Sweet Sainte-Suzanne


Late spring is lovely in Bretagne. June has seen our little jardin leap into exuberant life. The bushes have been humming with several varieties of bees (bumble and honey) as well as hover flies and lots of songbirds. Martins are screaming overhead in daredevil acrobatics; we never cease to wonder at their flying skills. And the flowers are ornamenting the landscape, subtly perfuming the cool mornings with their calming scents, painting in broad strokes of reds, whites, yellows, purples and oranges. The sun is putting in extra hours now, rising early in the mornings and glowing long into the evenings when the long shadows trail away from the many trees that ring our tower. It’s my favorite time of year.


Puttering around in the jardin is my way of doing work around the house that I enjoy, while simultaneously avoiding the more pressing work that I should actually be doing instead. It’s easy to get sidetracked down there. Especially in the spring when it’s so lovely and there is so much to do. Today, I was surprised to find that the red current bush we inherited had produced quite a good crop of berries. Long strings of red pearls hung like Christmas ornaments within the green leafy covering which hides them from view. I picked them all and collected them in the straw hat I was wearing. Later on, I made a cake with them and it was delicious. But more than that, it was satisfying. For we had grown them ourselves. It’s a minor achievement, we know. But we find more and more that it’s the little things which give us so much joy. I would bet that it’s much the same for you.

Saxon Enjoying the Spring Weather in Fougères

As is often the case, the house projects were getting to be a bit of a chore. And we said to each other, “Hey, we live in France. There’s some pretty nice things to see here. Why don’t we go see some more of it?” Congratulating ourselves on some first-class reasoning, we hopped into the car (freshly topped up with electricity) and headed east over the border into the wilds of Mayenne.

So Beautiful! (The Town’s Not Bad Either). Cherie Exploring Sainte-Suzanne

This time, our target was the town of Sainte-Suzanne. About 60 kilometers west of Le Mans and 40 kilometers east of Laval, Sainte-Suzanne is in the region of Pays de la Loire. By car the trip takes around an hour and 20 minutes of pleasant driving. It’s another one of those many fortified hill-towns born in times long ago when living on a more easily defensible high point allowing you to see your enemies coming from miles away was an idea well worth considering. The small but energetic river Erve courses around the western side of the rise, through a steep-sided and green-wooded cleft in the rocky terrain where it once powered several mills.


This is a place of ancient history, going back to at least the pre-roman period. There is a small part of the town’s rampart walls which is thought to be of celtic origin. But the greater bits of visible architecture in Sainte-Suzanne range from the 11th through the 19th centuries. It’s a lovely little town, rightfully earning its place amongst the ranks of Les Plus Beaux Villages de France. It’s a compact place. The cobbled streets wind through handsome and well-kept stone buildings. A few nice shops line the central area and a lovely square. Several cafés and bistros offer a satisfying selection of food and drink, all of them with pleasant outdoor seating. Sainte-Suzanne welcomes a fair amount of tourists, but it’s, thankfully, not touristy. You won’t find much in the way of kitschy souvenirs there. The town is clearly aware that it is a destination spot, but there is little in the way of overt exploitation of the fact. Instead, there is a quiet feeling of welcome and self-assurance. Nice.

Will We Ever Get Used to Such Views? Doubtful.

As soon as we parked the car, we wandered toward a chemin (a pathway) which follows the line of defensive walls encircling part of the town. Not only are the walls and houses which have been built into it over the centuries interesting to view from the outside, but walking the path also offers lovely views of the surrounding countryside laid out below. It’s quite a pretty landscape: verdant valleys and rolling hills with patchworks of grasses, wildflowers and deciduous trees through which run vigorous, sparkling streams. We found a strategically placed bench to eat some sandwiches we had brought with us and enjoyed the pastoral view.

Medlars Beginning to Take Shape in the Medieval Garden

The locals maintain a medieval garden on a terraced bit of land below the ramparts. There they cultivate an admirable number of plants: herbs (medicinal and culinary), flowers, vegetables, berries and nut and fruit trees. We were particularly impressed with the sheer variety of fruit trees which included apples, pears, apricots, cherries – they even had quince and medlar trees. I had never seen a medlar tree before, so I was especially glad to have checked out this garden. A special shout out to our friend Adam from Idaho who recommended an app (Seek) that was of tremendous help in identifying some of the more rare varieties to be found there.

The 11th Century Donjon

Integral to the town is the château. Begun in the first half of the eleventh century as a donjon (a single large square tower), it was expanded in the 12th, 13th and 15th centuries to form a stone fortified enclosure. It is now a ruin, but substantial parts of the castle remain standing. They have cleverly built a set of metal walkways and stairways within the shell of the donjon which allow visitors to climb up the several levels of the Norman-period building. Just think, this structure was here when William (Guillaume) duke of Normandy and king of England (i.e., The Conqueror) laid siege to Sainte-Suzanne. He tried for three years (1083-1086) to take the town, but never succeeded. It was the only time he had ever failed in such an endeavor. There is still a place outside of town which is called Le Camp des Anglais, recalling the memory of the site where William’s forces established their base. The château should not be missed. Particularly because entry is free!


Touristing is thirsty work! So we stopped in at a nice little épicerie which also happened to have table service right on the square. Cherie had tea and I had an excellent local beer. Yes, France is justly famed for its wine. And I take full advantage of that happy circumstance. But I must also observe that they produce some very fine beer as well. We both shared slices of rhubarb tarte. Made in-house, it was a custardy, yummy treat which we enjoyed as the weekday afternoon quietly meandered on. Probably much as it has in Sainte-Suzanne’s square for centuries on end. It was pretty great.

An Ancient Wonder of the World (I’m Only 56)

Not more than a couple of kilometers from town is a prehistoric site called Le Dolmen des Erves. Always keen to see a very old pile of rocks, we stopped by on our way out of town. This neolithic stone monument is literally plonked down in the middle of several animal pens. A narrow path between the pens of nonplussed chickens and goats leads you to a tremendous sight: huge slabs of stone laid horizontally on top of equally huge slabs sunk vertically into the ground to form a sort of covered corridor. When built, it would likely have been covered by smaller stones or earth to form a mound with an enclosed chamber inside in order to contain burials. The remains of fourteen individuals (9 adults and 5 children) have been found within. It is amazing to us how many of these prehistoric megalithic monuments are still to be found in This part of France. They are everywhere. And so impressive to see in person. Truly, the photographs do not do them justice.


Sainte-Suzanne is indeed a plus beau village. And we really enjoyed our visit there. Every time we go somewhere like this we learn so much about French history and culture. We can’t get enough of it. And there is so much to see. We’ve barely scratched the surface. Luckily for us, we’ll be living here for a very, very long time. Thanks again, dear reader, for taking time out of your busy lives and allowing us to share our lives and travels in France with you. It’s a real privilege to have you along with us. Talk to you soon!

French Farmyard Chill by the Dolmen

Vélo, Vélo!

Capitalizing on the Great Event: Fougères Tourist Office

I know it’s been a long time since our last post. Not a lot of action, lately, to report. But, just to let you know that we haven’t forgotten about you, I thought that I should at least post a little something to fill the gap. Here it goes …

In the time we’ve lived in France, we have learned a few undisputed truths: 1. The natural talent which the French have for rapid, intense, and exceedingly lengthy conversations cannot be overestimated, 2. The bise (kissing on the cheek) is a cultural ritual held in such high esteem by the French that it easily outmatches any American beliefs in the sanctity of owning a car or a Bruce Springsteen album, 3. French pastries are what your soul has been craving all of your life, and 4. The French absolutely adore a good bicycle race.

And it is the last truism I’d like to briefly explore. This is, in part, because one of our readers quietly expressed their disappointment that I had missed the opportunity to report on this year’s Tour de France. You know who you are. But also because it seems to be a not infrequent feature of life in France. One which, surprisingly, comes close to home.

The French are great enthusiasts about competitive bicycle racing. In fact, they adore all types of competitive sport. From informal Sunday afternoon games of boules played by a few locals in the village park, to internationally televised football (soccer) matches played by multi-millionaires. And everything in between. They love it all with equal fervor.

Promotion at the Château’s Expense

Our city of Fougères has hosted stages of the Tour de France in the past. It’s quite a coup to have a the course run through your town. So, when it was announced that the 4th stage of the 108th edition of the most elite bicycle race in the world was going to end in Fougères, the city was justly proud. For several months before the race, everything here was Tour de France. Clothes, key rings, advertising, the tourist office, the excitement surrounding the event was at a fever pitch. Even the Château was brutally adorned with a giant yellow jersey stretched across the rampart. June 29th arrived, streets were closed, cars, busloads and RV’s of race enthusiasts jockeyed for space, and everyone was sporting those little cycling caps that neither keep your head warm, soak up sweat, keep the sun out of your eyes, nor make you look more attractive. Pointless, really. Nevertheless, cap bedecked cycle fans were teaming throughout the city.

Fanfare is a Big Part of the Experience

As it happens, Cherie and I had to go south to Rennes so she could get her second COVID vaccination. When we arrived back in town that afternoon, the Tour mania was in full swing. We had no idea it was such a big deal. Apologies to those of you who are fans of bicycle races, but it’s just not our thing. Because of that, we simply continued on with working on the house, amidst the background din created by a world-class sporting event. Shame on us, I suppose. We probably should have taken greater interest. But we didn’t. So, yeah.

The Crowd Gathers at the Mouth of our Drive

Later in the summer, the town closed off our street for a series of races. All of which were run in succession directly in front of our house. It, too, was a big event, albeit a purely local one. There were 8k, 18k and 26k courses winding through the streets of Fougères during a lovely late summer evening. It was kind of fun to watch all of the hullaballoo that goes along with such affaires. Our fellow citizens clearly enjoy the event and lots of encouragement was given to all of the runners. Surprisingly, part of the course ran right through the church of St. Leonard. We watched, bemused, as the runners trotted through the main doors of the church, down the nave, and out, somewhere, beyond.

Television Trucks Taking Over the Streets

Not to be outdone, last weekend our street was closed off again. This time to allow for the Tour de Bretagne. This particular tour is a major race in the national sporting calendar, running across the length and breadth of Brittany. The streets were filled with network TV trucks and their broadcast equipment, temporary communications towers, and the many, many team support vehicles which accompany the riders. In short: kind of a big deal! The course ran right past our house, so we again had front row seats. Although the advantage is wasted on us, we were happy to see many fans filling the front of our driveway, eager to support their favorite riders.

The Peleton Racing Past the Gates of the Château

Even though neither of us are particularly interested in races, or sports in general, for that matter, we are conscious that lots and lots of people are. Clearly, this holds true for our neighbors in Fougères. The people here are very eager and supportive of sporting events in this city. That’s probably why this town seems to punch far above its weight in terms of attracting major competitions like the Tour de France. The excitement is infectious, even for us. So we can’t help but share a little pride in the place we now call home. For this, and so many other reasons!

We’ll be back with another post in the near future. Good health and happiness to all!

Minus Two

Rime in the Jardin du Nançon

The New Year has begun at a low point. On the thermometer. In fact, two degrees below 0 (celsius). We awoke [Well, to be precise, only Saxon and I awoke; Cherie tends to sleep through such inconveniences as breakfasts and, umnn … mornings in general.] on the first day of 2021 to a very frosty but sunlit morning in Fougères. It was beautiful. Serene. Saxon and I took a bracing walk in the park below the tower, crunching through the crystalline grass. This weather made Saxon frisky and he was bounding around with the kind of pure joy only displayed by dogs, children, and a certain demographic of nerdy adults who have just found out that there will be a new season of Downton Abbey coming soon. I was just cold. Like, really cold. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help but smile. It was that familiar “I can’t believe we’re actually living in France” feeling that continues to grip us on a regular basis. Pretty great. I don’t think we’ll ever truly get used to the fact that we live here.

Twinkly Lights on Rue Nationale

On New Year’s Eve we were treated to our next-door neighbors’ outdoor celebrations, consisting of very loud and frenetic music, combined with a barbecue (as one does in freezing weather) and fireworks. One of these light-filled celebrations – a large chinese lantern – caught my eye as it descended from their terrace above, wafting downward into our garden. But just as it was touching down, it began to gather heat and floated upward, lofting directly toward the roof of our upstairs neighbor’s apartment where it snagged onto her TV antenna and burst into flame. The Montgolfier brothers would have hung their heads in shame, but I was panicking as I watched what amounted to a large tube of paper with flames leaping out of it threaten to burn down our neighbor’s house. Since hers is directly on top – ours would likely be next. I stared helplessly at the conflagration lighting up the sky, praying that it wouldn’t spread to the roof while at the same time cursing our careless neighbors. Neighbors whom, incidentally, I could hear, whooping it up on the other side of the garden wall, apparently unknowing or uncaring that they may have started a house fire next door. Thankfully, the paper lantern burned out as quickly as it had started and the roof was none the worse for its close encounter with a firebomb.

This brief episode rattled me, though. How easily things can take a turn for the worse. How fragile are our lives and all that we depend upon. It seemed to me to be the disturbing but apt exclamation point on a year that has been so difficult for so many around the globe. My family had experienced several unfortunate events in 2020 – forest fires, impacts to business, illness (Covid-19 and others), injury, and even, most heartbreaking of all, death. Not to be too morose about it, but it’s been a pretty awful year on planet Earth. I hope you’ll all join us in resolving to make this year a better year for our neighbors, our countrymen, our fellow human beings everywhere, and our planet.

The Séjour Finally Taking Shape

So, what have we been up to? Why, working on our house, of course. What else would we be doing in the age of Covid? To be fair, even without a global pandemic, we would still be spending most of our energies (and money) working on the tower. But we would hopefully have engaged in more travel and sightseeing. Admittedly, the blog posts would be more varied and interesting too. At least with the beginning of the New Year, we can proudly say that the first phase of our major works has now been completed. All of the primary demolition, plumbing, electrics, build-outs, and plastering has been done. Which is not to say that our main living areas are looking nearly finished. There is still a lot of finish work to do – by us. Cherie and I are the finishing crew. And we are methodical. Deliberate? Careful? Perfectionists? Okay, we’re slow. But, in our defense, we don’t really know what we are doing. So each little project comes with its own, rather precipitous learning curve. At least we have positivity on our side. That’s all Cherie’s doing. She firmly believes we can do almost anything. I, on the other hand, am the voice of doom. I have no confidence in my ability to do anything well and I feel like most things are beyond my skill. Nevertheless, we soldier on. Between the two of us, we manage to get most tasks done. Eventually.

Out Go the Old Stairs
New and Improved – At Least We Think So

We replaced the stairs leading from the main floor to our master bedroom and we’re really happy with the results. A local menuisière (carpenter) and his team completed it in their shop over the summer and installed it in two days. Pretty impressive. When we first started this whole renovation thing we were hoping to continue the stairway down to the “Chapel” (the tower chamber below the main floor). But that will be another several thousand euros, so we’ll have to put that project on the back burner for now. Seriously, I may have to sell a few organs before we can get the chapel done.

Chapel Hole, the Remains of the Old Trap Door on the Floor Below
That’s Better!

For now, the chapel will serve as my temporary workshop. When we bought the tower, the floor of this chamber had quite a large trap door of wood in the center. We surmise that it was put in during the time the tower was part of a large shoe factory in the 19th and early 20th centuries. For what purpose, we have no idea. Somewhat ominously, the former owners had placed a sandwich of three large sheets of particle board on top of it. Something told us that we probably shouldn’t walk on it, lest we fall through to the room at the bottom of the tower. It turns out that we were right to be concerned. Our trusty builders, Kelson and Stuart, poked around a bit and found that the trap door was entirely rotten. They merely tapped it and the whole thing collapsed and crashed to the floor below. Needless to say, we spent the money to have them span the opening with concrete. A fine job they did, and now the floor is whole. Our electrician, Mark, routed some temporary power outlets as well, so now I am in the process of rearranging our many storage boxes (the majority of which contain books – Oh! How I miss my books!) so I can cobble together a functioning workshop.

The Petit-Salon: Still Unfinished, but Miles Closer
The Guest Bathroom: Now Fully Functional (Though Still a Work in Progress)
The Future Office, Featuring a “Beautiful” Floor – Yuck!
(To Be Removed/Replaced Later)

Back up in the main floor, the guys finished all of the electrics, plumbing and plastering for the entry, the petit salon, the laundry passage, the hallway, stairwell, and Cherie’s office. It was a long sequence of messes that kept us constantly cleaning. When we purchased the house, there was a door separating the séjour (living room) from the rest of the main floor. Unlike American houses, it’s very typical in French houses to have a door closing off a living room. I wanted to get rid of it right away. Wisely, Cherie thought we should keep it until the main construction was finished. She was right. It has sure helped to keep out the worst of the mess. Also the noise. We would seek refuge from the construction zone, all three of us huddling in our séjour and kitchen throughout the day. I’d say that we’ll look back on that time fondly some day. But I doubt it.

The Hallway, Ready and Waiting for Wallpaper
View of the Séjour from the Kitchen – Parquet Flooring Coming Soon
The Wrong Color Flooring, Ready for Exchange

There are still a couple of projects that we’ve attempted to get completed, but have been thwarted by some circumstances that we’ll just say are, different, here than we were accustomed to in the U.S. As you saw in an earlier post, we chiseled out all of the old tile and concrete screed underlaying it this summer. The builders then poured some self-leveling concrete and topped that with ABS chip board. Excitedly, we ordered new parquet flooring from a company near Lille in the north of France. Cherie and I plan to lay it ourselves. It took some time, but the pallet was finally delivered in September. We hauled it in, box by box, and then opened one up. Only to find that they sent the right parquet, but in the wrong finish. Ugh!

That’s when the Machiavellian maneuvering really began. The company offers two finishes: natural, and a darker tone they call “cognac”. Before we ordered we had confirmed with them that we wanted cognac. They of course assured us that they would send the cognac. What we got was natural. Well, we thought, a simple mistake. We’ll just email them and they will make it right. Not so. It took a couple of emails to even establish that we had actually ordered cognac. Once that was ironed out by sending them copies of our original order (surely, they must have their own copy, right?), they then tried to claim that there is virtually no difference between the natural and cognac finishes. Classic. We actually had to send them photos from their own website to prove that there is clearly quite an obvious difference between the two. After several more phone calls – a couple of which they simply abandoned because we do not speak perfect French, they agreed that they had made a mistake.

Then the negotiations as to how to get them to pick up the wrong flooring and deliver the correct order began. They simply could not conceive of completing both transactions at the same time. Pick up AND deliver? You mean, with the same truck? Bah non! Right. Reluctantly, we turned to our guardian angel, Kelson’s wife Patricia. She is French. She is a force of nature. And she is on a personal crusade to see justice done. Patricia is very kind and generous with her time. She also speaks English very well. We knew that, with her on the case, these guys from Lille would rue the day they messed with us. We’d seen her in action before. She’s frankly terrifying. Predictably, after a couple of phone calls, the company agreed to swap the merchandise and they set a date for the exchange. Amateurs. The arrangement was so carefully choreographed, you’d think we were exchanging spies with the Soviets on a lonely bridge in Budapest. Actually, it turns out that Patricia told the company representative that Cherie and I were attorneys and suggested that we were preparing a very expensive lawsuit. See? I told you. Terrifying. She’s the best. As far as we’re concerned, she has a lifetime of chocolates coming her way. We are happy to report that we finally received delivery of the correct flooring just before Christmas. Now all we have to do is install it.

Who Knew I Would Become a Stonecutter?
Dry-Fitting the Floor
Preparing to Bed the First Stone

But before we tackle that, we needed to get the stone flooring laid in our laundry passage. Just before Christmas, Mark laid the underfloor heating mat (electric) and secured it with a thin layer of latex. We wanted to protect the wires of the mat as soon as possible, so we’ve already begun to lay down the stone flooring. It’s the same stone we used in our guest and master bathrooms, but we paid another builder to do that. With funds getting low, we decided to save some cash and do this one ourselves. Armed with Cherie’s confidence, a grinder with a diamond wheel, a long level, some string, and copious amounts of tea, we embarked on our first attempt to lay stone flooring. Thus far, we’ve cut and dry-fitted the entire floor, and bedded in the first few stones. To us, it looks like a pretty good start. My habitual pessimism won’t allow me to claim victory yet. So I’m reserving judgment until the job is completed. We’ll let you know how it turns out.

Happy 50th!
A Very Cake-y Cake

Cherie had a special birthday this year. In December, she turned 50. Annoyingly, she doesn’t look anywhere near that age. We had been hoping to have a nice party to celebrate. But Covid laughed and said “no!”. So we baked her favorite cake (Germans’ chocolate cake) and ate it all. Don’t judge us.

The Bane of Bats Everywhere

A couple of weeks ago we had an interesting brush with a neighbor. We had just come in from our last dog-walk of the day. It was evening. Cherie was putting away Saxon’s leash and taking her coat off while I strode into the kitchen by way of the séjour. Suddenly, a large shadow momentarily dimmed the lights. I looked up just as a monstrous bat strafed over my head. I’m pretty sure I didn’t squeal like a little girl. Well, at least as far as you know. But I did raise my voice to a higher register as I loudly warned Cherie that a dragon was loose in the house. With immediate presence of mind, Cherie bravely closed the door to the séjour – locking me in with the beast. Right. It was just me and the shadowy monster now. Mano a guano. I donned some protective gear and grabbed the time-tested weapon beloved of husbands for time immemorial: a broom. The bat and I locked horns in a grim battle that seemed to last for hours [Editor’s note: It was ten minutes – tops.]. To be fair, the thing was huge. I’m not kidding. It’s wingspan was easily two feet (60 cm) wide. I don’t know how it got in. Probably the fireplace, but we also had an open vent hole in our pantry off the kitchen (which was duly closed up the next day). The bat was actually rather handsome. Cute, even, It would fly slowly around the room for a bit and then alight on a beam, looking down at me, the clueless idiot ineffectually holding a broom while assuring my wife that I had everything under control. I had opened all of the windows, thinking that the bat would be happy to escape into the night, away from the stupid human maniacally swinging a broom about the place. But he seemed to like it in our house, preferring to fly by the open windows and toy with my emotions. After a while, he tired of his amusement and let me off the hook, lazily flying out the window. No doubt he had other husbands to humiliate that night.

Christmas Lights Adorning Place Aristide Briand

Last, but not least, I should mention that we also spent our first Christmas in Fougères. To be sure, the pandemic had a significant effect on holiday celebrations and events in the old town this year. Nevertheless, the ville put on a brave face and decked the halls with all kinds of sparkly things. We found it to be quite pretty and we’ve been enjoying our evening walks with Saxon through the lighted streets. Like so many other places in the world, the shop and café owners were desperately trying to make up for lost trade. Despite the necessary restrictions and safeguards, there seemed to us to be quite a bit of shopping. The streets were fairly busy, especially on the weekends. And there was a definite air of good cheer and hope throughout the town. As for myself, I managed to consume at least one cup of vin chaud (hot mulled wine). Since moving to France, it has become a personal goal to drink vin chaud whenever I can get it. I’ll have to do much better next year. We enjoyed a quiet Christmas in our new home. Just the three of us, cozy in our half-finished 15th century tower, stuffing ourselves with Cherie’s legendary turkey, and trying to to think about the hundreds of tasks we’ve yet to finish. But, hey! We’re in France, right? Not a bad way to spend the holidays. We feel very fortunate indeed.

Santa rockin’ it Breton style!