I like a country with four definite seasons. Like the raging waters of our local river, the constantly moving seasons tell us that time is moving on and we must enjoy our lives.
It's now mid-November, time to use what I like best about the winter: our wood-burning insert stove. There's nothing like a real fire. It takes me back to my childhood, a time before central heating, when everyone had a coal-house outside and you learned how to light the fire using twists of newspaper and pyramids of wood-twigs, to allow the air to flow underneath.
In modern-day France, around 7 million homes use wood for heating (chauffage au bois) even though wood can be expensive. People generally order ready-sawn logs directly from wood merchants - if you can understand them. In my experience they speak French like nothing I've ever heard before....a sort of grunting dialect, that suddenly becomes transformed into something comprehensible the minute that money is discussed. They usually charge around 35 euros per cu.m. The trouble is, they won't deliver unless you order a lorry load - and we don't always need that much (because our insert supplements our already-expensive gas central heating). So, what to do? Yes, you've guessed. I send Him indoors out at dead of night to our local forest. He takes with him the wheelbarrow (after carefully oiling it to stop any creaking - the barrow, not him) and comes back with all the fallen branches he can fit into the load. He says he's branching out. It may not be entirely legal, but what the hell. It's free and nearby. After all, almost a quarter of France is covered by forest. And if he's stopped by the Mairie? The usual je ne comprends pas generally suffices.
13th November 2008
Despite the current recession there are still UK people looking to start a gite business in France. For those with money, the dream is to buy a rambling old stone farmhouse, convert the many dependances into individual gites, and for the owner to live in the main house permanently to oversee things. For the less-affluent, what they seek is a buy-to-let mortgage, but not all French lenders will offer mortgages for this type of purchase because they see it as essentially a business venture. However, some do, taking future income from the business into account. They will, however, typically want at least 30% deposit up-front plus all legal costs, together with a business plan and projected income figures to work out the level of permitted borrowing.
If all this seems daunting in this climate, never fear. Help is at hand. Apparently, if you can find someone else to run the gite in your absence (e.g. an agent), while you continue working in the UK, the deposit requirement would be considerably reduced as the borrower would be deemed less reliant upon the gite income. And, because you would still be working, your UK income would be taken into account so raising the mortgage amount you could borrow.
Even non-married partners can secure a joint-mortgage in France - as can friends and colleagues - but to be able to use joint incomes as collateral, non-married partners must have secured a French pacs agreement. Friends, siblings or colleagues, however, would need to prove that they could afford to service the whole mortgage should the others default.
Still scary though!
Think I'll stay with what we've got. May not be much, but it's all ours - every euro's worth.
If all this seems daunting in this climate, never fear. Help is at hand. Apparently, if you can find someone else to run the gite in your absence (e.g. an agent), while you continue working in the UK, the deposit requirement would be considerably reduced as the borrower would be deemed less reliant upon the gite income. And, because you would still be working, your UK income would be taken into account so raising the mortgage amount you could borrow.
Even non-married partners can secure a joint-mortgage in France - as can friends and colleagues - but to be able to use joint incomes as collateral, non-married partners must have secured a French pacs agreement. Friends, siblings or colleagues, however, would need to prove that they could afford to service the whole mortgage should the others default.
Still scary though!
Think I'll stay with what we've got. May not be much, but it's all ours - every euro's worth.
12th November 2008
Whilst President Nicolas Sarkozy was yesterday laying a wreath at Verdun, we decided to attend a much smaller ceremony in the heart of our own village. In France, national days are always held on the actual date, rather than on the nearest Sunday or Monday, as in the UK. It's always difficult to know what time to attend, as the Maire has to perform the same ceremony at each village in his commune. So, at around 10.30 a.m., and wearing black coats, we walked up our lane, avoiding the enticing aromas emanating from the boulangerie. Although every other shop was closed all day, it being a national holiday, the boulangerie was open as usual. And so the temptation continues.......
Crossing over the main road - not a car in sight - we ambled down past the crumbling facade of our ancient castle, and approached the place which houses the bronze figure of the unknown soldier. It is a tiny, garlanded, site with the tricolour flag at half-mast. Fortunately there is a bench as nothing moves fast in France. At around 11.30 a.m. the Maire arrived direct from the ceremony at nearby Verfeil. In previous years the service has been heralded by an accordionist playing la marseillaise. But it seems that this unfortunate gentleman had now died, so the music had to be played on a portable music player instead. Domage. As we looked at the faces around us, we were pleased to see a good proportion of English. I think it's so important to try to integrate, and what better way than to attend a ceremony commemorating when both countries fought side-by-side.
After the ceremony, Him indoors (especially) was pleased to discover that the Maire had sponsored drinks at the village's only bar, le cafe sport. But for me? I'm not much of a drinker. One glass of wine is the most I can take at any one time - unless it's champagne of course! But it seemed that Pernod was the proffered drink. Uggh! Still, chacun a son gout. (Everyone to his own taste).
At least we've done our duty this year.
Crossing over the main road - not a car in sight - we ambled down past the crumbling facade of our ancient castle, and approached the place which houses the bronze figure of the unknown soldier. It is a tiny, garlanded, site with the tricolour flag at half-mast. Fortunately there is a bench as nothing moves fast in France. At around 11.30 a.m. the Maire arrived direct from the ceremony at nearby Verfeil. In previous years the service has been heralded by an accordionist playing la marseillaise. But it seems that this unfortunate gentleman had now died, so the music had to be played on a portable music player instead. Domage. As we looked at the faces around us, we were pleased to see a good proportion of English. I think it's so important to try to integrate, and what better way than to attend a ceremony commemorating when both countries fought side-by-side.
After the ceremony, Him indoors (especially) was pleased to discover that the Maire had sponsored drinks at the village's only bar, le cafe sport. But for me? I'm not much of a drinker. One glass of wine is the most I can take at any one time - unless it's champagne of course! But it seemed that Pernod was the proffered drink. Uggh! Still, chacun a son gout. (Everyone to his own taste).
At least we've done our duty this year.
11th November 2008
In Flanders' fields the poppies blow,
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place: and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
John McCrea
On the day when France celebrates the 90th anniversary of the end of WW1, a government-commissioned report says France should cut back on the number of official memorial days. As you can imagine, this statement has created conflict all on its own!
On the one side are war veterans everywhere, horrified at the very thought that the world should forget all those who fell during both world wars.
On the other side are those who say there are already 11 other national days in France. "It is not healthy that within half a century, the number of commemorations has doubled," said historian Andre Kaspi. So, the report recommends retaining Armistice Day, the May 8 celebration to mark the defeat of Nazi Germany, and the Bastille Day celebration on July 14, relegating all the others. I, of course, agree to keep the May 8 day. But to forget 11 Nov and keep July 14? It's as if they're saying 'let's forget all those brave WW1 soldiers who gave their lives for their country, but (rather like the UK on 5 Nov) let's celebrate those lawless people who stormed the Bastille all those years ago and beheaded the monarchy via Madame Guillotine!'
In contrast, a $500,000 memorial has just been unveiled in Normandy in honour of the forgotten US Navy servicemen who took part in the D-Day landings. And WW1, fought in large part on French soil, cost more than 1.4 million French lives and remains firmly anchored in the country's memory even after the death this year of Lazare Ponticelli, its last surviving veteran.
And for the future? All those poppies will symbolically lie in the soil undisturbed for years, in the hope that no future battlefield will force us to look fully at all that 'red' blood again. Amen.
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place: and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
John McCrea
On the day when France celebrates the 90th anniversary of the end of WW1, a government-commissioned report says France should cut back on the number of official memorial days. As you can imagine, this statement has created conflict all on its own!
On the one side are war veterans everywhere, horrified at the very thought that the world should forget all those who fell during both world wars.
On the other side are those who say there are already 11 other national days in France. "It is not healthy that within half a century, the number of commemorations has doubled," said historian Andre Kaspi. So, the report recommends retaining Armistice Day, the May 8 celebration to mark the defeat of Nazi Germany, and the Bastille Day celebration on July 14, relegating all the others. I, of course, agree to keep the May 8 day. But to forget 11 Nov and keep July 14? It's as if they're saying 'let's forget all those brave WW1 soldiers who gave their lives for their country, but (rather like the UK on 5 Nov) let's celebrate those lawless people who stormed the Bastille all those years ago and beheaded the monarchy via Madame Guillotine!'
In contrast, a $500,000 memorial has just been unveiled in Normandy in honour of the forgotten US Navy servicemen who took part in the D-Day landings. And WW1, fought in large part on French soil, cost more than 1.4 million French lives and remains firmly anchored in the country's memory even after the death this year of Lazare Ponticelli, its last surviving veteran.
And for the future? All those poppies will symbolically lie in the soil undisturbed for years, in the hope that no future battlefield will force us to look fully at all that 'red' blood again. Amen.
10th November 2008
However wonderful it is to live in the Mediterranean region, with all that sunshine and open space, there are nevertheless worries. Especially for a pessimist like me! What if a global catastrophe occurs? What if I have a family disaster/emergency on my hands and there is no-one nearby to whom I can turn? Another thought: what if a family emergency occurs elsewhere and no-one knows where to contact me?
For all these reasons, I was pleased to see that the British Embassy have launched their new LOCATE service. British citizens, whether living permanently abroad or preparing for a trip, can now tell them their foreign address or destination so that the embassy and crisis staff can provide better assistance in an emergency such as a tsunami or terrorist attack. Then, if a major catastrophe does occur they'll have an instant record of your details so they can contact you to make sure you’re OK and provide advice. Also, it's an invaluable tool if family and friends need to get in touch with you as they can help them to find you. All British Nationals travelling and living overseas are encouraged to register, even for short trips. How do I register with LOCATE? Complete the short online registration form. Your details will be stored on a secure database which can only be accessed by staff at British Embassies or their Consular Crisis Group. You can delete the details of a trip once it has ended or if your plans change. You can even subscribe for country travel advice email alerts.
Anything to reassure worriers like me, living far away from their country of birth, is a good idea as far as I'm concerned. I'm not worried about the 'big brother' afficionados. For peace-loving, law-abiding citizens like me, I'm just happy to find something to help in a crisis situation and reduce delay and worry in times of stress for family and friends back home.
For all these reasons, I was pleased to see that the British Embassy have launched their new LOCATE service. British citizens, whether living permanently abroad or preparing for a trip, can now tell them their foreign address or destination so that the embassy and crisis staff can provide better assistance in an emergency such as a tsunami or terrorist attack. Then, if a major catastrophe does occur they'll have an instant record of your details so they can contact you to make sure you’re OK and provide advice. Also, it's an invaluable tool if family and friends need to get in touch with you as they can help them to find you. All British Nationals travelling and living overseas are encouraged to register, even for short trips. How do I register with LOCATE? Complete the short online registration form. Your details will be stored on a secure database which can only be accessed by staff at British Embassies or their Consular Crisis Group. You can delete the details of a trip once it has ended or if your plans change. You can even subscribe for country travel advice email alerts.
Anything to reassure worriers like me, living far away from their country of birth, is a good idea as far as I'm concerned. I'm not worried about the 'big brother' afficionados. For peace-loving, law-abiding citizens like me, I'm just happy to find something to help in a crisis situation and reduce delay and worry in times of stress for family and friends back home.
I told you I was ill!
Part 2.
Later on, the afternoon proved to us what we had always suspected: the French are a nation of form-fillers. Eventually, I was issued with un attestation from the Caisse Primaire d’Assurance Maladie (CPAM) attesting to the fact that we were both now eligible for French medical benefits. It seemed that in practice, all French citizens pay up front for their medical costs and receive some back. The normal ratio is one hundred percent up front, and five days later, seventy percent of the cost is refunded directly to your French bank account. We still didn’t understand when we might receive our carte vitale, that all-important card that would give us credibility in our new country, but in the meantime I suppose the attestation will have to do. Mind you my inner neuroses were working non-stop. I could visualise that nightmare scenario of our lying in the road somewhere waiting for the ambulance to arrive, then groggily trying to explain to the trauma team just why we hadn’t a carte vitale but that we had got a vital piece of paper that was probably in my handbag somewhere!
Of course, if we hadn’t been residents and merely visiting the country, we could have applied for a CEAM card, which gives visitors the benefits of European-wide health insurance. But we had to come to terms with it. We were now bone-fide residents and must deal with the issues involved.
On the plus-side, it was clear that the standard of hospital treatment in France is second to none, and we were told there are virtually no waiting lists for operations or hospital beds. Apparently public and private medicine operate alongside one another with no difference in the standard of care between them. Everyone tells us that the quality of health care and facilities in France is among the best in the world, and much private treatment costs considerably less than back home. If ever we develop cataracts, for example, the cost of private treatment would be around nine hundred pounds sterling here, compared with three thousand pounds in the UK. Enough said.
However, our neighbour Franck told us that la France has long been a nation of hypochondriacs, famously satirised by Molière in Le Malade Imaginaire. He told us that he reckoned the French visit their doctors more often than most other Europeans and buy large quantities of medicines, health foods and vitamin pills. This must be why, in nearly every run-down dilapidated village we have driven through, the pharmacie looks the most modern, expensive building in the place.
H looked thoughtful. ‘The French must be hypochondriacs; I mean, everywhere I look are adverts for Piles.’
‘No!’ I told him horrified. ‘Those aren’t adverts for haemorrhoids; piles is the French word for batteries!’ I just knew that this foreign language thing would get us into trouble.
When Franck told us that the incidence of heart disease in France is among the lowest in the world because of the high consumption of red wine, my resident alcoholic’s face lit up. Well, it would, wouldn’t it?
We both wondered, though, why the NHS couldn’t operate in the same manner as the French health service. It seems obvious to everyone except the UK government that the increasing size of the population can no longer sustain a completely free health service. Some sort of charge needs to be levied on all wage-earners. We thought long and hard about the difficulties we had always experienced with English hospitals. The problem seems to lie not in the staff, who always appear surprisingly cheerful in the circumstances, but with the fabric of hospital buildings built in another time with a different set of values. No longer are staff in English hospitals prepared to scrub floors on their hands and knees, preferring modern polishing machines instead. Hospital clinicians seem conditioned to rely on modern antibiotics to kill germs absorbed internally by their patients, rather than the preventative, old-style carbolic administered liberally on floors and walls to disinfect the building rather than the patient. I just don’t know why the British put up with such a system. Closing all the old Victorian hospitals and building new, purpose-built buildings capable of maintaining high levels of surgical cleanliness would be a start. The hospitals everyone loves are not the bricks and mortar that hold them together, but the people who actually serve within them. These caring people will still be there in newer, cleaner and more hygienic surroundings. It is the very least staff should expect and what patients deserve, particularly in times of crisis. And if all this requires wage-earners to contribute more, then so be it. It would be worth it.
......to be continued next Sunday
Later on, the afternoon proved to us what we had always suspected: the French are a nation of form-fillers. Eventually, I was issued with un attestation from the Caisse Primaire d’Assurance Maladie (CPAM) attesting to the fact that we were both now eligible for French medical benefits. It seemed that in practice, all French citizens pay up front for their medical costs and receive some back. The normal ratio is one hundred percent up front, and five days later, seventy percent of the cost is refunded directly to your French bank account. We still didn’t understand when we might receive our carte vitale, that all-important card that would give us credibility in our new country, but in the meantime I suppose the attestation will have to do. Mind you my inner neuroses were working non-stop. I could visualise that nightmare scenario of our lying in the road somewhere waiting for the ambulance to arrive, then groggily trying to explain to the trauma team just why we hadn’t a carte vitale but that we had got a vital piece of paper that was probably in my handbag somewhere!
Of course, if we hadn’t been residents and merely visiting the country, we could have applied for a CEAM card, which gives visitors the benefits of European-wide health insurance. But we had to come to terms with it. We were now bone-fide residents and must deal with the issues involved.
On the plus-side, it was clear that the standard of hospital treatment in France is second to none, and we were told there are virtually no waiting lists for operations or hospital beds. Apparently public and private medicine operate alongside one another with no difference in the standard of care between them. Everyone tells us that the quality of health care and facilities in France is among the best in the world, and much private treatment costs considerably less than back home. If ever we develop cataracts, for example, the cost of private treatment would be around nine hundred pounds sterling here, compared with three thousand pounds in the UK. Enough said.
However, our neighbour Franck told us that la France has long been a nation of hypochondriacs, famously satirised by Molière in Le Malade Imaginaire. He told us that he reckoned the French visit their doctors more often than most other Europeans and buy large quantities of medicines, health foods and vitamin pills. This must be why, in nearly every run-down dilapidated village we have driven through, the pharmacie looks the most modern, expensive building in the place.
H looked thoughtful. ‘The French must be hypochondriacs; I mean, everywhere I look are adverts for Piles.’
‘No!’ I told him horrified. ‘Those aren’t adverts for haemorrhoids; piles is the French word for batteries!’ I just knew that this foreign language thing would get us into trouble.
When Franck told us that the incidence of heart disease in France is among the lowest in the world because of the high consumption of red wine, my resident alcoholic’s face lit up. Well, it would, wouldn’t it?
We both wondered, though, why the NHS couldn’t operate in the same manner as the French health service. It seems obvious to everyone except the UK government that the increasing size of the population can no longer sustain a completely free health service. Some sort of charge needs to be levied on all wage-earners. We thought long and hard about the difficulties we had always experienced with English hospitals. The problem seems to lie not in the staff, who always appear surprisingly cheerful in the circumstances, but with the fabric of hospital buildings built in another time with a different set of values. No longer are staff in English hospitals prepared to scrub floors on their hands and knees, preferring modern polishing machines instead. Hospital clinicians seem conditioned to rely on modern antibiotics to kill germs absorbed internally by their patients, rather than the preventative, old-style carbolic administered liberally on floors and walls to disinfect the building rather than the patient. I just don’t know why the British put up with such a system. Closing all the old Victorian hospitals and building new, purpose-built buildings capable of maintaining high levels of surgical cleanliness would be a start. The hospitals everyone loves are not the bricks and mortar that hold them together, but the people who actually serve within them. These caring people will still be there in newer, cleaner and more hygienic surroundings. It is the very least staff should expect and what patients deserve, particularly in times of crisis. And if all this requires wage-earners to contribute more, then so be it. It would be worth it.
......to be continued next Sunday
8th November 2008
The French are no different to others around the world in harboring resentment for years and years, sometimes deep within themselves. Take last Tuesday. Thirty people were arrested and three police officers wounded after a protest against European immigration policy turned violent in the French city of Vichy. This was the town that was the shamed capital of France's horrific WW2 experiences, and locals have never forgotten that time.
The world tries to move on, and indeed brave organisers tried to reinvent the town by hosting its first international conference there since the war so that they could shake off their wartime stigma and become a popular spa resort once more. But several busloads of militants had other ideas, with many linking current French policy to that of the pro-Nazi past.
I have often thought that too much of what happened during WW2 has been airbrushed away by nations (especially Germany) who wish only to forget what happened and to move on to what is happening today. What they fail to realise is that by pushing all those wartime attrocities into a locked compartment - things that changed families' lives for ever - people can never be free of the memory.
My solution would be to hold an international conference, but not one on immigration. My proposed agenda would be to confront all the international issues that arose in the years immediately preceding WW2 and trace the individual events that happened, one by one, that led to what happened in that fateful holocaust. It's never one thing, but many - sometimes coming together by chance - that cause eventual disaster. Having a megalomaniac at the helm of a non-democracy is one!
Sometimes you have to confront a festering boil, even one that has been fermenting for over 60 years, and probe deep within to see how it happened before lancing the boil once and for all. A quick clean cut. At a stroke then we learn to recognise how atrocities happened so that they may never happen again. Then, and only then, can proper healing take place.
The world tries to move on, and indeed brave organisers tried to reinvent the town by hosting its first international conference there since the war so that they could shake off their wartime stigma and become a popular spa resort once more. But several busloads of militants had other ideas, with many linking current French policy to that of the pro-Nazi past.
I have often thought that too much of what happened during WW2 has been airbrushed away by nations (especially Germany) who wish only to forget what happened and to move on to what is happening today. What they fail to realise is that by pushing all those wartime attrocities into a locked compartment - things that changed families' lives for ever - people can never be free of the memory.
My solution would be to hold an international conference, but not one on immigration. My proposed agenda would be to confront all the international issues that arose in the years immediately preceding WW2 and trace the individual events that happened, one by one, that led to what happened in that fateful holocaust. It's never one thing, but many - sometimes coming together by chance - that cause eventual disaster. Having a megalomaniac at the helm of a non-democracy is one!
Sometimes you have to confront a festering boil, even one that has been fermenting for over 60 years, and probe deep within to see how it happened before lancing the boil once and for all. A quick clean cut. At a stroke then we learn to recognise how atrocities happened so that they may never happen again. Then, and only then, can proper healing take place.
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