of filling us in on her French history, than the actual teaching French. I must say that after we had a few “lessons” with her, we pretty much knew that it was more of a life lesson than a language lesson. But that was O.K. as it provided all involved with a nice change of pace, and that’s why we’re here. So we meander down the local road from her little apartment in Eymet to La Sauvetat Du Dropt, and arrive at the meeting hall. After helping Madame into the hall, I park the Citroen and join the crowd. The set-up is local, Mayberry RFD local. We had all helped decorate and unstack chairs and arrange them in rows earlier in the day, the music they have piped in is the Star Wars theme, ( to inspire a journey ) and after everyone is seated, it starts.
One of the Council members (Germaine ) takes the microphone and with the aid of an English speaking woman ( Claire ) describes the journey that all these “actors” will take them. After the English interpretation, the first guest is called up.
Danny and Claire- Belgium
In a presentation full of history and color the Belgian country is described. He is from Antan (?) near Antwerp, the city know for diamonds, and a coastal picturesque beauty.
Then;
Carol and John Phillips -Cornwall
John gave a very nice speech, about Cornwall, noted for it mines and the wonderful Biosphere project. He had everyone in the audience cracking up when he noted, “In the bottom of every hole, there’s a good chance someone from Cornwall will be at the bottom“. Nice pictorial history of the area, and the people, charming.
Then;
Hank, Cindy, and Caleigh- USA
Aside from my hand shaking as I tried to read French, the audience did appreciate when the photo of the Statue of Liberty was shown, I pointed to it and said clearly, “ Merci beaucoup pour le cadeau” ( Thank you very much for the Present) and actually got a round of applause, and a lot of smiles. I’m sure we sent a thank you card? When I handed over the mic to Cindy for her chapter, she did really well, and elicited a laugh as well. Caleigh spoke seamlessly and we were done. As we left the stage, somehow the canvas screen material got stuck in my zipper and I pantsed myself, and pulled down the screen, Of course I didn’t. Jeeze, give me some credit.

Then;
Julie and Bob - Essex
Their presentation was a combo presentation, they spoke alternately about their home in Essex, the life here and there, and their extended family.
Then;
Petra-East Berlin
Her presentation was a selection of images from East Berlins history from Soviet occupied to the unification of Germany. She was very fluent and described her city well, having the audience follow her on a trip through the city’s growth.
Then;
Helen and Jerry-Scotland
His presentation described his involvement in the development of the facility in Scotland, that is being used to update the nuclear power plant, and his life in that beautiful, although remote area of Scotland, to the further development of energy resources. Then to his life in the area. Very informative and an impressive look into the development going on for future power.
Then;
Dino - Italy
His presentation spanned three generations of his family, from his grandfather, to his parents, to his schooling in the area. A popular individual with a humorous take on him meeting his wife. Wonderful images of his history that he was not only proud of, but shared so nicely. I felt privileged to view it, and envied him for his cavalier attitude and comfort with the crowd.
Then;
Peter and Maggie- Scotland
His presentation (pictured) started out with the black watch bagpipe march, and continued with him walking on stage in a full traditional kilt suit. He gave a tour through the beauty of Scotland, the history, and pictures that were gorgeous. He spent 32 years and finished his police career as a Chief Inspector. He seemed very proficient in the history of Scotland’s Châteaux’s, Whiskey, and golf. Wonderful presentation, and you ain’t heard French till you’ve heard it with a Scottish accent.
After the presentations, the Mayor got up and with the help of an interpreter, he nicely thanked all the participants, and group photos were taken. He then offered all some refreshments. We mingled for awhile, and excused ourselves temporarily so we could take Madame Delaporte home and drop off Caleigh at the farmhouse. We accomplished this and headed back to the hall, it was 11:30. After visiting for a couple hours we were invited by Peter and Maggie to join them for a wee drink at their house close by, Julie and Bob joined us as well.
After a three minute walk we shared a glass of red wine at their wonderful stone residence. It capped off the extended trip, around the globe and back to France, with a nice red Bordeaux.
I’m posting this a week late, we have been non-stop busy. We are off to Perigueux, Dordogne’s capital, for some Passport hi-jinx, low-jinx, I hope this really doesn’t blo-jinx. I’ll get back to you-all.

Latest update, as I gotta run, we made an offer on a 13th century Presbytery, that has planning approval to be run as a Chambre D’Hotel.
You understand that they have April Fools Day over here as well?