We will be here in Fenouillet, a commune in the Pyrénées-Orientales, until 1 March 2019.

When we arrived last Friday, it did have that “déjà-vu” feeling about it. We have been here before – two years ago. In 2016, we arrived on the 14th November to spend seven weeks, and this time, on the 14th December to spend eleven weeks. We could notice the difference. Most of the leaves have dropped and the sun takes a long time to get up in the morning.

Last time we were here there were two cats (this time only one), four chickens (this time none thanks to a fox) and two sheep which had to walked occasionally to allow them to find some new grass. The two sheep are still here, but their paddock (Australian term there and a bit unwarranted as it is not very big), possibly called a field here, has been extended and the sheep do not need to be walked. “Yeah” I said, but Mick has already found the lead and is keen to take them (and me) on a walk at some stage.

Having been here before means we know some of the locals and we know about some of the cultural practices of the area, although we did get caught out twice yesterday when we were in the neighbouring village of Saint-Paul-de-Fenouillet.

We were wandering around the aisles of the local Carrefour supermarket in Saint-Paul, practising our French by reading almost anything we could on jars and tins and packets of food. Holding things up for the other to see in case we needed to buy it. Mick of course spent far too long in the meat section, and that’s where he was when I was selecting the absorbent paper I thought would suit my OCD habits, when I heard an announcement over the supermarket’s loud speaker. I did not even listen to it as I assumed it was a call for help from one of the staff at the front counters to one of her colleagues out the back. I soon realised I was wrong when the checkout lady appeared in my aisle and clearly told me (en français) that the shop was shutting and we had to leave. Of course. It was lunch time, and most businesses close for up to three hours in the middle of the day for a meal and a rest. I went in search of Mick who was less than happy as he hadn’t even made it to his favourite section yet – the booze department!

Our first ‘trap’ took place at La Poste. Our hostess here in Fenouillet is an English woman who has lived here for fifteen years. Her French is excellent and after I showed her the paperwork that had come with our passports and French visas, she strongly advised us to follow the instructions in the paperwork. So, we copied our now stamped passports showing our entry into Europe opposite the page with the long-stay visa which had been glued in back in Sydney by the French Consulate, and we sent that along with the form that we had been sent to the Office of Immigration and Integration in Montpelier, the designated office for this area where we are staying. I included a handwritten note to the officials explaining that we were house sitters and that we would not be working while we were here. We may still have to have an interview and a medical. Mick is not happy I did not follow his suggestion of doing nothing!!

What ‘tricked’ us at La Poste was how to get in. There was no-one in sight but we knew we were in the right place and we knew it was not the lunch break etc. etc. But, the door would not open. Eventually we spotted and pushed a weird button that had some instructions near it, and voilà, the door opened. Inside was a small line up of five people each waiting patiently to be served by the one post office lady. Eventually it was my turn and I was able to confirm that I wanted it sent priorité. Fingers crossed this is not a mistake because if it is I will never live it down.

It is important that we get this sorted as we have already agreed to two further house sits in France that will take us up to early May, well and truely over the legitimate time for us to stay normally.

 

Anyway, back to Fenouillet.

On Sunday we were up very early to travel to Carcassonne (about 80km away) so our English friend could catch her plane to Stansted Airport. She has planned to stay in the UK until her flight to Australia on Boxing Day. The weather was drizzly and there was a lot of fog for the first part of the trip. I was glad she had volunteered to drive us there.  She wanted to leave extra early to ensure she would make it even if we were delayed by the gilets jaunes (the yellow vests) – a movement that is demonstrating, sometimes violently, to protest against Monsieur Emmanuel Macron’s tough tax measures.

It was too cold for them, there were none to be seen, so we made it in plenty of time.

After dropping her off, checking her flight was still going, I drove us back in the direction of Fenouillet.

We had decided to stop at one of the larger supermarkets we had passed that was open on a Sunday (morning only). Many don’t open at all. We did spot some gilets jaunes on our way home, as the sun was up and they were making their presence felt. The trick our hostess told us was to display the yellow vest (that is mandatory for every car owner in France to have in his or her car) on the dash board so it showed we were supporting them. (Even if one was not!) That worked.

I was very keen to stop at my favourite markets, which are held each Sunday in Ésperaza. We had to drive past the village on our way back home.

Unfortunately, because of the rain, the number of store holders was less than half, and missing were some of our favourite stalls. Christmas is always a big affair over here, and this little village has set up a cute display of Christmas trees in the main square.

We remembered the bakery here was famous for making a very long loaf of bread that you could buy by the slice – you just had to say how big.

We eventually purchased some vegetable to make soup, as the weather looks like it is going to be pretty cold for the next week or so.

Last time we house sat here, the owner loaned us her old Ford car, which we did use a little, but the weird noises it made on occasion, encouraged us to hire a car for a few weeks so we could explore the area with more confidence. This time, she has loaned us her new car, a Chevrolet SUV, which is great to drive. Her old Ford is parked somewhere in Fenouillet out of the way, waiting for a new clutch apparently.

Luckily for me, her car not only had the gilet jaune, but also this very colourful umbrella that kept me dry at the Ésperaza markets.

We had a coffee at a bar just near where this photo was taken. It was where all the locals were. The fact that it was 11am did not stop them ordering a beer, a wine or a Pastis – an anise-flavoured spirit which is very popular here. Mick doesn’t mind a drop either.

The sun was out yesterday which gave us a chance to do some washing and to get ourselves settled in.

The cat seemed happy to see the sun as well.

Unfortunately, I think that was the good weather, as today there was a big frost and very low temperatures are predicted for the next few days.

FOOTNOTE: I had an email from our hostess this morning telling us of her horrendous experience with her flight back to the UK on Sunday.

While we were happily wandering around the supermarkets and the outdoor markets under the umbrella, she was on a bus to Toulouse (95Km away from Carcassonne where we had dropped her). The foggy morning had prevented the plane she was due to catch from landing in Carcassonne, and after three failed attempts the plane had headed towards, and landed in Toulouse. So, all the passengers were taken by bus to Toulouse, were screened and checked again, before eventually flying to England.

She lost her mobile phone during this saga and had to rely on the help of the air hostess to let her friend know when to meet her in Stansted.