Category: Uncategorized

This lovely part of France shifts with the times. As civilization evolves, so do priorities, fashions and industries.

Currently the Languedoc is the largest wine-growing region in the world. In the western Languedoc, there are distinct wine regions like the Malepère (where I live), the Cabardès, Minervois, Corbières and Limoux.

Until fairly recently, the quality of wine was quite variable. At one point, wines from the Languedoc were considered average to less than that and sometimes barely drinkable. The market dictates, so winemakers found ways to elevate the quality of their output with more desirable wines fortunately with great success. It is now considered a hidden gem where prices understate the quality. We count our blessing with the abundance of some really good wines at very affordable prices.

One domaine I know well, Château Saint Jacques d’Albas, recruited a winemaker from Burgundy several years ago to increase the quality of their wines and it has been quite successful producing a very enticing red. 

Another, La Louvière (interestingly owned by the Gröhe family of plumbing fixture fame), some years ago brought in an Australian winemaker who had previously worked in the vineyards of Adelaide but then went to Champagne for several years. This domaine’s wines are also excellent and among my favorites. 

Our own local winery, Domaine Le Fort is family operated for nearly 200 years. The current team: father, mother and their two sons, all have degrees in oenology (wine-making). Their chardonnay has been ranked #1 in the world for several years now. And two of their reds are in the 2025 Hachette Guide. 

But wine production is not without its challenges in the current environment. With climate change, research is focused on finding ways to preserve current vintages and finding varieties that will endure the wide variations in heat, rain, drought and humidity we are experiencing. 

One winegrower from Lagrasse had wines that were suboptimal for the market and took the initiative to instead, use their grapes to create vinegar. Cyril Codina spent eight years researching how to make the best vinegar and, despite the jibes he endured for taking so much time before he ever had a sale, has established a well-respected business with a large variety of flavors. 

In our effort to expand French literacy amongst our language students, we occasionally organize field trips to various places of interest in the region. Last January, Monique, the woman with whom I co-teach my French workshops, organized a visit to the Narbo Via Museum  in Narbonne. Starting with the indoor market, we went to the fascinating cathedral and archbishop’s palace, then on to the museum where we had lunch before seeing the Roman artifacts. It was a great day. 

In March, we visited the departmental archives. Nearly all of us own homes that date back at least two centuries. My own home has roots that date back to the 15th century. This visit enabled us to see if there might be information that would give us a historical perspective on our various properties. Given the enormous quantity of material, the department centralizes record-keeping, much of which has been digitalized and available online. We had an orientation lecture then were set loose to see what we might find.

This month, Monique came up with two more outings. The first was to a vinaigerie in Lagrasse, about 30 minutes southwest of Carcassonne and famous for its thriving medieval abbey. The second was to a hat manufacturer in Montazels, about 40 minutes south of my village. 

I’m not a huge fan of vinegar as I don’t like acidity. However, it was eye-opening and palate-opening at the same time to discover, aside from traditional red wine vinegar, unique flavors like chestnut, blackberry, walnut and curry, a beautiful raspberry vinegar, and various herbs and spices. I found five vinegars that were interesting enough to purchase sampler bottles for continued assessment at home. 

We learned on our guided tour that vinegars require oxygen and heat to ferment. The vinaigerie stores their production lots in green-tinted glass jars for up to 18 months. They then continue to age them up to 35 years in oak casks of different origins much like wine. The tinted-glass containers are exposed to the sun perched on external walls and balconies and covered with tape to allow the exchange of oxygen. 

Balsamic vinegar has its own formula and the production time is a bit longer. The output is as a result, sweeter and thicker.

It was an interesting afternoon and tasting experience. I thought it would be a great place to bring visitors another day but later learned they are moving from Lagrasse to Gruissan near Narbonne on the Mediterranean coast – a bit out of the way unless a visit to Narbonne is contemplated. 

Wool production was another major industry in the region beginning mid-19th century and ramping up as trains and electricity came into being. But the industry began to wither as hats went out of fashion in the 1970s and 1980s. Hat-making and linen production permeated not only my department, the Aude, but the Ariège just west and closer to the mountains. Few manufacturers remain as competitive Asian labor keeps the prices low. Even the wool is now imported from New Zealand as it is no longer profitable to maintain sheep given relatively low production. The region has suffered with this loss of business and is evident in a number of villages where they were centered.

The chapellerie (hatmaker) was interesting. We learned that during World War II the German Nazis used the factory to store food provisions that could feed up to 100,000. While many factories later shut down, a few remained this one even providing hats to houses of haute couture in Paris.

In 2018, they closed their doors but a group of citizens dedicated to maintaining an expertise that has become somewhat unique with the loss of other factories, gathered to form a cooperative. The COVID pandemic had significant impact and forced them to close for a time. But they persist and now have seven employees utilizing traditional methods to produce a variety of high-quality hats for men and women. Only one of the original staff has remained. But he is proudly training young understudies to learn the skills. It’s quite a process. 

The wool is first cleaned then put through a variety of machines to compress into felt. Ultimately, moulds are used to take cone-like pieces and press them into hats using steam at 100 Centigrade (212 F). The final task is to trim the edges with shears. While the machines are used to process and compress the wool, the majority of the work is manual and requires direct oversight. 

I asked about their production quantity. Last year they produced 6000 hats. The guide didn’t have a fix on the production numbers for this year, but said they would be close to that number. He also said it still isn’t enough and they are concerned for the future. But hats come and go in fashion and with current trends, perhaps they will get lucky. 

We had around 20 participants who came to the vinaigerie and a nearly equal number for the chapellerie. Both were interesting excursions and it was fun to learn and support yet one more facet of our regional history while sharpening our listening skills. In addition, both venues were great places to get those last minute Christmas presents and so we did.

Joyeuses fêtes !

I adopted a kitten found in a friend’s garden here in the village early July. It took a while for me to adjust to the loss of my last cat whom I had transported from the US in my move early in 2019. It was hard and very sad to lose her and I had to grieve. But time worked its magic and when my friend said this cat showed up, I had to see it. I guess it was meant to be. The Universe was speaking to me and so I agreed to take her.

Her official name is Lilou, an affectionate French name for females of any species. But like all of my other cats (of which there have only been been two), she gets called “Kitty.”

Several weeks ago, at barely seven months of age, Lilou was sterilized. 

I was shocked at how beautifully she tolerated the procedure. I brought her home a mere five hours after surgery and she was bouncing around chasing her toys and wanting to play. Mind you, the surgical incision was less than a centimeter and the abdomen of a cat, unlike that of a human, is not very muscular. So to her, it was probably not much more than a skin prick. Regardless, she did well. Until two weeks post-op.

The first sign I observed was her lack of appetite. We switched from the normal kitten food to food for “sterilized kittens less than 1 year.” She stopped eating for several days. I went to the pet shop and bought different brands of food to see what might work. They were somewhat enticing, but not entirely. But then, all of a sudden, she began to eat voraciously with an appetite like that of a horse. What I would normally feed her in two days just wasn’t enough. New food, old food: it didn’t matter. She was HUNGRY!  

I also noticed that she was very thirsty as her water bowl was nearly empty in the morning. This is rare for a cat because they tend not to take in a lot of fluids which long-term has serious implications for the functioning of the kidneys. But she was obviously thirsty. And hungry. 

In medicine there are “The 3 Ps”: Polyphagia (excessive appetite) Polydipsia (excessive thirst) and Polyuria (excessive urination). If all three are present, you are likely dealing with diabetes. 

She definitely had the first two (polyphagia and polydipsia). I didn’t know about the third because she is now an indoor/outside cat and has the liberty to go outside. So I can’t monitor her urinary habits. 

Given the presence of the first two signs, I looked at her pre-operative blood levels. Sure enough, her fasting glucose level was elevated. So I began to think diabetes. 

I called the vet and asked for an appointment to assess another fasting blood glucose. This was last Friday, but I had an appointment for first thing Monday morning. 

She wasn’t happy to have her food taken away Sunday evening, but we had no choice. Worse was Monday morning when we went to the vet. She was hungry and wanted to be fed and she definitely let me know it. But the good news is that her fasting glucose was normal. She is not diabetic. 

The vet said that first of all, the pre-operative elevated fasting blood glucose was probably due to stress. Secondly, her lack of hunger and then sudden voracious appetite are likely due to a changing metabolism. Her uterus and ovaries have been removed. There are significant endocrinal adjustments. So we’ll just have to ride it out.

The good news is that she is now eating well. I can now feed her 2-3 times her normal amount without concern. Despite this incredible oral intake, she only gained 100 grams. If only. 

At about this time six years ago I initiated my first French visa application. As a retiree from the US, it wasn’t difficult. One simply submits the requested documents to qualify for residency to the nearest French consulate via an in-person appointment, and, within two weeks of that appointment assuming everything is in order, the visa is in hand. 

The first requirement is to have to identified a place to live. It could be a rental or it could be a purchase, but one needs to show a contract. I spent 15 years traveling around the country, deciding where I wanted to live, and then when the time was right, I had my criteria lined up so that when I found the perfect house, it was an easy decision. I actually saw my house posted on Facebook Properties For Sale in France, and after confirming its availability, flew over the next week to take a look and bought it. But then it was another eight months of planning to make the move. 

I flew over again five months later to sign the papers to purchase the house bringing a few fragile items with me that I didn’t want to ship. I  lined up contractors to fix the house up to my specifications like screens for the windows, installing air conditioning (climatisation), a hand rail for the basement stairs, and, after recently having had spinal surgery, stability bars for the shower and toilets. I was also thinking ahead in terms of aging in place as this is my last stop. 

After several weeks here, I returned to the US, packed up, sold my business, etc., and moved for good a little over two months later. 

If one has the time and the luxury to take the time and do it right, it works well because in the process of looking at regions and houses, one refines their vision and minimal criteria. Multiple trips make it a bit more expensive, but it definitely smooths the process.  

Back to the visa application, with a sale contract on the house in hand, I had met the first requirement. 

Next is the demonstration of income. The current monthly minimum requirement is around  €1400. So it’s a matter of providing proof of income via Social Security and any pensions one might have.

They also want to know that the applicant is financially secure. This entails providing copies of one’s bank account(s) and financial investments. As I recall, printed documentation for the three prior years was necessary.

Once here for three months, it is possible to apply for healthcare. In the meantime, one needs to show a valid health insurance policy that will cover services in France. In other words, travel insurance. The length of time of this policy varies. When I applied, the requirement was for 4 to 6 months. The last I heard they were asking for a year’s policy. But these policies can be cancelled once into the French healthcare system thereby securing a refund on the remaining time period.

Finally, one must write and sign an attestation that states they will not work. This is a self-drafted document stating the reason for moving to France (retirement in my case), and that there is no intention of working. The government rightly so doesn’t want people coming over to take jobs from the French. 

It is important to note the desired start date for the visa. That is, what is the planned arrival date in France? The visa application and appointment should be timed with this in mind.

With all of the above documentation, an interview will be scheduled at the consulate to physically show and leave your documents. Following that, the collective file will be submitted to the French Embassy in Washington, DC. In usually less than two weeks, the visa will be in hand, stamped into the passport. It feels like a real accomplishment at that point and marks the beginning of the actual adventure of living in France. 

Once here, the visa needs to be validated at the regional prefecture. This includes an appointment where a chest x-ray will be taken (screening for tuberculosis), and blood tests for HIV and hepatitis. They will also evaluate French language skills based on their interaction and may recommend French classes if they think they are necessary. It is an easy appointment and very welcoming. But it’s just one more step in the process on becoming a permanent resident. For my region, the appointments are in Montpelier.

After three months, the next step is to apply for the Carte Vitale which gives free access to healthcare.  This can also be done online.

Then, the focus is on getting a French driver’s license. For permanent residents, the foreign driver’s license is good only for the first year. If one is fortunate to come from a state where there is reciprocity, the process is relatively easy. 

 If the driver’s license is from a non-participating state, it is a more difficult and expensive process requiring both written and driving tests. My recommendation is that one do everything possible to secure a driver’s license from a state that does have reciprocity before coming to France if it is at all possible. 

The first year is a busy one getting settled. As if the move itself isn’t stressful enough (I was physically exhausted for 10 months), one needs to establish the utilities in your name, open a bank account (not always easy), and register any house pets with the local vet. By the time it seems all is under control, it’s time to renew the visa again because for the first five years, the visa is only valid for a year at a time. 

The process of renewal is pretty much the time. Initially, renewals required an appointment at the local sub-prefecture, mine being in Carcassonne. Now it is all done online. They still want proof of housing (eg, a utility bill), banking, income and health care plus updated e-photos obtainable at most supermarchés. They encourage reapplying up to four months in advance. I’ve just completed my seventh visa application even though my current visa doesn’t expire until late February. Receipt of the new Carte de Séjour can take up to eight months simply due to backlog. Armed with a recipisée (a submission receipt), even if the previous Carte de Séjour has expired, one is still legally resident. Everyone knows about the bureaucratic backlogs.

My new Carte de Séjour should be valid for 10 years. Once tax resident for five years (meaning that taxe data has been submitted for each of the past five years resident), it is mostly automatic. Assuming it comes through, I will no longer have to worry about the annual renewal for 10 years. 

However, I began the process for French citizenship or nationalité in June. This too requires tax residency of a minimum of five years. It’s an online application and with that, based on individual circumstances, one is directed to secure a number of official documents. These included of course, my birth certificate, but also those of my parents plus their marriage license, a copy of my current Carte de Séjour, my US passport, and a criminal record history from the FBI apostilled by the US State Department. Once in hand, all these documents need to be officially translated into French by an authorized translator. 

I have all documents in hand but one. I finally received the FBI records this week after three attempts. Getting fingerprinted in France is no easy task! I went to the local gendarmerie and they refused to do it. Working through my mairie (town hall), I was able to make two attempts with one of the staff who is on the Police Nationale. However, it seems fingerprinting is a bit of an art because both of these attempts failed. I eventually had to pay €120 to an American woman who has created a business for this purpose alone. On a trip to Paris for a concert in early October, I met her and that submission worked. 

The missing document is my mother’s birth certificate from Canada. I had submitted my request in July via post. The Service Ontario website said to allow eight weeks. When I didn’t receive it by October, I checked their website to learn that, due to backlog, there was an 8-12 week delay. So I let it go. Like with many things in France, sometimes you just have to be patient. 

But four months is enough so I phoned Service Ontario yesterday to learn that my file had just been processed and completed that day. Good news! “But,” he said, “there’s a problem. Canada Post is on strike and we can’t mail it.” I had to laugh. Really! After all this time and it’s the only document I am lacking. And now a mail strike is going to hold it up. What else could go wrong? But honestly, there is no particular urgency. I can’t imagine the strike will last forever. 

I asked if it would be possible to mail it via FedEx or another courier service. The reply was that they could, but only to Canadian addresses. Oh well…

Once I have all my documents and they are translated, I can submit them online. Then it is a question of sitting and waiting. I am told it could take up to two years for processing and approval. There might even be an interview with the local gendarmerie. And it is possible my mairie will be contacted to check me out. 

There may or may not be a language requirement. I have read in different places that once past the age of 65, a language requirement doesn’t exist. On the other hand, the French government is becoming stricter with regard to immigration requirements and it could change. The current requirement is demonstrating a fluency level of B1 (lower Intermediate).

 The last time I was assessed was in 2016 at the Institut de Touraine where I was taking a course. They concluded I was at a B2/C1 level at that time. And of course living here for the past six years plus teaching French to English-speaking transplants has only helped my skills. 

Which actually raises another topic: being fluent vs. being bilingual. Fluency is the ability to get along in most situations. Being bilingual assumes one has integrated all the nuances and social customs to their language capability. According to one definition, being blinigual means there is an identification to the culture.

 It is said that to be truly bilingual, once must have grown up in the culture or be in a family situation where full comprehension and capability arise. I doubt that anyone like myself will ever become completely bilingual. But I can honestly say I can make my way in nearly all situations. I may have to look up a word or two now and then, but it doesn’t hold me back.  

Once my file is processed, I will be called for an appointment in Montpelier. I will have been asked to read the Livret de Citoyen which provides background on French history and the current government. There will be an interview to assess my documents but also my knowledge of this information.  I have heard that the level of difficulty with these questions varies based on the interviewer and their mood. I’m confident, however, that I won’t have much difficulty. I’m an avid reader and know French history pretty well. I look forward to the interview. 

With approval, I will have a French passport, an identity card to carry in my wallet PLUS a French birth certificate. While I wasn’t born in France, the bureaucracy requires I have a French birth certificate. A rebirth? In a sense, yes. Once declared “French” the government will acknowledge I was foreign-born but I am officially French.

People often complain about French bureaucracy. But in my opinion, these complaints are not terribly valid. Yes, there are demands and yes, it does take time to get things approved because of a shortage of staff in the central office in Nantes. But most of it is automated and it is a question of being patient. Their demands are not extraordinary. In my case there is no urgency. La nationalité will provide me stability and the pride of being a French citizen with the ability to vote and participate in the political process. It will be cause for celebration. 

One of the delights of living in France is the variety of markets. No matter the day, there is a market happening somewhere. Many villages have a weekly market to sell fresh produce, cheese, honey, baked goods, charcuterie and other meats, wine, etc. These markets are complimented by assorted vendors selling hot food, clothing, jewelry, household goods, rugs, art and crafts etc. 

Every market has its own tone and flavor. The one with which I am the most familiar is the Monday morning market in Mirepoix, 29 km west of my village. It’s a nice drive approaching the Pyrénées and on a wintry day, the snow-covered mountains seem close enough to touch. 

The Mirepoix market is very popular and, like most, attracts a good crowd of primarily locals who are simply doing their weekly shopping or those out for social interaction. As we saw in my last post, there is occasionally entertainment (the photo reproduced here). 

Mirepoix is particularly attractive because of its 13^th century medieval architecture. The market takes place in the center of the village with its colombaged buildings and sheltered arcades. The market is never disappointing. There is a buzz of excitement in the air as people of all ages meander to grab a taste of cheese, sausage, olives or pastry, or pick up items on their lists. One just has to remember to bring a jacket or more depending upon the season as being closer to the mountains, it is often significantly cooler. 

My own village of Montréal has an occasional market but nothing on a regular basis. The markets we see here are mostly vides greniers – attic sales – where one can find all kinds of used items from flatware and dishware to books, clothing, electronics, etc. 

If they desire fresh produce, people from my village mostly go to Bram which has a market on Wednesday morning and is just 7 km away. I find that it is difficult to get a good American-style steak in France. The cuts and curing are different lending to different texture and flavor. But the côte-de-boeuf friends of mine once purchased from a Bram butcher at the market was perhaps the best steak I’ve ever had. 

Of all the markets, Bram is the smallest.

Bram has the reputation of being the largest circulade in France. A circulade is a village whose streets are organized in concentric circles. This was a medieval strategy to protect inhabitants in times of strife. It is easy to get disoriented at the market as a result, but time has made that easier as I have become more familiar with the village.

Carcassonne, 15 km to the east, has two markets. The Tuesday morning market takes place in Place Carnot of La Bastide Saint Louis, the lower city. It’s small with only farm produce but the quality is good.

The Saturday market in Carcassonne is a different story being of a much grander scale taking over a large parking lot stretching several blocks. The Saturday market is also more expansive in terms of a large assortment of clothing and secondhand items of mixed quality in addition to produce.

Another market I love to go to is in Revel, about 45 minutes northeast of my village. It operates on Saturdays and a hybrid of the market in Mirepoix and the Saturday market in Carcassonne with the food items in the central area, and clothing in the parking area a few short blocks away. 

What I’ve found interesting is that each market has products unique to its locale. In Revel, for example, the product that stands out is La Poumpet, a delicious lemon-flavored puff pastry. It is a real treat. Revel also has a small shop featuring products made from the wode dye referenced in a previous blog post. I have found it is a great place to find gifts. Who doesn’t love a scarf or hand towels in a rich blue color? 

One market I have yet to visit is the Sunday market in Esperanza. It has a great reputation but being over an hour’s drive south, it takes some planning and effort. One day I’ll make it. The Esperanza marché has the reputation of being a showcase for hippies who live in the mountains and bring their wares and crafts to sell every Sunday. I’m sure it will be interesting.

This past Sunday, however, was a different story.

In addition to the many markets, there are also special events throughout the year. I received an email message from my insurance agency in Mirepoix advising me of the agricultural fair in Espezel about 60 km southwest in the high valley of the Aude department in which I live. I had never heard of it, but looking at the program, it was very appealing. 

I reached out to my village friends Simone & Morris originally from New Zealand and asked if they’d like to go. With live animals and the promise of a sheep-herding demonstration with Australian shepherds, I thought their children (6 year-old twins) would enjoy it. They agreed, so we made our plans. 

My mornings are generally slow and easy. I’ve become spoiled sleeping in until whenever then feeding my new kitty,, doing my exercises, then finally having coffee before doing whatever else needs to be accomplished. There’s no schedule most days and I like it that way. But on Mondays when I have my French workshops and special occasions like this one, the alarm gets set. This was a particularly early day as we set out at 8 AM given the drive was to take around 80 minutes and events were to start at 9:30 AM. 

It was a winding driving through a variety of small villages in the high valley of the Aude department on the narrow country roads. The roads slow you down because it is impossible to see what is coming around the many curves from the opposite direction. It can be intimidating, and at times it was.

As we approached Espezel, we gained significant altitude. The views were beautiful. We were very close to the already snow-covered high mountains of the Pyrénées. At points we could look down into beautiful verdant valleys with scattered farms and fields. 

The weather was spectacular, a perfect Fall day. It was cool in the morning but as the day wore on, we tore off layers as the sun warmed us up.

Parking, like with many of these rural events, is in a newly harvested field adjacent to the village. The organizers were very efficient at managing the onslaught of visitors and it worked like clockwork. We were lucky to arrive early as we were able to park quite close to the center of the village. 

The event was well-organized. They obviously have a lot of experience. There was a small entrance fee of 2 euros per person but what surprised us for such a rural setting was that they also had security officers to check bags. 

As we looked down the main street lined with vendors, we could see a mountain peak at its very end. The crowd was thin compared to what we saw just a few hours later. We estimate at least 3000 people were in attendance Sunday. 

After some hot tea and a chance for the children to expend their pent-up energy on the playground after the drive, we made our way to the animal exhibitions passing even more vendors including one making the very interesting gâteau à la broche , in other cultures called a spit cake.

The animal competition had taken place on Saturday, so we saw cows, bulls, sheep, horses and goats in pens with signs noting they had been vendus (sold).

What we were able to see in action was the sheep-herding demonstration with an Australian sheep dog. I was surprised at the energy level of the dog as it ran continuously keeping the sheep in a tight circle. The dogs seem to mostly operate on hand signals. It was very entertaining.

Designed for the agriculturalist, the exhibition included a demonstration of hooves trimming on a very patient donkey, and an extensive display of mostly John Deere tractors and motocross vehicles. Something for everyone!

After the children were treated to pony rides (with me put to work leading one of them), we played some games then got lunch. I picked up some lavender honey, fresh lentils and tea to take home then we went back to the park where we able to lay out a blanket and just rest while the children continued to play before the drive home. 

Soon thereafter we made the drive home arriving by mid-afternoon. It was a great way to enjoy the Fall weather and experience the efforts of those who work hard to provide us sustenance. 

Our impression was that the agricultural twist to the market made it especially enjoyable. And the Espezel fair is obviously wildly popular given the numbers. I would definitely make the effort to go again. I think we all would.

It will be six years next month since I purchased my home here in France. I was here a few weeks then returned to the US for two months to finalize things for the move. Since then I’ve had the pleasure of hosting a number of friends and a few family members. COVID came along and that didn’t help in terms of visitors. Plus I have an issue with a leaking terrasse that will hopefully be resolved next month in court (a long story about which I will discuss at a later date). That leak, however, has prevented usage of my third bedroom, a studio with a private entrance and its own living area situated below the terrasse. As a result, I’ve been limited in the number of guests I can receive. I will be glad to get things fixed up so that I can once again utilize the terrasse and the studio. 

This year marked 55 years since I completed high school at Detroit Catholic Central, an all-boys school run by the Basilian Fathers from Toronto. When we celebrated our 50^th reunion in Detroit, one of my classmates suggested we do the 55^th in France. I took the cue and did a survey of my classmates. A number were interested. We organized a videoconference earlier this year amongst those who were seriously interested in making the trip and where I presented the various options. We decided on dates and scope and last month it finally happened. I upped my game on hosting. 

As can be expected, there were several who had intended to come but health or other commitments came up which prevented their involvement. One who was most anxious to come given his own French heritage had to drop out due to a recurrence of his cancer. He died just two weeks before our gathering. RIP, Larry Gauthier. 

Out of around 100 remaining classmates, six came plus four spouses.

One of my friends has been restoring a farm property just outside my village of Montréal called Majou that includes a 7-bedroom/5-bath house and a gite (a rental unit) with four ensuite bedrooms. The restoration is mostly completed and we were the first group to rent it. It was beautiful! The rooms are very well-appointed, there is a new salt-water pool and a grand terrasse that looks over the vineyards to my village a few kilometers away. A professional kitchen is being installed for future weddings and events, but we had full use of the large, well-equipped kitchen in the main house. 

Seven of the group began their trip by spending a few days in Barcelona, just 3.5 hours away by train. The rest flew into Toulouse Blagnac Airport, an hour away.

I cooked the first night making my own version of cassoulet. While the tradition is duck, I use chicken and add herbes de Provence. Along with a simple salad, a cheese course, an apricot tarte and the local prize-winning wine from Domaine Le Fort, it was a nice meal for their first evening, most of whom were still dealing with le décollage horaire (jet-lag). 

The next day, Sunday, we made the short trek in to see La Cité, the medieval city of Carcassonne for lunch and a walking tour. 

We returned to Majou to prepare dinner and welcome my friends and historians Gayle Brunelle and Bernard Allaire. Gayle has collaborated on the writing and publication of two books recently, the second of which, Assassination in Vichy, was recently published in French. She is getting great acclaim for its revelations related to the Vichy government during World War II. Bernard’s lifelong research has made him an expert on the fur trade between Canada and Europe. I had invited them as I thought their collective research would be of interest to my classmates. They loved it and it was a very stimulating evening.

Monday, we went to the marché in Mirepoix, a weekly event, followed by a gourmet lunch in a private room at Clos des Oliviers, a new restaurant and chambre d’hôte. It couldn’t have been nicer. We even got to celebrate Jim Freeborough’s birthday!

Driving back to Montréal, we first made a stop in Fanjeaux where St. Dominic spent nearly eight years back in the early 13^th century and where he founded the first Dominican monastery, still in use with around 15 nuns present. As we made our way to see Dominic’s house, we were delighted to see an art exhibition in progress. It’s an annual event and for the artists and art lovers in the group, it was an unexpected treat.

From Fanjeaux we went to Domaine Le Fort so they could taste first-hand their variety of wines and stock up for the week. Then it was back to Majou to make dinner. As I have done with all my travel groups, we took turns cooking. It was a lot of fun. We even had a little entertainment from classmate Ron Bretz.

Tuesday was spent in Montréal with lunch at the local Auberge Dominicain followed by a walk in the vineyards and a tour of the village including my home which dates back to the 14^th century. 

I organized a WW II Resistance tour in Carcassonne for Wednesday morning which the group found fascinating.

Following the tour, we enjoyed another gourmet lunch at La Barbacane, at the 5-star Hôtel de La Cité.

Thursday we drove the short distance to the very picturesque village of Montolieu, known as “the book village” with its numerous bookshops and had lunch at my favorite restaurant in the region: La Rencontre. Owned and operated by Chef Thomas and his wife, Fanni, it was a great meal at great value. In fact, last year a guest commented that the meal was as good as that of La Barbacane (a Michelin-starred restaurant) for half the price. I agree. Thomas is creative. His food is delicious and his presentations artful.  They have been recognized by the Gault & Millau Guide for 2024-2025. It is well-deserved.

From Montolieu we drove up into the Montagne Noire to first see Saissac with its 11^th century castle ruins. Driving on winding roads through sheep pasture and vineyards, we traveled to Saint-Papoul to see its 14^th century Abbaye de Saint-Papoul. 

Friday was a more laid-back day as we returned to Carcassonne to visit the lower city of La Bastide with its gourmet food store La Ferme, a cheese shop, and Place Carnot where we had lunch. Afterwards, we drove into the Minervois, northeast of Carcassonne to Château Saint Jacques d’Albas for wine-tasting.

Château Saint Jacques d’Albas was formed over 20 years ago by an Englishman from London who had worked in the field of finance. He restored the former priory to make it his home and a thriving winery. It is historically interesting with a 15th century chapel and a 9th century Visigoth grave. His wines are among the best in the region. With a new winemaker imported from Burgundy in the last few years, they have created a new premium wine (a red) that is definitely destined for great recognition. It was good enough that I decided one case wasn’t enough so I returned the next week for a second….

Saturday saw my classmates depart though we had lost one couple Wednesday forced to return to the US for a family wedding. Another couple departed Friday to spend a few days in Paris. One couple moved to the Hôtel de la Cité for a few more days. And my classmate Pat whose visit here was his third, spent two weeks chez moi to catch up with friends and just hang out. 

As I reflected upon the itinerary I had created for the group, I felt pleased. There is so much to see but I had to whittle it down for variety and contrast. From the medieval fortress of La Cité, to the market experience in Mirepoix, more history in Fanjeaux and Montréal, wine-tasting, a walk in the vineyards, a visit to the Montagne Noire, and four really excellent meals, it seemed to reflect a good sampling of the region and its attributes.

We were fortunate to have good weather all week. Only two weeks prior, the temperature was sweltering. But Fall came quickly and it was cool and comfortable. And good Michigan sleeping weather.

The experience was ethereal. It was interesting for me to witness the perspectives of my guests taking in the Languedoc for the first time not only from their comments, but from their photos some of which I have incorporated here. At times it was like seeing it anew.

Aside from Pat O’Connor whom I have come to know much better in the past two years given his visits, I hadn’t known the others as well. But as Pat said more eloquently in a Facebook post:

A few fellow Catholic high school friends and I whose wanderlust has not subsided met for a week together in the south of France, inspired by one of us who had recently put down roots there and who was, lucky for us, willing to mother hen/guide us. Some of us had been friends in high school, some friendly acquaintances, some had escaped our faith, some had embraced it. Tom, our man on the ground, found a lovely château for us to use as a home base. We shared a few rental cars and rambled in twos, threes, fours and often eleven to markets, shops, towns, villages, galleries and eateries over narrow, winding, French country roads. We rubbed elbows in the château’s kitchen and fed each other at its table. The culture and scenery were fabulous but the best times were had being with each other in the beautiful ways of discovering and furthering friendship, the delights of playful adventure, and creating new, and deepening old, intimacies. It was a joy and privilege to meet my schoolmates’ fabulous partners and witness their mature yet still growing, vibrant relationships. This was a fine networking of mutual respect, suffused with laughter and high regard. We came to see France and came away with new eyes and ears for that country and for each other. Merci, my friends, merci.

Merci, indeed. I am grateful for their visit and the opportunity to show them my little corner in France.

Very quickly, it was back to business. I returned to tutoring French on September 23 with an open house the week prior to greet potential participants. This marks my fifth group and we now have 32 participants in the débutants workshop. The good news is that most of the preparatory work was done last year. It still takes some time to customize each lesson, but we’re following in the footsteps of last year’s plan with thematic conversations supported by vocabulary and grammar. I continue to learn and my confidence and capability grow.

Last year I had three different groups to whom I instructed the idiosyncrasies of the French language. I decided to back off this year. It was too much and, in many ways, stressful. It also prevented me from writing, reading, and studying which some of you have noticed. Thank you for writing to tell me you miss these posts. I will hope to do better in the coming months.

In June I began the application for citizenship in France. I am awaiting some documents necessary for the process and then there will be a wait of up to two years. An interview will be required in Montpelier at the region’s prefecture to assess my language skills and knowledge of French history and politics.  There is the possibility of a home visit by gendarmes to assess my living arrangements. They may even interview some of my neighbors to see how well I get along. It is an interesting process.

I made the decision to apply for citizenship for several reasons. I love France. For years it has been in my blood. I feel deep bonds and am passionate about the caring way in which society works. There is also la politesse – how people interact with one another, respect being its foundation. I love the rural area in which I live: the absence of traffic and noisy congestion, the sprawling foothills with their vineyards, wheat and sunflowers looking towards the Pyrénées Mountains bordering Spain; and the social life that is centered around the village. There is never want for something to do. After six years, it remains that I have no desire to live anywhere else. And with citizenship, I can participate in local and national politics. Renewing my carte de séjour (permanent resident visa) will happily become a thing of the past.

With global warming affecting weather patterns everywhere, we may see fewer sunny days, but my village has been free thus far from severe weather distortions. Only 45 minutes south, closer to the Mediterranean, there are villages suffering from drought. We are fed by mountain springs and, while we are asked to conserve water as much as possible, there is no great threat locally. 

The village is on a hill, at an elevation of over 800 feet. This will keep us safe from flooding. While we historically experience occasional winds, our geographic position protects us from extremes. I feel fortunate to have stumbled upon such a place. 

Interestingly, the population of my village of Montréal de l’Aude has increased 10% since arriving. That says something. I attribute the growth to its vibrant social life and proximity to the Carcassonne without the hassles of living in a larger town.

So far, the only persistent negative is distance from family and close friends in the US. I’m making some wonderful friends here and that is helping. In fact, last year I met a particularly delightful family from New Zealand with 6 year-old twins. They too are separated from family. But we’ve bonded and together we are forming family as we are sometimes forced to do. I count my blessings for the stimulating simplicity of life in my retirement and the people who are a part of it. After all, isn’t that what it’s all about?

The farmer’s protest in France these last two weeks was rather disruptive because they targeted the autoroutes. What began pretty much in the southwest spread throughout the country, even to Paris to make their emphatic points to the gouvernement.

Protests are an interesting thing in France. Even though many are inconvenienced, the population respects the fact that the protesters need to be supported as they fight for their rights. The pressure on the government increases as the population watches to see what will happen. The citizen is king.

We have a new prime minister in France appointed just a few weeks ago, Gabriel Attal. He is only 34 years old and the youngest PM in history. He is (obviously) a favorite of President Emmanuel Macron who has fallen in popularity in the last few years. So the appointment of Gabriel Attal is perceived to have two reasons: new blood with a strong personality and big ideas, and maybe even being groomed to become the next president. Macron got in at a young age. Why not Attal?

The farmer’s strike is Attal’s first big challenge. He did the perfunctory visits to speak with farmers and hear them out. He also made a trip to Brussels because the farmer’s complaints relate to mandates coming out of the EU Parliament. In a way, France’s hands are tied. The good news is that Attal’s efforts have had some success. But not soon enough.

I drove up to Paris last Thursday for a concert at the Philharmonie de Paris. The Orchestre des Champs Élysées performed Schubert’s Unfinished Symphony and the Brahms Requiem which I was very excited to hear for the first time.

Because of the roadblocks, gps guided me along back roads. What ordinarily takes seven hours took roughly 12 hours. But it was a spectacular drive even though I was up and out the door by 4 AM. As one friend put it, I was making lemonade out of the lemons. I didn’t really mind because I saw parts of France I had not seen before. It was just one more adventure.

It was interesting driving over the Montagne Noire with all its switchbacks in the middle of the night. The fog didn’t help and I was extra cautious because while the temperature was just above freezing at this elevation, there was still potential for icy roads. By daybreak four hours later, I was in the Cantal Department of the Auvergne region. The roads were still winding but the views were magnificent – especially the spa village of Chaudes-Aigues. I made a note to come back one day maybe for “the cure.” Pictured below are views of the Truyère River a few kilometres north of Chaudes-Aigues. The sun was just rising so I pulled off to a viewpoint to take it all in. I’m glad I did.

Finally reaching Paris, I parked in the suburb of Sceaux to avoid the chaos and went directly to the home of some good friends who were my neighbors in Jersey City. They now live in Paris with their two young daughters of nearly 4 & 6 years. Our time was brief because the hour was late, but dinner was excellent and it was great to catch up.

I have developed a document that I send to friends who are heading to Paris. It includes a number of recommendations including how to navigate into the city from the airport. (Beware of the pick-pocketers!) My bottom-line advice is to make Paris your own. Yes, there are a few places one should absolutely see like the Eiffel Tower, the Champs Élysées and Sainte-Chapelle. Otherwise, do what you want. Take a random walk. Pursue your interests. You never know what you may discover. Despite the fact that I have been to Paris many times (more than I can count but at least 50), I took my own advice and Friday turned out to one of those days where I had some wonderful discoveries.

I didn’t set my alarm to wake up because Thursday had been a long day. I had a lunch reservation at Robert et Louise, a highly recommended restaurant in the Marais, but the morning was free. It was around 9 AM when lying in bed I told myself that it would be a huge waste if I didn’t do something. So I decided to visit the Musée de Cluny, the 15th century Parisian seat of the Cluny monks and now a medieval museum across from the Sorbonne. I noticed it when I was here in December 2022 and had added it to my list of places to see.

The hotel was close to the Philharmonie de Paris concert hall, and fortunately the Métro 7 line gave me a direct shot to Châtelet, a major connecting point and the station closest to the Musée de Cluny. Châtelet, on the other hand, is a maze of underground tunnels which sometimes requires a good deal of walking simply to exit. So I got off at the stop before, the Pont Neuf to see what I might discover.

The Pont Neuf is the westernmost bridge crossing the Seine connecting the Right Bank to the Left via Île de la Cité. I took a photo of one of my favorite places, Place Dauphine as I walked by, but didn’t stop for the lack of time.

Place Dauphine, Île de la Cité

I msde my way to the Boulevard Saint-Germain passing the Restaurant Procope, a historic restaurant that is also on my list and founded in 1686. I also discovered the Université René Descartes and the Sorbonne’s medical school before arriving at the Musée de Cluny. You never know what you will find.

Restaurant Procope

The Musée de Cluny is touted as the foremost medieval museum in the world. It’s not huge so doesn’t take long to see. Filled with statuary, stained glass and carved altars, it provides a great picture for this era.

Musée de Cluny

Cour d’honneur, Musée de Cluny

After visiting the museum, I made my way to lunch passing another historic church on the Left Bank, Saint-Séverin and then the Hôtel de Ville (the Paris city hall) with signs proudly positioned on the front of the building happily announcing that this is the year of the Paris Olympics.

Église Saint-Severin

The nave of Église Saint-Severin

Église Saint-Severin

As I continued my walk towards the Marais, I passed the Rue des Mauvais Garçons (the Street of Bad Boys). This has always amused me. It’s only a short block long, but is so-named as historically it was notorious for its “lawless 13th century residents.”

Lunch was disappointing for several reasons but I decided I will reserve judgment until I give them another opportunity. My notes included “escargots and steak.” I had the escargots but they were rubbery, overcooked and with little of that butter, garlic and parsley mixture that gives them so much flavor. For my main course I opted for a chicken dish expecting something delicious with a sauce. It was fine but nothing special and no sauce. I should have had a steak. I saw the chef preparing stacks of steaks as I was led to my table and they looked good. But I didn’t want to feel full all day especially since I also had a dinner reservation. The jury is out.

I had a few hours free so I consulted my Paris list and decided to go to G Detou which is a culinary supply shop. Its name is a play off the French expression “J’ai tous” (“I have everything”) and it is mostly true though they surprisingly didn’t have herbes de Provence which I use on nearly a daily basis. There were assorted mustards, preserved fruits, spices, coffee, chocolate, extracts and rare flavorings and things like xantham gum and agar that most people never use but are critical to chefs.

I picked up a few things and asked where one could find culinary equipment (les appareils culinaires). Early on in Carcassonne I discovered a bakery supply house that sold to the public. But when I went in December, they were closed and remain closed. G Detou referred me to A. Simon, a well-equipped store right around the corner. Like in New York City where shops of similar ilk are clustered together (eg, diamond dealers, flower suppliers etc), it seems Paris follows suit. As I left A Simon, I discovered four more shops all supplying goods to the professional and amateur chef. It felt like I discovered gold because everything I had been looking for was available. Needless to say, I returned home with more than my backpack.

Leaving the shops, I walked along Rue Montmartre toward the Metro. It ended at Place Carée with Les Halles off the left and Église Saint-Eustache on the right. Built between 1532-1632, Saint-Eustache is one of Paris’s most impressive churches. I’ve been before, but took the opportunity to see it again.

Église Saint-Eustache

The nave of Église Saint-Eustache

The 147 rank pipe organ of Église Saint-Eustache, one of the largest in France

The organ console

Laden with my purchases I headed back to the hotel to drop them off and have a rest before the concert. It was good to take a nap.

It was a quick 15-minute walk to the Philharmonie de Paris for the concert. I had made a pre-concert dinner reservation at their new restaurant, L’Envol, on the sixth floor of the complex. It was simple, creative and delicious.

Philharmonie de Paris

Restaurant L’Envol, Philharmonie de Paris

They make it easy for concertgoers to move from the restaurant to the concert hall with an express elevator taking one to the appropriate level after scanning the ticket.

I moved into place and got ready for the concert. The architecture is dramatic and the acoustics from my perspective, perfect.

The concert began with Schubert’s Unfinished Symphony then moved into the Brahms Requiem. It was thrilling from start to finish. I am so glad I went.

The next morning I was up and out of the hotel by 7:30 AM. I had to take the Metro to Gare du Nord, then the RER train to Sceaux where I had parked my car. It worked well as I was then only about 25 minutes to Costco Paris – my primary reason for driving.

I feel like a kid in a candy shop going to Costco. Dunkin’ Donuts has recently launched their products in Paris and they have become very popular. Costco is obviously riding the band wagon as they had them for sale though they seem pretty pricey: 13 euros for a dozen donuts?

Another new item now available is bagels. I’ve never seen them before in France. But for the die-hard lover of bagels, they can now be found at Costco! Notice that they limit the sale of two packages at the price of 5.99 euros. They must be popular.

From Costco it was close to a 7-hour drive home. I stopped off at a rest area to nap for an hour as all this driving and activity had taken it out of me. I’m not sorry I went. I had a ball and stocked up on a lot of things including culinary supplies and the usual household items. I will, however, seriously consider the length of stay should there be another blockage of the autoroutes. 1600 kms in a matter of three days is a lot!

On a final note, today marks 5 years since I arrived in France to live. I landed on February 6 2019 from Atlanta with my cat and friend, Randy, who came along to help me settle in. These five years have flown by even with the COVID pandemic beginning in the second year. It took a while to feel at home as there are obviously many adjustments. But I have found my niche in teaching beginning French to anglophones. Soon I will have access to the newly-restored historic pipe organ in our village church. I have made many friends and hosted many dinners. Life is good and the quality of life is unmatched.

In the last year I’ve come to realize how beautifully French society works. La politesse (politeness in society) remains impressive. My neighbors have been welcoming and kind. Even last night one of my neighbors dropped by to give me a plate of crèpes she had made in honour of Chandeleur, February 2. I’m guessing she had planned to bring them over that day, but I was in Paris. But she didn’t pass on the opportunity to share. They were delicious.

French society continues to operate based on the slogan from the French Revolution of Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité (Liberty, Equality, Brotherhood). One is expected to participate in society and contribute to the overall good. My neighbors, the village and the organization with which I am affiliated for the French classes all promote a lot of activities. It is sometimes overwhelming because there is so much going on. At the same time, it builds community and good will.

As an example, our mayor hosted a gathering early in January to provide a summary of all that had been accomplished in 2023 and what plans there are for 2024. The gathering also recognized newcomers to the village and was promoted as an opportunity to wish your neighbors “Bonne année.” There must have been over 300 people present, including families with children. It was heartening to see this level of participation. I also realized as I went around afterwards to greet those I know, that I have made a number of friends and acquaintances in the village.

My village of Montréal is gaining a reputation as a pretty nice place to live given the quality of life, the improvements and the social life it offers. We’re a short 10 km west of Carcassonne, so it’s very commutable and yet in the heart of the countryside surrounded by vineyards and fields of soy, colza, sunflowers and wheat. I enjoyed the trip to Paris but I was delighted to return home. The tranquility and natural beauty, la joie de vivre feed my soul.

I first fell in love with France when I opened my French textbook as a freshman in high school. The photo heading the first lesson was of the Arc de Triomphe. I was sold. And I couldn’t wait to see it in person. 

On August 15, 1970, a year out of high school, I boarded an Air France 747 from JFK to Paris with my girlfriend and her sister on a 15-day “If this is Tuesday, it must be Belgium” tour of Europe that began and ended in Paris. The 747 was brand new to the aviation world and being able to fly one was frosting on the cake. So here we are 53 years later, on this day in 1970, August 16, I landed in Paris for the first time. I could barely contain my excitement. Even now, I feel like I am living a dream to be in this beautiful and magical country. The excitement continues.

On that first trip, we stayed at the Claridge Hotel right on the Champs Elysées. Everything about Paris was perfect and, when the time came, I didn’t want to leave. But I didn’t know how to stay. Besides I was in college and had to get my degree. I could dream, but a life in France at that time was impossible. I wanted it so bad I could taste it. The hunger never left.

It was five years later when I returned, this time for business. Between degrees (and in reality trying to figure what my next step was), I was working for an incentive travel company. This trip I was directing a tour that included Paris, Madrid and Palma de Mallorca. 

I returned to France as much as possible for work or pleasure. When I moved to New Jersey, it was easy and cheap to jump across the big pond for long weekends which I did at least twice a year. I’d vacation in France whenever I could and eventually started bringing family and friends to share my love for this country. Over the years, I made close to 50 trips. It was in my blood and I was in love with all things French. 

Yesterday I finished Julia Child’s autobiography entitled My Life in France, co-authored with her great-nephew, Alex Prud’homme. From start to finish I was enraptured. Like me, Julia Child was a die-hard Francophile. She found something to love in every aspect of the country. Its magic went to the depths of her soul and she could never get enough of it. In time, she and her husband Paul decided to have their own place and built a small home in Provence, just north of Cannes near Grasse. It was their refuge and they came to refresh and regroup as a break from their busy professional lives. 

Along the way, of course, Julia Child established herself as a leading culinary educator. Her books are iconic. Her television series in association with WGBH in Boston are legend. Upon completing the book yesterday, on what would have been her 111^th birthday, I was sad. I was sad because she is someone I would have loved to know but will never have that opportunity. Like me, she was driven to learn. She had a wicked sense of humor and didn’t put up with much. She knew what she wanted and she went for it. Her husband was a willing ally and they had a marvelous, fun-filled life together. Hers was a life well-lived experiencing the depths of France as few rarely do. I know we would have gotten along; we had much in common. I love humor and can imagine tongue-in-cheek bantering with her.

Most people visiting France come only to Paris because it is all they know. What’s not to love about Paris? It is truly one of the most beautiful cities in the world where culture and cuisine marry with history and tradition.

I spent years getting to know Paris but was finally motivated to stretch the limits, get out of my safety zone and explore other regions. It is France’s most famous city, but there is so much more to explore in La France Profonde.

The term La France Profonde implies the heart and soul of France which exist outside of Paris, deep in the heart of the country wherever that may be.

Paris is Mecca for many. Young people throughout France get their degrees and/or professional training then look for career opportunity and excitement in Paris if not abroad. To land a job and have a life in Paris is considered great success. Then there are others, more complacent, who choose the idyllic life of paysans (peasants). So too for us who retire….

At different times in life, one has different needs. The young often enjoy and need the energy of the big city. I understand that and loved the 15 years I lived in metropolitan New York City. I especially enjoyed the latter five years in Jersey City where views from the 34^th floor of the high-rise apartment building in which I lived included New York Harbor, the Statue of Liberty, Battery Park and downtown Manhattan – only 2 minutes away by train to the World Trade Center. It was fun. It was exhilarating. After 15 years, it was enough.

I moved to Atlanta for five more years to aid my youngest sister and had the experience of another booming American city. I grew up in and around Detroit, experienced Baltimore for a short time, and spent two years living in Seattle. All good. But it was the experience of rural and small-town living in Kalamazoo, Michigan (10 years) and western New Jersey in Hunterdon County (10 years) where, in the latter, I lived amidst wildlife on five wooded acres developing a taste for a less hectic life, one surrounded by peace, quiet and nature. 

In July 1986, less than six months from completing an MBA along with two friends, I did a circle tour of Paris to see the great cathedrals. From Paris we rented a car and explored Amiens, Rouen, Reims, Metz, Strasbourg, Bourges, Dijon and Chartres. We also made a stop at the grave of my Uncle Tom who had been in the 101^st Airborne and captured during the Battle of the Bulge in Bastogne, Belgium. He died in a German POW camp and was interred at the American cemetery in St. Avold, not far from Sauerbrucken on the German border. 

In 2000 I explored the Loire Valley with my family as reported before. It was a three-week adventure for 14 of us: Paris, the Loire, Dordogne ending up in Bordeaux. We were there to celebrate my mother’s 75^th  birthday, the 50^th birthday of my sister-in-law and myself, and the 16^th birthday of my niece. It couldn’t have been more fun.

With that trip as a template, I led two other groups of friends to the Loire Valley. In 2003, I visited Lyon attending the Bocuse d’Or competition as well as touring the associated market as I contemplated an import business to resell select French items. 

In addition to numerous visits to Paris, my work took me to Nice and Monte Carlo. Other trips included house-hunting ventures that took me all over western, central and southwest France. 

Over the course of roughly 15 years, I explored France to determine where I wanted to live and what it was I wanted in a house. I used a spreadsheet to refine my criteria so that when the time came, I knew exactly what I wanted (ideally 3 bedrooms minimum, each with private bath), light (vs. dark rooms), privacy, good weather, a gas stove, and a good working kitchen.  

As far as regions are concerned, I was drawn to the west and the southwest. The north and east were too cold with harsh winters, rain and depressing darkness. I couldn’t imagine a retirement without sunshine. I wanted a milder climate away from the cold and snow. But I also wanted tranquility (i.e., no crowds) so that ruled out the Côte d’Azur and Provence.

Exploring the country outside of Paris was exciting simply because I was contemplating where I might one day settle.

I have friends who live in the Gers, southwest of Toulouse. I found a home there 15 years ago in a small village called Mont d’Astarac. Had I moved faster, I would have moved to France much sooner. But someone put in a successful bid before I did, so I lost it.

It would have been a nice life in Mont d’Astarac with its views of the Pyrénées topped by a 15^th century toll tower at the edge of the property and a small church of the same vintage across the road.

The house was a maison de maître and would have required full restoration, but the price was right and I had a vision of what could be. In particular I was drawn to the dining room with its grand and fully functional fireplace and tall windows looking towards the mountains. In the end, it would have been quite a different house though still with three bedrooms. Given my love for food and entertaining over dinner, it would have worked beautifully. 

The next house was in the center of France in Ars, not far from Aubusson in the Creuse department. This region is less popular due to its elevation, colder winters and lack of great industry other than farming. Yet it is equally beautiful and similar to where I now live with rolling hills. That house was more than I needed with five bedrooms, but I envisioned a chambre d’hote at that time (France’s version of a B&B with breakfast and dinner upon request). It had outbuildings that could be developed into gites, a swimming pool, a greenhouse, fruit trees, etc. It even came with a tractor. The kitchen had two stoves, one wood-burning. It was all stone, typical for the region as this is from where the stonemasons who built the great cathedrals had come. I found this house in 2008 but with the downturn in the stock market and its impact on sales of homes (particularly in New Jersey), it wasn’t time. It took nearly two years to sell my house. Still, it was fun exploring La France Profonde.

It took 10 more years for my dream to manifest itself distracted by family and business issues. But the time finally came and I serendipitously found my home via Facebook’s Properties for Sale in France. It all came together pretty quickly. Within less than five months I was a homeowner in France. With the long-term visa in hand, I made the move and the rest is history.

Upon arrival it was fun discovering all that surrounded me. I was (and remain) captivated by the history of the country and the region. In my village there is evidence of prehistoric inhabitants. The Romans settled here as well and the foundations of two villas remain. The Cathars, considered heretics by the Roman Catholic Church because they didn’t think priests, churches or its hierarchy were essential, were plentiful. In fact my village was one of their strongholds. Their demise is the story of the Inquisition. Then there was the War of Religions between Protestants and Catholics and the Black Prince. 

More recently there are stories about the French Resistance working to remove the Nazis. There were no battles in the south during World War II, but the acts of sabotage were everywhere attacking trains and munitions. Being less than 80 years ago, we are not that far removed from this sad era. 

France is many places and many things. I have often said that there is no part of France that is unattractive; every region has its own beauty. Where I live in the western Languedoc there are occasional strong winds, mild winters, and hot summers. The rolling hills, the foothills of the Pyrénées, with their fields of sunflowers, colza (in the family of canola oil), soy and wheat, reflect the aridity and lack the lushness of central France in places like the Loire Valley, the Dordogne, or the Perigord. But it has its own special beauty that makes it unique – especially with the views of the mountains a mere 60 miles away and the Montagne Noire behind us, the southwest corner of France’s Massif Central.

When one travels outside of Paris, a different topography and unique beauty abounds depending upon direction. Adding to the physical beauty are the remnants of the past: castles and manor houses, charming villages some of which are designated as Les Plus Beaux Villages – The Most Beautiful Villages. Others are designated as Villages fleuris (flower villages) adorned with trained rose vines, geraniums planters on bridges or balconies, and other colorful specimens. Nearby Camon is an example.

Many villages look rustic and worn-down; most buildings and homes need paint. The majority of these homes date back 200-500 years and therefore take on a certain patina. Their stucco requires constant maintenance. They often look tired. Yet, walk inside these homes and one can be amazed. No two are alike. The decor may be wild and erratic or elegant beyond belief. External appearances can be deceiving.

I recently had the pleasure of dinner at the home of a couple from Paris I met in June. About 18 months ago they purchased an old château dating back to the 15^th century in a neighboring village. It hadn’t been lived in for 100 years aside from the Nazis who occupied it for three years during World War II. They are in the process of what they expect to be a 5-year renovation. 

One half of the château has been restored to provide them with a new kitchen, dining area, a small sitting room and a bedroom with bath – all with ceilings 4 meters (about 10 ft.) high. 

The huge main salon which is beyond the central entrance has a ceiling of double that. With its gorgeous configured plaster painted white and Wedgewood blue, adorned with classical Greek and Roman sculptures perched on the side walls, it makes for a very elegant space. I would guess the dimensions of the room are roughly 40 feet deep and 30 feet wide. They aren’t clear yet how to use this room so I suggested a huge oriental carpet in light blue matching the Wedgewood color, along with a grand piano, some candelabra, maybe a few chairs or sofas. Who knows? Inspiration will come. Regardless, it will be a showcase once done.

I had met the couple at a dinner party and they invited me to another dinner at their home. They also invited a former Shakespearean theater actor from England, and a celebrated radio journalist who works in Paris three days a week and broadcasts from home nearby Thursdays and Fridays. Her husband also joined us. He was a correspondent in Washington DC for a French television channel and he continues to work as a journalist. It made for very interesting conversation. You never know who you are going to meet.  

I have a neighbor up the street who has a house that is an amalgam of two. As a result, its floor plan is erratic as walls have been broken down to merge the two houses. The rustic kitchen has a working fireplace elevated to waist-level and complements the existing stove when preparing big meals. The dining room is bigger than my house. My neighbor painted its beams with bright colors and gold filigree in the medieval style. Off the dining room is a garden with a potting house. This house of seven bedrooms has many secrets to be discovered – none of which are apparent from the outside. There are surprises everywhere like this all over France.

La France Profonde is more than topography. It is the life that is enacted on a daily basis be it at work, school, or social events. It includes the local marchés (markets) where one can pick up seasonal fruit, vegetables, meats and cheeses, all locally produced. It also includes cultural events that bind a community, bringing villagers out to socialize and be entertained. 

In early June, my village hosted its annual “Bandas” festival with brass bands from all over the country coming to perform and compete. 

Every year on June 21 (because it is the longest day of the year and gets dark later), many communities throughout France celebrate their local musical talent. It is called Fête de la Musique. In my village there were two different groups who staged performances this year. Tables and chairs were set up, drink and food available for purchase. Some villagers participated in folk dancing to traditional tunes. It was a hot night but fun nonetheless. 

I was compelled to go to Montréal’s Fête de la Musique by one of my neighbors who had told me the day prior “On ne se voit pas.” I had to think a minute because the reflexive “se” referring to one’s self can be tricky. Translated it meant “We don’t see each other.” She was right. I hadn’t seen her since being invited to her home for a New Year’s get-together January 3 where I gave her COVID. So, still with some guilt about infecting her, I went.

In late June, another village group sponsored a “ciné-concert” – piano accompaniment to silent films. The pianist was the organist from Église Saint-Eustache in Paris. He was amazing. I expected ragtime, but he played in the style of Ravel reflecting incredible improvisational talent. I had my neighbors and some friends over for drinks and hors d’oeuvres beforehand to fulfill some social obligations and be more, shall we say, “visible”? 

Early in July I went to the Festival de Carcassonne to see the Ballet Béjart de Lausanne (Switzerland) in the Jean Deschamps amphitheater within the walls of the medieval La Cité in Carcassonne. If you haven’t seen their sensual rendition of Ravel’s Bolero, it is well worth watching.

Late July we had our biannual international dance festival, the first since 2019 due to the pandemic. I enjoyed the last one so much and was really looking forward to it. The highlight of the entire weekend was the semi-professional troupe from Drummondville, Quebec. Their choreography didn’t go unnoticed. 

Last week we had our annual organ festival in the church. I again invited my neighbors for aperos (drinks & hors d’oeuvres) beforehand. When I knocked on her door to extend an invitation, my neighbor Anne Marie gave me a bag of 70 plums she had just picked from her garden. I didn’t have time to use them that day, but two days later I made two tartes: one for her and one for me. I took it over (still warm). In appreciation, she gave me a jar of plum jam she had just made (still warm) plus a large jar of plums in eau de vie (alcohol). This kind of sharing amongst neighbors and friends is common. Whenever one hosts an apero, you can count on gifts of food and wine. Everyone loves to contribute. It is indicative of life in La France Profonde.

These are the things that bring us together.

Community is important in France and residents are expected to contribute to community life in some fashion. Is this possible in Paris? Sure, but it is different when you live in a small village. Participation builds familiarity and bonds are strengthened. It’s a part of being French.

I love it because while I enjoy the tranquility and solitude I have built into my home and life, we all need people at some point. These activities provide many opportunities to get out and mingle.  

In late June, the headlines told the sad story of a 17 year-old boy killed by police outside of Paris. There are two sides to every story and what hasn’t been played up is that this boy was well-known to police. This doesn’t justify his killing. The reaction was violence in the streets for over a week.

Where I live is safe, being rural. There was some riot activity in Toulouse an hour away, but the manifestations were mostly in the north of France and Marseilles. The riots speak to another side of La France Profonde where, despite remoteness from the wheels that churn in Paris, the people have a voice and are not afraid to raise it. They were empowered by the French Revolution and that mentality persists even today. This is the voice of La France Profonde reminding bureaucrats in Paris that they must answer to all citizens.

A recent New York Times article pointed to a problem sadly prevalent in the US: police brutality. I’ve never considered France racist, at least not in the sense of prejudice against Black people. But racism does exist, largely directed towards the Muslim community and particularly those from North Africa – especially those from Algeria. The French police have similarly been cited as overly aggressive. No place is perfect and there is work to be done. My fear is that France is moving too far to the right. In fact the radio journalist said that if there was to be an election today, Marine Le Pen would win. God help us on both sides of the Atlantic.  

La France Profonde is many things. It is the sheer physical beauty of the entire country outside of Paris. It is the heart and soul of daily living in whatever form that takes, the farming, the work, the pleasure drives. It is community engaging with friends and neighbors. It is neighbors sharing the bounty from their gardens. It is the voice of all France making its demands. It sings to the tunes of the past, reminding us of the cycle of life over the centuries. It is the soul of France showing its best.  

It’s been six months since I last blogged and I apologize. I have never put myself on a schedule and have written as I am so moved. I came across this quote this week and it helps to explain that life just got in the way.

It’s not nothing…but creative writing does not allow for distraction.

December was off to a busy start with the visit of a friend from Atlanta. It was his first trip to Europe and his excitement was great. I invited him to begin his trip in the south, flying first to Toulouse. Then after a brief visit here, we would take the train together to Paris where I would give him my 5-penny tour. I hadn’t been to Paris in a while so I was up for it.

His flight was delayed so his evening arrival prevented us from seeing Toulouse. The reality became a tour the next day of Carcassonne’s La Cité (the medieval city of Carcassonne). It is visually impressive, so it made for a great start. 

The day flew by so there wasn’t a lot of time to visit vineyards as I had hoped. But we did make a stop at one favorite, Château Auzias and nearby Pennautier whose mansion has been called “The Versailles of the South.”

The next day we took a TGV train to Paris arriving into the Gare de Lyon famous for its restaurant, Le Train Bleu. I had read about it but never had the chance to visit. So I took my friend for a drink. It was fun and a nice way to toast his first visit to Paris. 

We made our way to the hotel in the Marais and spent the next few days touring. I put him on a tour bus so he could have an overview. I made sure he saw La Conciergerie and Sainte-Chapelle followed by a delicious dinner in Place Dauphine at one of my favorite restaurants. Our last evening we went to Montmartre for dinner to see the view, Sacre Coeur and Place du Tertre with dinner at La Mère Catherine – another favorite. 

While he was on the tour bus, I took the opportunity to visit several places that I’ve never had the opportunity to see. It’s pretty astounding when I think about it, but I attribute it to priorities as well as not having knowledge of their existence and importance. 

The first stop was the Pantheon which came into recent awareness with the symbolic interment of Josephine Baker (her actual remains will stay in a cemetery in Monaco). In addition, I visited Église Saint-Étienne, the Sorbonne, and the Cluny Museum which I just happened upon. 

The Pantheon is a very impressive building and the former church of Saint Geneviéve, patron saint of Paris. In the late 19^th century it was converted into a mausoleum for highly esteemed French citizens like Voltaire, Marie Curie, Dumas, Victor Hugo, Braille, etc. I’m glad I went.

The Église Saint-Étienne sits behind the Pantheon and is equally impressive with beautiful stained glass and intriguing interior architecture. 

In November 2019 as I was flying to Paris to consummate the sale of my new home, I happened to sit next to a woman who was a professor at the Sorbonne. It raised my awareness and she offered to give me a tour. Sadly, we never met for that tour and she has since moved to New York City. As it is in the same neighborhood as the Pantheon, I stopped to see its interior courtyard. Closed to the public, I talked my way in and relished the historic intellectual energy its imposing walls contain. 

Leaving the Sorbonne, I happened upon the Musée de Cluny. The museum actually incorporates two historic structures: the ancient Roman baths and the Paris mansion of the Abbey of Cluny creating a museum of the Middle Ages. I didn’t have time to go in but it’s on my list to see on a future visit. 

Being the Christmas season, I wanted to the see the display in the rotunda of the Galeries Lafayette. It was worth it. 

I departed Paris Sunday morning to return in time for my classes Monday. My friend stayed another day and made the most of it, now having some familiarity and confidence to get around on his own. 

Christmas was spent with friends here in Montréal. They are a mixed American/Norwegian & British couple with four sons, all pursuing their careers in different ways between London, Berlin and Brussels. I always enjoy their company. 

As I had no plans, they took me to dinner for my birthday which falls between Christmas and New Year’s. We have recently discovered a gastronomic restaurant: Chez David in Castelnaudary, less than a half-hour’s drive north and infamous as the home of the cassoulet. The chef is talented and, with 12 people at the table including assorted girlfriends and houseguests, it made for a great celebration.

New Year’s Eve I went to a delightful party of mixed French and anglos and contracted COVID – my first bout and hopefully my last. 

Since then I have probably sat down four or five times to start a blog post only to be interrupted by something in terms of household maintenance, my classes, or visitors. Now that COVID seems to be behind us, everyone wants to come to France.  It’s all good, but it does take up time and energy.

My classes keep me busy. I have three French classes and had some beginners join us in January so that meant laying the foundation for understanding the language while, at the same time, try to move those already in the group forward. It was challenging.

Up until recently, I never really appreciated the term “The Golden Years.” I simply pictured a couple of smiling, well-groomed senior citizens playing golf and living a life of leisure. I didn’t have a gut feel for the sentiment being conveyed. But these last few months have been reflective. For me, it is having the time and luxury to do as I wish without the constraints of work and serious responsibility while having good health and stability. These years are a gift. Retirement doesn’t necessarily mean slowing down and I am proof. 

Life has always been an adventure and I’ve always sought new opportunities to experience it: Carpe diem! I suppose that explains why I have pursued the study of so many different things. I like to learn and grow. Reading is another passion. 

I am an avid reader on many topics. Fortunately my anglo friends here are good about sharing their books so we keep one another stimulated with the latest or classics that are worth the time. At the same time I’ve been comfortable enough with my language skills to pick up books in French. Here are a few.

The first is entitled Quand Vous Serez en France (When You Are in France) written by the British government for their soliders coming to France during World War II. It details French perceptions of the war, the Germans and Allied involvement as well as cultural mores and faux pas to avoid. It was translated into French for the French people as it is a curious assessment of themselves and their culture and I suspect curious enough that they wanted to know what the Brits thought of them. It’s well done and inspirational – I suppose its ulterior intent for the solders. 

The other is Les Cathares 700 Ans Plus Tard, L’Ésotérisme Cathare et son Message Pour Aujourd’hui (The Cathars 700 Years Later, Cathar Esotericism and Its Message For Today). The Cathars were an interesting lot, considered heretics largely because they didn’t feel a need for priests, churches or the hierarchy of the Roman Catholic Church. St. Dominic’s futile attempt to negotiate with them in my village of Montréal in 1207 on behalf of Pope Innocent III led to the Inquisition in which they were eventually eradicated. The introduction to this book is interesting because it states they may have been on to something. 

Another book I picked up on this topic is Catharisme et Chrétienté (Catharism and Christianity) which I am looking forward to reading to get another perspective.

Perhaps the most controversial of the lot is Et si tout n’était que mensonge? (What If It’s All A Lie?). In the late 19^th century, a priest in the village of Rennes-le-Château, 32 km south of my village, came into untold and unexplained wealth. There has been much speculation as to its origins, the most plausible being either discovery of buried jewels from a deceased aristocrat or discovery of the treasures of the Knights Templar which have never been found. 

Related to this village and even more fascinating is the story of The Three Marys landing by boat in France following the crucifixion of Jesus Christ. An even bolder allegation is that Christ himself didn’t die on the cross, but was sedated by Egyptian physicians, whisked out of Israel on this same boat with the three Marys, then settling in Rennes-le-Château. As one archaeologist wrote, we’ll never know the truth unless Jesus wrote, likely in seclusion because of the strong Roman presence here at the time, and his writings are one day discovered in a cave…. Wild stuff, but intriguing nonetheless. 

This latter book attempts to sift through available information to draw conclusions. It is likely more fantasy than anything else, but I am sure it will be an interesting read. 

My stack of books to read is very tall…. My source for books in English has been Bookdepository.com which shipped for free from England to France. But it was acquired by Amazon and shut down in April. I had a wish list of some 13 books so decided to order them all before it became impossible. Add to that other accumulated books languishing for a read, I have 22 books in my stack. 

My current focus of attention is on Charles Dickens David Copperfield because of the new Pulitzer Prize winner Demon Copperhead which is a retake on the story based in West Virginia. Not ever having read David Copperfield, I decided to pick them both up and am starting with Dickens’ story first. I am enjoying it, but struck by the formality of that age. 

I love to read. And that includes the news, analyses, history, and anything to do with France. One of the blogs I follow is Southern Fried French by Lynn McBride. Originally from Charleston, South Carolina, Lynn and her husband have lived in Burgundy, France for over 20 years. I am leading a group of friends on a tour of Burgundy late September and early October and hope to meet her. Her blog of May 18, 2023 was entitled Should You, Could You, Move to France?

Lynn asked for readers’ thoughts on the topic so I offered mine. Being the first to comment, I spelled it out – both the good and the bad. Not that there’s anything really bad about moving to France. It’s all good. It’s just missing family and friends that is the one thing I find the most difficult. 

It’s a hot topic. Last November, I saw this post quoting Bloomberg on the Facebook page of the group Americans Living in France.

Then this week a friend sent me this article written by a Nigerian woman who moved from New York City to Paris in 2011. Her summary of the French perspective is probably one of the best things I’ve ever read on the topic of joie de vivre. It’s worth a read.

As this author notes, life is very good in France. I’ve come to the conclusion that one should have their career in the US to generate the funds, then move for retirement to France for the quality of life IF you can handle the distance from your loved ones. 

I was just back in Atlanta three weeks ago to marry my niece. It was a quick trip – just four days there. Every time I return I feel the letdown, immediately missing the family and friends I have just visited. The last few visits have been tempered by the realization that I love where I live and I love the life I have created here.

It was five years ago this month that I decided to buy my house. I am adjusting. I am making friends but also realize I need to get out more to socialize. Staying home despite the variety of stimulating intellectual pursuits is not always a good thing.

My desk is positioned at the rear window overlooking my terrasse, the rolling hills and the Pyrénées Mountains about 60 miles away. The view is soothing and nurtures my inner being. I have said often my village is perfect for retirement. Life is simple here. It’s quiet. Natural beauty abounds and my French neighbors have been not only welcoming, but warm and supportive. These are my golden years and I intend to make the most of them. 

Fall is my favorite season. This year it was especially welcomed as we kissed summer and its record-breaking heat goodbye. 

September brought unusual humidity so despite my efforts to contain energy usage (given the war in Ukraine and the French government’s request for all residents to cut back in preparation for a cold winter), I was forced on a few days to turn on the air conditioning. Some days were just too intolerable.

Last week I went for the walk I love so much in the vineyards just outside the village. A storm was expected and the clouds were beautiful. Fortunately the storm didn’t materialize here. But I enjoyed the distant drama.

This week has been pleasant. Yesterday we had sunshine and temperatures in the low 70s (around 21 C). I opened the windows and smelled the fresh fragrance of my laundry drying in the sun. (Have I ever told you about how wonderfully aromatic French laundry detergents can be?)

I’m pretty much caught up on my “To Do” list and so was enjoying a relaxed day before I had my online French class later in the afternoon. Between the weather, the views and an overall sense of satisfaction, I was reminded of how good life is here in retirement. 

It was four years this week that I purchased my home.  Following the signing, I spent a few delightful weeks settling in, then headed back to the US to finish what had to be done in preparation for the move. I arrived in February 2019 and the rest is history.

Living in France has some downsides, especially if one is new and wanting to experience it all. The biggest for me is the food. It’s wonderful. It’s adventurous. And there’s lots to sample at nearly every turn. But it’s easy to overdo. One problem switching countries, however, is that there are products one is used to using on a daily basis that may be hard to find or you just can’t get. 

It’s been four years and we are all seeing inflation, but my impression is that for the most part, food costs are pretty comparable. An exception would be seasonally imported items like cranberries. The cranberries I purchased last week are 3.50 euros for 200 grams. Compared to the US, I know these are very expensive.

One of the things I miss is corned beef. It just doesn’t exist (as far as I can tell) though I recently found six slices of pastrami at the local épicerie for 4 euros. It was good, but not as flavorful and very thin.

What we don’t lack for, as you can imagine, is cheese. Former President Charles de Gaulle has been quoted as saying “How can you rule a country that has a different cheese for every day of the year?” Here are two photos of the cheese department at one of the local supermarchés. And as if it wasn’t big enough, there are three more aisles completely dedicated to other packaged cheeses.

And, no surprise, there is an abundance of paté.

While Facebook has its issues, there are several groups that have been very helpful in making the move and settling in. Once here, these groups have continued to be great resources of information and experience. As David Lebovitz reported, there are some uniquenesses and we have to learn the alternatives. One of the Facebook groups that has been particularly helpful is called Cooking in France and a great “go-to” when I’m trying to figure out where to find an ingredient or its substitute, a cut of meat, etc. 

Examples of items hard-to-find, if not impossible, include peanut butter, aluminum-free baking powder, corn syrup, mango chutney, corn bread mix, mini-marshmallows, dried onion flakes, pepperoni, and other seasonings. 

When I return to the US, my shopping list includes a variety of things that may not be available or their prices here are significantly higher. These include pine nuts, black peppercorns, stevia, pecans, chocolate chips, raisins, bacon crumbles, smoked almonds, graham crackers, maraschino cherries and even baking soda (not that it isn’t available, but for cooking purposes, it comes in small quantities and is far more expensive).

Costco France (with two locations now near Paris, not convenient but a stopover when I drive up) offers some of their branded items like aluminum foil, plastic wrap and spices. So I pick up these items at least once a year – especially crunchy peanut butter! It’s pricey at 9.99 euros for the large, 40 oz. jar, but I consider it a small indulgence and a real treat. Besides loving the crunch, I find it is particularly useful on a low-carb diet to energize first thing in the morning.

As a mecca for the art of baking, the everyday shopper in France has the option of several types of flour depending upon the need. It has been interesting to learn about them. David Lebovitz covers that topic in the blog post referenced earlier. 

Not long after moving to France, I discovered a boulangerie supply house in Carcassonne, just 12 km away called FOBOPA, an abbreviation for Fournitures Boulangeries Patisseries. They not only serve the trade, but are open to the public and make available a whole array of equipment and supplies including chocolate, a powder to make creme patissière, tart pans, cake rings, paper baking containers, etc. It has been a real goldmine. 

I’ve come to find some pretty good French substitutes for things like chicken bouillon. There was an American product I loved called Better than Bouillon. It was a flavorful paste and came in a large jar that was perfect when called for. It isn’t available here and heavy to transport so I’m happy to say I’ve found an excellent substitute. It’s called Fond du Volaille. In fact, the manufacturer has a variety of similar products with flavors including beef, chicken, pot au feu, veal, etc.  Coming in a powder, they not only flavor, but thicken. Another flavor gives a roasted chicken taste. I’ve not tried it but will have to soon. 

I’ve also discovered KUB seasoning which provides a vegetable base for almost any recipe. Sometimes I’ll take a cube of that or a tablespoon of the Fond du Volaille and make a broth. Both are tasty on a cold day.

Another challenge can be finding things in the store. They aren’t always where you might expect them. For example, in the US I was accustomed to finding all things related to baking in one aisle. Not here. The seasonings are separated from the salts. Flour, baking powder and baking soda are usually elsewhere. Add-ons like chocolate chips and reasons could be anywhere.

One delight has been to discover the butter from Bretagne and Normandy. I have become a huge fan of the demi-sel (half-salt) for everything but baking for which I use the doux (sweet) formulation. They’re not inexpensive at around 5 euros for 500 grams (about a pound). But It’s worth it. I don’t remember who said it, but I agree that “You can never have enough butter.” It adds not only rich flavor to gravies, sauces and plain vegetables, but also acts as a thickening agent. When I cook, I am generous with the butter and always have back-ups in the freezer in case I run out. On my low-carb diet it has absolutely no impact on my cholesterol.

Another adjustment for an American is the flavor of steaks. The entrecôte steaks I have ordered in restaurants just don’t have the richness of flavor we seem to have in the US. There are several explanations. One is the soil that affects the grain that then affects those who eat the grain: beef cattle. This also has an effect on the taste of dairy byproducts: e.g., butter and cheeses. You win some, you lose some.

Another reason for the different taste is aging of the meat. Beef in the US is hung to obtain flavor. Not so in France where the meat is far fresher. I don’t know why there is this difference in approach, but the French seem to be happy with what they have. I commented on this just last week and was told that the French don’t necessarily like American steaks when they travel to the US for the same reason. I had friends visiting from Paris a couple of years ago and we barbequed côtes de boeuf obtained from a reputable butcher in our neighboring village of Bram. These steaks were the closest I’ve had to the flavor of American steaks. They were awesome! I need to do more exploring, but restaurant steaks are usually disappointing.

Food aside, it has been fun discovering alternatives to products like Soft Scrub. I found that in one called Cif. It’s virtually the same thing and does the trick. 

In the US we have Mr. Clean. The French word for something that is clean is propre. So here, the product with the same image is called Mr. Propre. Amusing!

Non-food items I like to purchase in the US also include things like Ziploc bags because they are much sturdier, turkey roasting bags, duct tape (horrendously expensive by comparison), vitamins, and some personal care products like facial scrub. 

Over-the-counter products for personal health tend to be much more expensive in France. Because pharmaceutical products and their prices are highly regulated, I assume it is the manufacturer’s way of making profit since on the prescribed products, they cannot. So it is products like these that, after price comparisons, I opt to buy when I can in the US. An example is hydrogen peroxide. The supermarket in Atlanta offered 16 oz. for $0.97. Here, a small 250 ml bottle (half the amount and called Eau Oxygénée) costs around 3 euros. With the euro and dollar nearly being at parity at the moment, it is roughly three times the price in France. Another example is witch hazel. A small bottle here cost 16 euros at the local pharmacy!

Another staple that might call for adjustment is toilet paper. If you’ve experienced France, you know it is of different quality in looser and smaller packages and rolls just don’t last as long. Fortunately Costco imports their branded paper and it’s worth picking up when visiting Costco Paris. I have an agreement with my friends Gayle & Bernard as they too are Costco fans. Whenever one of us goes to Costo, we pick up TP for both of us. Fortunately they are in Paris with some frequency for their research, so we manage. This past summer they had some research in Spain so made a stop at the Bilbao Costco which is only four hours away (vs. seven hours to Paris). So we all benefited. 

Aside from scarcity of familiar products, another downside for someone moving to France is the desire and temptation to try everything. As I have a sweet tooth and love baking, sampling was initially an imperative. And with that came weight gain to the highest level I have ever attained. The good news is that I have been diligent in dieting for the past year and have lost 17 kg (37 lbs). I’m at a weight I’ve not seen in probably 40 years. It feels good. Having reached my goal, I can now occasionally have something I wouldn’t ordinarily eat. Last night, for example, stimulated by an Italian movie whose central theme was food, I made fettucini carbonara with garlic, parmesan and olive oil. It was blissful. And surprisingly, it didn’t seem to affect my weight as I made it to the scale this morning. Yay!!

We are also fortunate to have an abundance of fresh fruits and vegetables. Rosemary grows on the main thoroughfare of my village. If I need some, I just go pick it. A bay tree is around the corner. Similarly, I just grab a few leaves when I need them.

My neighbor has a fig tree that hangs over my deck. She has invited me to help myself. I used some recently for an appetizer stuffing fresh figs with goat cheese and a splash of honey. I’ve frozen more figs to make a tart in the future. I freeze a lot of things when I don’t have an occasion to use them and definitely can’t make these kinds of things for myself or else I’d be back to the diet in a big hurry.

I have two small kumquat trees that have done exceptionally well this year. They must have loved the heat. Their flowers are amazing with rich perfumes that are noticeable just walking past them. Soon I’ll have some fresh kumquats that will end up in something. Two years ago I made marmalade. But I’ll stick them in the freezer until I need to make a dessert. Maybe they’ll end up in a tart. I have an amazing tangerine tart recipe for which I think they’d be a fine substitute.

We also have lots of almond trees in the region and one can pick fresh almonds roadside if so inclined. I’ve picked a few on my hikes for the fun of it, but otherwise just buy them locally and in bulk at Costco.

Over the years I have accumulated a vast library of recipes. As soon as computers became available, I began to digitalize my collection. Still, I have a number of cookbooks that I cherish mostly for inspiration as well as souvenirs of some great meals under great chefs. There are also method books which serve as texts from both the Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park, NY and the French Culinary Institute in New York City which is sadly no longer. I took courses at both institutions and these books have been useful in many ways. Jacques Pepin was one of the founders of the French Culinary Institute and I had the pleasure of meeting him at a fundraiser in Manhattan. An autographed copy of his book, New Complete Techniques was given to me as a gift. A great memory. 

Another souvenir book is from 1884, one of the hallmark restaurants of Chef Francis Mallman in Mendoza, Argentina. On my first trip there, I arrived at 8 PM (early by Argentinan standards). The only other diners at that point included a small group of Norwegians. My waiter told me Chef Mallman happened to be there that night so I asked him if he could tell the Chef I’d like to meet him. Since it was early, he wasn’t busy so I invited him to order a bottle of wine he thought suitable for the dinner I had ordered and share it with me. We talked for over an hour. It was thrilling. 

I went back to Mendoza with my godson after he graduated from law school. He bought me an autographed copy of Mallman’s Seven Fires – Grilling the Argentine Way. Another memory I treasure.

I am a fan of David Lebovitz and had the chance to meet him at a book-signing at Barnes & Noble on Park Avenue in NYC when I was still living in Jersey City. There I picked up his new book Ready for Dessert – My Best Recipes which he graciously signed for me. David lives in Paris with his partner and has a delightful blog to which, if you’re a foodie, you might want to subscribe. 

The last of my autographed “souvenir” books is Home Cooking with Jean George. I had one of the best meals of my life at his Columbus Circle restaurant in NYC with two students from the University of Michigan whom I had met at a Michigan alumni event in Manhattan. We became friends and, falling in love with NYC, they returned often staying in my apartment. The 18-course tasting menu was their thanks though I picked up the cost of the wine pairings (equal to the cost of the meal – it was that expensive). Jean George also graced our table and we were delighted to meet him. Unforgettable. 

Who could call themself a chef if they didn’t have something from Julia Child? I have her bible Mastering the Art of French Cooking as well as a later book My Life in France. I also have the English translation of what is considered the homemaker’s bible of French cooking by Ginette Mathiot entitled I Know How To Cook. 

My first ever French cookbook was published in 1959 by Joseph Donon: The Classic French Cuisine. I learned how to make profiteroles from this book over 40 years ago. 

The second French cookbook I purchased was Patricia Wells’ At Home in Provence. If you aren’t familiar with her, look her up. She is an American who made her way to France years ago. This particular cookbook has helped me make preserved lemons but also gave me the best tart recipe I’ve ever had: Apricot Honey-Almond Tart. Its crust is amazing and the rest is unbelievable. It gets raves whenever I make it though I often substitute canned peaches so I can make it year-round. One of the significant parts of this recipe is almond extract in both the crust and the cream that is poured over the fruit. It provides a very rich flavor such that I double the recommended amount and am never disappointed. 

I have two cookbooks from City Tavern in Philadelphia which provides a great dining experience taking one back to Revolutionary times. The wait staff are dressed in colonial attire and the menu authentic to the era. The City Tavern Cookbook has two outstanding recipes that I’ve used often: Thomas Jefferson’s Sweet Potato Biscuits and Chicken Madeira. 

The second book is the City Tavern Baking & Dessert cookbook but I haven’t dug into it yet. 

The Guardian did a story on cookbooks. Do people really use them or do they hang on to them for the sheer pleasure of their company? For me, it’s both. But I’m reminded even as I write that I need to revisit these books as they are culinary adventures and there is much yet to be learned and enjoyed. I’ll add that to my list of things to do…. 

Next week I’m cooking Thanksgiving dinner for several French neighbors and my friends Gayle and Bernard. I’ve ordered the turkeys. The cranberries are in the freezer. I picked up some Jiffy Cornbread mix on my last visit to the US so will forego Thomas Jefferson’s Sweet Potato Biscuits this year. But I will cook the City Tavern’s recipe for turnips, parsnips and mashed potatoes, combined in equal amounts and flavored with chicken broth, onion, cream, nutmeg and, of course, some good French butter. 

As an appetizer I’m serving shrimp briefly baked over butter and lemon slices and seasoned with a Cajun mixture that we’ll have with the local champagne, blanquette. There will be my mother’s famed recipes for creamed carrots and stuffing made with pork and hamburger which she learned from my paternal French-Canadian grandmother as well as parboiled green beans with butter and slivered almonds. I’ll also make another Michigan favorite: sweet potatoes with pineapple slices, cinnamon and walnuts finished with mini-marshmallows.

Gayle will make a pumpkin pie and I’ll make a pecan pie flavored with bourbon. It will be a first-time event for my French neighbors experiencing an American Thanksgiving. It was promised two years ago, but COVID changed our plans. 

We’re fortunate to have just outside my village the Domaine Le Fort whose 2020 Cuvée Blanche was named #1 chardonnay in the world this past March. Their 2019 Domaine Le Fort Rouge aged in oak barrels has been included in the 2023 Hachette Guide. As the 2020 Cuvée Blanche is long gone given small production, we’ll have the 2021 vintage instead.

Happy Thanksgiving, bonne cuisine et bon appétit!

This is supposed to be a blog about living in France. But I would be remiss if I didn’t honor my mother with a few words for it is she who was the reason for my love affair with this beautiful country. She died September 19 at the age of 97. 

My mother, Catherine, was born in Windsor, Ontario in August, 1925. She was adopted but we learned two years ago through DNA analysis that her adoptive father was in fact her natural father. When I told her this, she said “I always knew it.” And she did. His love for her was unquestioned and they were very close. 

My mother lost her father from bladder cancer when she was 11 years old. He was 47. The wound was always there and she missed him her entire life.

They had immigrated from Canada to Detroit when she was eight years old. Her first language was French because that is what her maternal grandparents spoke. But she lost her fluency once she came to the US. 

I remember 1990 when I took my parents to Europe to visit my dad’s brother’s grave in the American Cemetery in St. Avold, France. On the way from Charles De Gaulle Airport to our hotel in Paris, I told the taxi driver about my mother being French Canadian and this, France, was our heritage. She said she understood the conversation, but she wouldn’t speak.

My mother’s family came from Pain Court and Chatham, Ontario 60 miles north of Windsor. French is the principal language to this day in the schools of Pain Court. Few are aware of the French communities extant in southwestern Ontario for several centuries. 

People often ask me why I became enamored by the French language. I tell them that I would hear my grandmother speaking to my mother in French when I was a little boy. I told myself that I needed to learn this language. I thought it was cool to be able to converse “in code” so to speak. The desire stayed with me so, as soon as it was possible, I began to study French. That happened in my freshman year of high school and continued through college. Fortunately over the years there were trips and work that enabled me to associate with people who spoke French. It wasn’t until 1986, when a trip to France organized around the major cathedrals encircling Paris became a turning point for me. French became real and my ability to communicate was transformed from struggling, to having a certain degree of actual capability. It was exhausting, but it pushed me. I even began leaving the French-English pocket dictionary at home. 

As I reported before, in the year 2000 I brought my family to France using my many frequent flyer miles and hotel points to celebrate my mother‘s 75th birthday, my 50th birthday and that of my sister-in-law as well as the 16th birthday of my niece. We spent three weeks between Paris, the Loire Valley and the Dordogne region ending up in Bordeaux. I told my mother then that maybe for her 80th birthday I would have my own house here. It would take another 18 years before that became a reality.

She married my dad at the age of 22 and subsequently had six children. Their life was not easy as my father dealt with peripheral vascular disease, Berger’s Disease, subsequent bilateral amputations and alcoholism. Yet, my mother was strong and stood by his side. Because of my father, I worked in addiction medicine and I am happy to say that through an intervention, my father had 15 years of sobriety before he died. It changed everything. But it was my mother who held things together.

After my father died in 1998, I paid special attention to my mother trying to fill the role my father had played in terms of special remembrances on her birthday and Christmas. It was my father’s tradition to always buy my mother perfume and dusting powder for Christmas. I continued in his place.

Before my father died, my siblings collectively chipped in to send our parents on trips to Ireland, Hawaii and Alaska for special anniversaries. Later, I did what I could for my mother to ensure she was comfortable and enjoyed every day.

I learned from my mother constantly. She always had a kind word. She was never erratic, unstable, judgmental or condemning. I loved how, rather than telling you that you might be wrong, she would ask “Have you ever thought about this…?” Her approach was instructional and supportive. 

I can recall being in the 7^th grade and the teacher and football coach at our Catholic grade school told my mother I needed to play football. I was 6’2” by the time I was 12, so this coach (and, two years later, another in high school), expected me to be athletic. But football wasn’t for me. I tried, but hated it. His comment was “You will be sorry.” There was hidden meaning, but my mother stood up for me just like she did when I was in the 5^th grade and the teacher told her she wanted to advance me a grade. “He’s read every book in the library and he needs a greater challenge.” My mother said no, telling this teacher that while my intellect may have been ready, socially I was not. Mother knew best. 

Because she was not an American citizen until the age of 21, she was ultimately denied admission to nursing school in Detroit even though she had been previously accepted. The year was 1943 and the US was drawn into World War II. Once the school discovered she was Canadian, they rescinded her place. Her physician in Windsor who had known her all her young life offered her a place in Canada. But if my mother would have left, she would have given up the opportunity to become a US citizen, so she turned it down. I know she would have been a great nurse. She had an innate and nonsensical wisdom. 

My mother was a proud and humble woman, sometimes lacking confidence. Nursing would have built her confidence. I like to think that in time she saw through all of this and realized what she brought to the table.

She gave us the gift of her extended family scattered between Michigan and Ontario. Summers would draw us together around a bonfire on a family farm in Algonac, Michigan singing “Alouette” into the wee hours of the morning. Then there were the excursions to visit her cousin, Violet Cartier, whose very large family of 21 children in Wyoming, Ontario had French as their first language. Their life was difficult, but my parents did all they could to help them. There were great lessons in their compassion.

After her father died, she became especially close to her Uncle Fred, my grandmother’s brother, who took her under his wing and brought her home every weekend to be with his family. She came to know and grew close to these cousins and especially Fred, Pauline and Lois. Fred would become a Trappist monk. Lois, a Dominican nun. I cannot overstate the impact these two in particular would have on our lives, mine especially. They were awesome loving individuals I miss to this day.

My parents moved to Florida in 1974 and I made it a point to visit them every Christmas and my mother’s birthday since. I missed only one Christmas and that was in protest of my father’s alcoholism. Otherwise, I was there.

Every time I saw my mother in recent years, I knew it might be the last. I tried to make every moment count. So I am filled with good memories of happy times. My only regret is that she never had a chance to see my home in France. 

I am also consoled by the fact that she is reunited with my father, her father, my sister and my brother. Having dealt with Alzheimer’s in the last few years, my mother has been gone for a while. She is now at rest and no longer suffering. That gives me peace. 

RIP, Mom. You did what you could and you kept us together. We will always be grateful for your strength and fortitude. You were a shining example throughout your life for us your children, your grandchildren and great grandchildren, your nieces and nephews, and great nieces and nephews who have remembered you as such with kind words about ”Grandma” and “Aunt Catherine.” Your quiet and unassuming dignity and regal bearing were noticed, admirable and characteristic of the fine person you were. 

I am particularly grateful for you having given us our French heritage. It has for me been a lifelong adventure of discovery. Not just the language, but the culture, the cuisine, and the history. While your father’s family emigrated from France in 1660, I tell people here in France that I have made the return: “J’ai fait la retour.” Who knew we would come full circle?