January | 2020 | Finding Our France

View from our Rampart Terrace over the Parc du Nançon, the Abbaye de Rillé atop the Hill in the Distance

Things have been happening on the Tour Desnos Project. Some good. Some not so much. But, good, bad or sideways, enough has occurred that we thought an update was in order. I’ll try to be brief, but I’m self-aware enough to realize that brevity is not an attribute I possess in great abundance. I fear, dear reader, that you are all too conscious of this fact as well. Still, here goes …

Our Builder James – Preparing for Quidditch Practice?

The house in Fougères was fairly quiet in December. Not a lot gets done in France at this time of year, particularly in the construction trades. Still James, our loyal and determined general builder chap, was able to complete the floor in our new kitchen. It turned out just as we had hoped.

The kitchen fitters finally showed up in the last days of December and installed our cabinets. Well, almost. It turns out that the kitchen company forgot to include our combination microwave/convection oven, as well as a couple of glass panels which fit into the sides of our drawers. Proving that bad news comes in threes, the company also sent the wrong cornice mouldings for the tops of our two tall cabinets which stand at either end. A little frustrating, but we were so elated to have finally achieved the kitchen installation overall, it hasn’t damped our enthusiasm.

Astonishingly, the fitters for the countertops duly appeared, as scheduled, a couple of weeks later and completed the installation. The countertops are ceramic. So, while they appear much thinner than normal counter materials, they’re really durable, won’t stain, and can withstand high heat — no need for trivets or hot pads to protect these surfaces from searing pots and pans.

We love to cook and we love eating even more. Cherie is the true chef de cuisine in our family and I happily serve under her as the sous-chef. So we can’t wait to finally have the kitchen we wanted in which to spread our culinary wings. Of course, the kitchen isn’t finished yet: the doorway to the pantry must be framed in; the range hood (la hotte) must be extended to the ceiling and painted; and we have to get an electrician in to install a new fuse box dedicated to the oven. And, importantly for me, I have been tasked by the chef de cuisine with building a work table which will stand in the center of the kitchen. [In addition to being the sous-chef, I am also the menuisier/ébéniste (carpenter/cabinetmaker) in the relationship.] But more on that much later, as this piece of furniture will have to wait until I have a finished workshop where I can build it. All in all, though, the kitchen works have been real progress that we can see. Something to cling on to as we wait for other parts of the house to transform.

Sometimes, it’s the Little Things which Keep us Going: our New Tea Caddy

Two steps forward, one giant leap back. On the off-chance that I have lulled you into the false impression that we are finally over the hump, I offer this little nugget of harsh reality: our project manager quit. Or, to be more accurate, he has decided to retire due to health reasons — in the middle of our project. He dropped the bomb on us by email. Needless to say, we were stunned, hurt, angry, and feeling bereft all at once. That was on a Friday. I think we reached peak-anxiety on Saturday. In an earlier post I had alluded to our ship of state being in the doldrums. With this most recent development it felt as though we had lost our ship’s sails and were now adrift without hope in a dead-calm.

After the initial panic, we were able to look at the situation a little more clearly. We finally decided that, in the final assessment, the withdrawal of our project manager was a net-positive. Why? We were never very satisfied with the way things were being managed. Progress on our house renovation had been very slow and many of the roadblocks felt to us as though they were entirely avoidable. So, on balance, we think that we will be better off simply managing the renovations ourselves. As with most things in our family, Cherie will be in charge; mine will be a support role where, for the most part, I simply try not to get in the way and keep my crazy ideas to myself. For the time being, we’ll see how this strategy plays out.

Now, I had honestly hoped for brevity, but it’s become apparent that I have failed in that ambition. “All ye who enter this blog expecting a quick read, abandon all hope!” But stay with me anyway. There’s more to tell.

So, in spite of the setback with our project manager, we’ve managed to move forward on a couple of things. James moved on to working on the new bathroom that will serve as an en suite for the guest bedroom and more generally as the bathroom for the main floor. So far, a doorway to the bedroom has been knocked through, the old wall where the second door will be has been taken out, the old floor has been jackhammered out, a couple of trenches for utilities carved out, the space has been framed (mostly). Nearly an entire day was dedicated to boring a 100mm hole through the exterior wall for an air extractor fan. The wall turned out to be around 1.8 meters thick, entirely of stone with rubble infill!

We also wrangled in a couple of british friends to help us with some odd jobs. Some of these tasks I would normally take on myself, but all of our tools are in storage. Adam and Katie are a great couple who are really handy; they have a lot of experience renovating old houses and classic boats in England and France. So far, they have been busy reducing and capping off old radiator supply pipes, finishing our range hood, and taking large loads of rubble and other junk to the dump. Currently they are tearing out the big old fireplace which dominates the séjour. Cherie’s sister Kasi is right: “Damn, that fireplace is ugly!” We can always count on her to say it like it is.

A Work in Progress: Wallpaper Panels in the Guest Bedroom

Cherie and I continue to nibble around the edges of the project. We’ve finished painting the guest bedroom (except the door), bought and painted a ceiling rose from which the chandelier will hang, and picked up a couple of vintage pieces of furniture (wardrobe and two bedside tables) that we think will work well for this space. We also accomplished a partial move of our things in storage — just the bare essentials that will enable us to live at the house while construction continues. The aim is to move in as soon as our kitchen and bathroom are functional. As James says: “All you need is input and output.” Construction guys. You gotta love ‘em. I prefer to think that there is just a little bit more to life (love, art, music, etc.) but you can’t deny the essential truth of his philosophy.

That’s the state of play so far. La Tour Desnos is beautiful, and promises to be even more so once we’ve finished the renovations. But it’s also been a towering frustration thus far. We hope that we have turned a corner and can now expect greater progress. So far, so good on that score. Will we be able to move in by the end of February? We hope so. As always, stay tuned.

Feeling a Bit Bloated – The Oust River Just Before Christmas

This morning I’m drinking a nice cup of breakfast tea (milk, sugar), munching on a freshly baked pain au chocolat from the boulangerie just up the street, and reflecting on the flood that almost was.

You may recall that the house we are renting in Malestroit stands on the banks of the river Oust (pronounced “oost”, like “boost”). It’s a beautiful, tranquil watercourse meandering southeast from the central spine of the Breton peninsula in the north down to the town of Redon on the border with Loire-Atlantique in the east.

Dry Times – Our Back Garden on a Sunny Day in April, the Banks of the River Oust Just Beyond, Where They Belong

It so happens that this seemingly bucolic river is prone to flooding. We had heard the stories, seen the photos of past inondations. Sounded pretty grim and looked even worse. Tales of homes submerged and views of boats being paddled down the street past our front door. Ask anyone who has lived here most of their lives (which is nearly everyone) and they are eager to raise their eyes heavenward and regale you with accounts of the floods of yore.

Dotted around town are small round plaques mounted on walls to commemorate the high water marks of various past floods. Apart from scaring the bejeezus out of the two of us habitual hill-dwellers, for most visitors these markers stand as low-rent tourist attractions; it’s common here to see tourists pointing at the plaques and enjoying a moment of schadenfreude. Rarely a day goes by in Malestroit without watching an out-of-towner gawp in astonishment at the town’s past flood levels.

In the past, l’inondations, or, les crues were relatively rare events. Old-timers here have told us that they had only witnessed one or two floods in the past. But in the past 25 years there have been several significant floods. Instead of a 50-year event, they now seem to be happening every five to ten years. As a debating proposition, it becomes increasingly more tenuous to deny climate change as one finds the homes of one’s neighbors regularly awash in river muck with greater frequency.

Not Normal

This time the river began to seriously rise about a week or so before Christmas. When it began to look serious, the town government sprang into action in an impressive manner. They have a sort of civil emergency corps made up primarily of volunteer retirees who are reasonably well organized and get to wear bright orange vests as a bonus. [The French love a good uniform, baldrics, badges, hats, clipboards – anything that marks them out as being an official something.] Two of their members visited our house a few days ago to look in on us and ask if we were prepared. All in warp-speed French, of course. I managed to get the gist of what they were saying and answer with near lucidity. Satisfied that we were not completely incompetent, they then took a rough inventory of the furniture on our ground floor, though I wasn’t sure why.

Two days later I found out what they were doing. In the morning, as flood waters were continuing to rise, a town work-truck pulled up, one of the occupants knocked on our door, shook my hand and cheerily confirmed that, according to the previous furniture assessment, we required eight blocks.

Huh? As I puzzled with his announcement, wondering if, in all likelihood, I had misunderstood him, he and his associate unloaded eight large blocks, the kind used as footings for temporary cyclone fence panels for festivals and such. Soon the men finished piling the blocks neatly on the sidewalk next to our door. They smiled again, shook my hand, and careened the truck down the street to the next house.

Our neighbors later explained that the town government does this for everyone who may be threatened with flooding. The blocks are for raising furniture up off the floor and, if actual flooding of the home looks to be imminent, members of the police and/or fire brigade will come to help do this for those who are unable to do it themselves. By the time the blocks were delivered, Cherie and I had already spent a few hours moving what we could upstairs and elevating everything else off the floor. But it was really nice to know that the town government and community was so caring, prepared and organized. We have several elderly neighbors on our street who would be in a sorry state were it not for this kind of assistance.

Flooding Update and Advice from the Mairie

As the days progressed, so did the flood waters. Soon, the river had breached its banks at the back of our garden and began to slowly creep toward the rear of our house. Neither of us had ever experienced a flood before, so we were a bit stressed out. It was like watching an incoming tide slowly moving up the beach. Except in this case, the tide just kept coming closer. Never receding.

And it just kept raining. Finally, the river had reached the edge of the terrace in front of our back door. We were convinced that we would soon have water covering our ground floor. But at least the rain had stopped. The next morning we woke up to find that the river had retreated back down to the bottom of our garden. Saved! We were so relieved. I wouldn’t go so far as to say it was a miracle. But it was remarkable how far the waters had receded overnight.

So now, in the aftermath of the flood, as the morning light is finally beginning to edge out the gloom, I can again see the songbirds skipping about the full length of the back garden – all of the way to the river’s natural banks. The background roar of the floodwaters as they tumbled through the town has now gone. The normal sounds of life in Malestroit have returned: an occasional car trundling down the street; the metallic rattle of madame’s La Poste delivery bike and the attendant slap of mail being thrust through our neighbors’ post boxes; the periodic bouts of animated chatter in whirlwind French outside our door as acquaintances come across each other in the street (here, everybody knows absolutely everyone else); the quiet creaks and bangs of window and door shutters up and down the street as they are opened in the morning and closed again in the evenings in an almost ritualistic expression of French-ness.

Back to Normal – A Hedgehog Resting in the Back Garden

It’s funny how quickly we’ve grown accustomed to the daily rhythm of life here in France. That became acutely apparent when the floodwaters began to disrupt the normal flow of the sights and sounds which have so indelibly become a part of our daily lives. It made us realize how integral the river is to that life here in Malestroit. When the Oust is out of sorts, so is the entire town. For our part, we’re just happy and grateful that the waters never breached the house. With a little luck, we will have moved to higher ground in Fougères long before the next flood. Fingers crossed!

Finding Our France

A New Life in the Old World

Monthly Archives: January 2020

Renovation Tales

Flood Tidings We Bring