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After eight months of high society in Portland’s haute Pearl District, Louise and I now inhabit la France profonde, which is pretty much the Pearl’s opposite. We feel like pages ripped from a Fitzgerald novel, come to rest in deep France, where it’s quiet as a monastery and urban influences are as scarce as feathers on a frog.
How can I capture this place? How can I put in words what we’re experiencing here? Maybe that’s it: I’ll use words, but only a few. Five, maybe. Five words that reflect the essence of our cloistral identity.
The first: Hibernation.
From what we can determine, there are basically three categories of residents in Martizay at this time of year: farmers, lifelong residents, and Brit expats. They’re all hibernating.
The farmers are enjoying a winter’s respite. The fields are dormant. The equipment is repaired and maintained. The firewood is stacked and the hooch is safely tucked under the floorboards. The farmers stay indoors at this time of the year, knitting or making hooch for next year. We know they’re home by the smoke from their chimneys, but we rarely see the farmers themselves.
Martizay’s lifelong residents ride bicycles and pedal to the boulangerie in the morning for baguettes and eclairs. They sip tiny thimbles of the region’s wine at the pub. They keep to themselves (everyone keeps to themselves) and the tiny thimbles of wine don’t last long (besides, the pub—there’s only one—closes at dusk), so we don’t see much of them, either.
British expats love la France profonde. They love the summer weather and the strong pound sterling. But it’s not summer now, so many of them hop in their brakes and head for Spain—southern Spain, where the beaches are sunny and the shelves at the mercados feature eighteen brands of tonic. Fortunately for us, a few have stayed behind: gregarious, witty, and generous, we thank Steve and Kay, Chris and Sue, Allen and Christine, Terry and Maureen, and of course John and Jackie. Were it not for you, by now our social skills would have atrophied to some point between blithering and “call the authorities.”
We’ve tried visiting some of the local chateaus, but most of them are closed until spring. We’ve tried to find restaurants that are open at this time of the year but they’re only open on Wednesdays, or they’ll resume business after March 20, or they close at 2:00. One grocery store we visited was closed between noon and 2:30. We arrived at 1:00.
So we sleep in. We linger over coffee and croissants. We nap. We take long baths. We read. Louise beads. I write. We have a dishwasher but wash our dishes by hand cause it takes longer. In the evenings we cook, linger over a glass of wine (no thimbles for us), read some more, and retire early.
It’s hibernation all right. Someone has to live it. Might as well be us.
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Photo credit: eyeLINE Photography, http://masterpiecefx.blogspot.fr/
Marie-Pierre Wolfe alias Mapi said:
I love your expat almanac. This entry remains me so much of the village where I ended-up being the elementary school principal. in 2000 near Lyon.
The difference is that I became the GREAT NOVELTY in the village and I met the people who were parents or grand-parents !!
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Tom said:
Mapi, why were you a novelty? Whatever the reason, you are our favorite French woman.
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Sharon Addington said:
I wondered about the isolation I was hearing from you. And worried about not being able to leave the animals entrusted to you for long periods of time. Paris seems a long way off if you don’t have the time to enjoy it. I was also worried – hoping you did not stand out and were safe. Thoughts and prayers for you both weekly for your safety and sorrow for the isolation that has fallen on you. Louise I could not wish you a happy birthday as I do not know you well enough to know your birthday. It seems a bit harsh on the people who follow your travels and love your stories. If only 20 acknowledged your birthday then I would assume it was family and closest friends So a heartfelt LATE HAPPY BIRTHDAY.; Seems Tom pulled it off anyway and you did appreciate that:) Some may have known about your birthday but may have not wanted to spill the beans. Forgive us. If life gives you lemons. Make Lemoncella???
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Tom said:
Well Sharon, we DO stand out. Our American accents are giveaways to the British, and Louise’s Canadian-accented French sets her apart even when she speaks the native language. We stand out, but we don’t worry about it. This is a peaceful part of the country.
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Louise said:
Oh, dear Sharon. I apologize for my wicked sense of humor. I would never be deliberately harsh to the good people who are kind enough to share some time in their day with us. Also, we do not feel lemonned at all. We are so lucky.
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Linda Brunet said:
Tom – that was a masterful entry to the blog. I really enjoy reading both of your stories. I hope to meet you someday too. This is an adventure too – albeit a different sort of experience. You have a wonderful time to contemplate all you are and have been and to anticipate what you will be in the future. Sometimes that gift isn’t always readily available (or we don’t jump at it often enough). Right now it is just about the two of you. That sounds idyllic. There is no such thing as boredom – there are only boring people.
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Tom said:
Linda: “Masterful entry.” I think that will be this week’s meditation (See Bernie, below). As for boredom, no: the goats don’t allow it.
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Louise said:
But you do know….we are not actually bored! Don’t believe in it. I’m enjoying every bit of silence and solitude.
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Bernie Casey said:
Tom, Don’t join the Cistercians just yet. I have an idea — Tich Nhat Hahn has made a fortune propagating this very lifestyle — “Mindfulness” — not too far from where you are now located. Tich is very old. No doubt his time is nigh. He may be looking for a successor and it sounds like you are well on your way to Zen mastery. Besides, Plum Village is, I imagine, ripe for competition. I realize Martizay may not carry the same cachet as “Plum Village” but with your creative way with words, and Louise’s, you’ll have no trouble changing that image. Can’t miss. Think about it. No harm anyway. Little else to do, right?
Louise, Very happy birthday, however belated. You share the day of honor– January 17 — with two other of my favorite people: my sister Theresa and, though I never met him — in case you wondered — Benjamin Franklin.
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Tom said:
Bernie: GREAT idea! I see a theme park. Martiland! Every child gets a free puppy and every adult gets a half-ounce of Grape Skunk. With rewards in hand, they are free to explore wonders like the Deep Chill, the Bleating Goat, and, of course, the Intractable Solitude. (These are either thrill rides or yoga positions, depending on your interpretation of Zen Mindfulness.) Charitable donations are now being accepted.
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