Waiting for La Poste

Waiting … Waiting …

Not much to report, really. But an update on our tower renovation is in order. And I thought I would end with an observation on a mundane aspect of daily life here in France that we found to be, well, a little different.

The Covid-19 solitude continues unabated although we ourselves have enjoyed the company of the two builders who have been working away in the upper level of the tower. Despite delays in obtaining materials, a situation completely beyond their control, Stuart and Kelson have managed to beat what was once an ill-conceived attic space from the 90’s into a much more functional and beautiful master suite. Gone is the raised stage-like platform that beat like a drum every time someone took a step on it. Our two british ex-pats have been able to lower the floor, transforming an awkward lean-to into much more useable floor space and head height around the perimeter. The “open concept” bathtub and washbasin in the orchestra pit has been, thankfully, wiped from memory too. Now, there is a definable bedroom, closet and bathroom – all on the same level.

The Blue Stage – Our Bedroom Before Renovation
Now More Lofty-er!

It’s Beginning to Look Like a Bedroom

As you can see, there is still much to do. Flooring, for a start. But Cherie and I plan to lay it down ourselves. We hope to have that done in a month or two. Our other british ex-pat, Mark, handles the plumbing and electrics. He will be coming in the next few days to complete all of the electrical and plumbing tasks that remain to be done. Still, we are excited to finally see so much progress. The once-tired and neglected top floor will soon be our most private inner-sanctum. A warm and inviting place where we can – and will – sleep in until the crack of noon. And when I say “we”, I really mean Cherie. She is truly a world-class sleeper. Our new master suite will be a perfect place for her to get lots of practice.

Progress on the Stone Wall!

Speaking of Covid, France will be slowly easing its lockdown measures on the 11th of May. We will now be able to travel up to 100 kilometers (62 miles) away from home and many more businesses will begin to resume trade. This is exciting for two reasons. First, and most importantly, the easing is confirmation that the death rate from this horrid disease has been steadily declining in France. So, too, have the rates of new infections and patients requiring intensive care treatment. At long last!

For us, the easing is also exciting because for the past couple of months, we have only been able to obtain building supplies by delivery. The irony of having all of this time on our hands but no way to get the things we need to work on the house has been a little frustrating.

Sightseeing Close to Home: A Beautiful Bank in our Neighborhood

Which brings me to the subject of deliveries in France. Having purchased an embarrassing number of items online from a comprehensive array of sources (from large online-only retailers all the way down to private individuals), we now feel that we have earned some authority on the subject.

At its core, there is an inherent contradiction at play in France when it comes to delivering packages. On the one hand, french delivery services display an almost fanatic concern to inform you about the status of your package. Ordered a pair of tweezers? Prepare to receive an almost daily onslaught of emails, voicemails and text messages (SMS) updating you on the progress (or not) of your precious purchase. On the face of it, this might sound like extraordinary customer service. And I suppose it would be if the were providing information that actually matters. But 90 percent of the time, they are just getting in touch to inform you that the thing they told you yesterday hasn’t changed. Great. Thanks for that. I mean, we’re not expecting a life-saving kidney in the mail. Relax, guys.

And, like the boy who cried wolf, this surfeit of useless correspondence lulls you into a state of complacency, bordering on apathy. After a while you no longer read or listen – straight to the delete button. But the annoying thing is that, occasionally, they will slip a crucial nugget of information into one of these messages that changes everything. “Thank you once again [for the sixth time] for your purchase of the tweezers. We are pleased you chose to shop with us. As a welcome gift, we are offering you 10% off your next purchase.” and then “Unfortunately our delivery service informs us that they are unable deliver packages to your area. We have canceled your purchase and will refund your money [which may take weeks].” Wait, what? Why didn’t you know this three weeks ago when we ordered the tweezers and provided you with our address? Did things like this happen before we had the Internet? I don’t remember. But it makes one question whether or not we are actually better off now than we were before the ubiquity of online services.

An Information Sign Across the Park from Our Tower (Tour Desnos)

As the expected time for delivery approaches, the second phase of concern kicks in. You begin to receive anxious messages from the couriers, requesting that you assure them you will be home on the day of delivery. This might be just once, but can be several times. You know, in case you’ve had any sudden change in plans that might inconvenience them and disrupt the entire chain of delivery across France. Couriers here become distraught at the mere possibility that there may be an unexpected hitch. And, if you’re not home to receive delivery, forget about it. They will almost never leave the package on your doorstep. It’s just not a thing here. The only time they will leave a package is if it is small enough to fit through your mail slot, or if you have a lockable package box (which, to be fair, many french people do). On the up-side, this practice eliminates the porch-pirate industry. But it makes receiving a package delivery another one of those all-day affairs – like having cable installed, or waiting for an electrician to show up.

Beautiful in Her Solitude – A View of Fougères from the West

Here’s where the contradiction comes in. In spite of all the confirmations and reconfirmations, during which you have nearly sworn on a stack of holy relics that you will be available to receive delivery of your package, they may, or may not actually show up. And this, ironically, does not seem to cause them any concern at all. All of the carefully scheduled, confirmed, reconfirmed, earnest affirmations and reassurances in the world will not (and often won’t) guarantee that your package will show up on the appointed day, let alone within the appointed delivery window. You may even receive a call from the driver on the day of the scheduled delivery, informing you that he or she will be there in an hour. But then, nothing. They might show up the next day or two, or later reschedule for delivery the next week (after which comes another series of emails, calls and texts).

This all holds true, whether it be private couriers or the national post system. So far, we cannot find any pattern in this delivery chaos. It’s a mystery to us. So much so that we now call it: French Roulette. You just never know if your package will show up when expected, or even at all. I acknowledge that this is definitely a first-world problem. In the scheme of things – especially in this time of pandemic – it’s a rather trivial annoyance. But it does tie up a surprisingly considerable amount of time and effort. And we are retired. I can’t imagine how people manage it when they have busy lives with work and children.

This is why many tend to make use of points relais. A point relais is often a retail business which maintains a side hustle in acting as a depot to receive package deliveries. We’ve chosen this option many times and it’s generally quite reliable. A point relais can be found anyplace from a large supermarket down to a mom and pop tabac shop. We have picked up packages from florist shops, tailors, home decor stores, and grocery stores. It’s not a huge deal, I suppose. Just different. And that’s one reason we moved to France: something different.

Take care. Be Safe. Peace, and good health to you all.

If you feel the need for a moment of zen, I recommend tapping on the video below:

Snacking en plein air

A Sudden Solitude

Relaxing in the Kitchen

The house is quiet these days. No builders. No jackhammers. No appointments. Just Cherie, me and our dog Saxon. Waiting out the Covid-19 pandemic in our tower of solitude. Like many, if not most of you, the steady rumble of activity which once marked the passing of each day has come to a rather abrupt halt.

An Empty Place Pierre Symon in Front of the Château

France has been in lockdown since the 17th of March. And it’s been a considerable change. Fougères is not normally a town that’s frantic with activity, but the streets are now nearly deserted throughout the day. We’re allowed to go out to buy groceries, go to the pharmacy, take one hour of exercise per day (providing it’s solitary and no further than one kilometer from home), or to take our dog for a walk to use one of his many favorite toilette spots around town. Spoiled for choice, really. We’re fortunate in that we have a small grocery store and two boulangeries within a couple of blocks walk from our house, along with a boucherie (butcher) and a poissonnerie (fishmonger). They are allowed to remain open so that everyone can still obtain food, wine, cheese, toilet paper, medicine, and – of paramount importance – their daily baguette. Even in the face of a national crisis, the French keep their priorities straight.

Chillin’ Below the Tower – Casual Indifference from the Town Goats

The deadly seriousness of current events has ironically been belied by the absolutely glorious weather we’ve been having during this period. It just goes to show that Nature couldn’t give a damn about whatever ills humans are suffering. And rightly so. Since when have we, as a species, ever really given a damn about Nature? At least Nature isn’t intentionally hostile to us. I wish I could say the same about humanity. From our windows in the tower, we can watch the park’s resident team of goats, bees and chickens go about their business. I haven’t actually asked them, but I get the feeling that they are quite enjoying the respite from human activity. Like most of the other parks, the Parc du Nançon below us has been closed as part of the lockdown. As a consequence, the park’s domestic animals and wildlife have had the space to themselves. It’s probably just the intensified quiet, but we swear that the birds are singing more spiritedly and more often. And the squirrels are much more visible. No humans. No dogs. Air pollution levels have dropped considerably since the lockdown too. What a blissful vacation the park’s flora and fauna are having!

Pandemic Emptiness in the Medieval Quarter of Fougères

If all you watch is YouTube, you get the feeling that everyone who has been under lockdown is already beginning to go a little stir crazy. People are bored and resorting to watching a steadily degrading selection of Netflix series or performing increasingly stupid human tricks. But we still have a huge amount of work to do on our new house. So boredom hasn’t yet taken hold. Except, perhaps, for Saxon. He is pining for the parks and greenways and he doesn’t understand why we can’t take him for long walks. So, yeah, the dog’s a little bored.

The Guest Bedroom Approaches Completion

Construction work on our house has ground to a complete halt. Technically, the lockdown rules allow builders to continue to work if they are able to maintain social distancing. However, they can’t really obtain the materials they need to keep busy. Most of their suppliers have shut down operations. So, in effect, the lockdown has halted nearly all building activity. But the list of small projects which Cherie and I can accomplish is long and we’ve continued to steadily tick them off. Our guest bedroom is now 95% complete after we posed the last wallpaper panel and finished the trim and paint for the en suite bathroom door. The radiator is still a hideous green banana color and there is a small section of baseboard which I need to make; but other than that, we have our first nearly-complete room.

Why Can’t We All Just Get Along?

Our beautiful new door handles have been fitted to our bathroom doors. I know it doesn’t sound like much. How hard can that be? Bloody difficult, I can tell you. But only because I very unwisely chose to purchase british door handles and locks. You see, the hostility which the British and French have felt for each other for hundreds of years has been at a low ebb over the last century. But it still exists. And this cultural antipathy manifests itself in thousands of little ways. Frustratingly, one of these ways it makes itself felt is in door hardware. To my dismay, I discovered that british handles and locks do not match up with french doors and frames. Which is to say, the english male bits don’t fit in to the french female bits. While this metaphor has been overcome thousands of times in cross-Channel conjugal relations (as the many resulting french/english children attest), it remains an insurmountable obstacle when it comes to door hardware. As a result, I spent a ridiculous amount of time reconfiguring our french doors and doorframes so that they would accept our new british door handles. What a pain! But they are now both in place and looking rather spiffy. Brass on the outside and polished nickel on the inside. Now we can enter the closed borders of our guest bathroom without hindrance and Brexit when we’re done.

A Life of Luxury in France

Mind you, the house is still a disaster area. Boxes, furniture, construction materials and dust everywhere. But our kitchen is in a working state. Even though there is still a considerable amount of decorative finishing which needs doing. Our evenings are spent in this room watching Netflix or YourTube, with dinner plates in our laps and tea served on our little terrace table-to-be. We’ve managed to cobble together two dining chairs into a sort of loveseat with a sheet over it to protect from all of the dust. Reasonably comfortable, but a pale comparison to a proper couch. A few months ago we bought a big, beautiful new television. It’s still in the box. Sigh! But, PERSPECTIVE, as I always say. Tragically, there are millions of human beings living in terrible, horrible conditions around the globe. And this pandemic has thrown many millions into economic distress, not to mention the thousands of deaths resulting from Covid-19. How’s that for a little perspective? Our petty complaints are nothing in comparison. Cherie is quite good at remembering that. Thankfully, she is also persistent in reminding her all-too-fallible husband that we are very fortunate indeed.

Facing Down a Stone Wall – A Staring Contest I Cannot Win

Currently, we’re engaged in a standoff with a stone wall. We’re determined to reveal the stone wall in the place which we have dubbed the Rampart Passage, an area which will serve as a laundry room/way out to our terrace on top of the old town rampart to the east of the tower. To our advantage, there is two of us and only one – stone wall. And we have tools. Apart from being, well, stone, the wall also has the advantage of being covered with multiple layers of concrete and paint. Lots of paint. Hmnn … I can see what you’re thinking: the odds don’t look good for a happy outcome in this scenario. At least not one in the immediate future. And you’d be correct if it weren’t for two secret weapons at our disposal. The first weapon is an over-sized vat of paint stripper. While we’re generally loathe to use chemicals when we can avoid it, this is war. And we intend to win it. The Geneva Convention doesn’t apply in this case. So chemicals it is. The second weapon at our disposal is our stubbornness. Yes, forget your cleverness, your intelligence, your ingenuity, your hordes of skilled workers with years of specialized training. There’s nothing that sheer, ignorant obstinacy can’t accomplish. And we have plenty of that. So, look out, stone wall! An idiot armed with an oversized brush, a bucket of hazardous chemicals, and the utter inability to comprehend when he’s beaten is coming your way. Let the games begin!

The Sun Setting on a Tranquil Day – View Westward from La Tour Desnos

As always, we’ll keep you updated on developments. We hope that when the the worst of this crisis is over and things begin to return to some kind of normalcy, the builders will return and we’ll have more dramatic changes to report. And we’re also hoping to get out to do more sightseeing. We really enjoy it and we’re happy to share our travels with you. To all of you reading this – hang in there, stay safe and healthy, and stay occupied in whatever way makes you happy. Cherie and I wish good health to you and your loved ones. We’ll all get through this Covid-19 crisis together. As always, stay in touch and please share your comments. We really enjoy reading them. See you soon!

Renovation Tales


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.

It’s Beginning to Look Like a Kitchen

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.

A Bathroom is Beginning to Take Shape

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!

A Fireplace that Makes a Statement
Ripping it Out

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.