Blue Sky Living

Construction in Provence

Regular and longstanding readers of this blog will know that over a year and a half ago Tanya and I bought a falling down property in Provence. The plan was to knock it down and build a new place and we told the vendors/architects and builders we were only interested in the transaction if the job could be completed in a year.

I haven't written much about the project since for the quite simple reason that it's become too painful. Every time I think about all the problems we have encountered I start frothing at the mouth. Today there is finally some hope, yes the project that is already over a year late is about to get started. It may even happen next week. Champagne will be popped and we have already planned to let our daughter Elodie dig the first part of the hole for the foundations.

All this may off course be terribly optimistic - something will go wrong, and I'll be left furious and builderless. 

The Flying Dutchman

This time last year I had 10,000 magazines to distribute and the clutch decided to pack up. Since then I've had not a single mechanical problem, not even the ubiquitous mystery squeak. 365 days of trouble free motoring and then 15,000 magazines land on my doorstep.

Yesterday morning with a boot full of Blue Sky Living we set off into the Combe de Lourmarin, a venomous winding viper of a road - inwardly I always breathe a sigh of relief when we crest the hill and arrive at Bonnieux, somehow it feels like disaster has been averted. Only this time we didn't crest the hill. Instead I caught the side of the road, and the next minute we were trailing sparks. I managed to control the car so that we came to rest near the verge or should I say on the edge of a precipitous drop.

Tanya and Elodie scrambled down a hunter's path and sat throwing stones on the dry river bed meanwhile I stacked 500 copies of the magazine roadside and tried to figure out how to change the blown tyre (i am not very good at this sort of thing). 

I'd been there for twenty minutes when another car (with a netherlands number plate) screeched to a halt. Out jumped the flying Dutchman. He looked at my efforts with barely concealed contempt and set to work with the vigour of a formula 1 pit mechanic. There was a blur of movement - jack, bolts, new tyre, bolts, jack and then a cloud of dust and he was gone, leaving me wondering whether he'd ever existed.

"All done," I called down to the river bed.

"That was quick," said Tanya.

"I know, I'm getting better at this sort of thing," I lied.

Provencal Markets

We were back in Ansouis market this Sunday. For a year we had a stall under the plane tree in the centre of the small square. It was a peaceful and profitable existence. An old lady from the Mairie came around and collected 2 euros every morning and we then sold several hundred euros worth of pink wine.

This Sunday though we were only customers, but we still chatted to the 10 or so traders who make up the small market and who became good friends in our time there. The conversation was upsetting - many of them are thinking of giving up, June has been a terrible month with scarcely any customers. Then there is the police crack down - at any given time up t0 50% of traders are working without the right papers because they are expensive and time consuming to get. Now the police are kicking paperless traders out of the markets.

The end result is smaller markets with fewer goods that are less of a draw for the tourists.

"It'll be the death of the markets," said one trader. 

All this of course has to be taken with a massive pinch of salt, because in our time in the markets we never met a trader who admitted to doing well. In a cash business it doesn't pay to look prosperous in case the tax man calls!