Eeets Chreessmaas

Whilst the UK shivers under a thick blanket of snow, we have been experiencing something a little different here in the Sud-Ouest. I know it is embarrassingly British to talk about the weather, but seeing as it seems to be the sole interest on the news at the moment, I might as well participate in this météo frenzy.  So, having seen first-hand (thanks to Mum and Ellie and a wandering laptop) the uncanny resemblance between Edinburgh and Lapland, it seems almost implausible that yesterday saw 12°C in Sarlat; something made all the more bizarre as the temperature here plunged last weekend to -6°C and even today, much of France has all but ground to a halt à cause du neige. Normally I wouldn’t make a massive deal out of this but I still can’t believe that I was cycling in shorts and a t-shirt and it was December the 8^th. What the...?

Anyway, the weather is weird. Point.

Everyone and everything here is getting increasingly Christmassy. The ‘Marché du Nöel’ is almost ready, the Christmas lights are up and on, and Christmas trees, wreaths and ribbons abound on the Sarladais streets. At school, we have been doing Christmas lessons – drawing ‘les bonhommes du neige’, colouring in cards, doing Christmas word-searches and finishing up by singing ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas’. I definitely learnt the hard way that ‘Jingle Bells’ is too hard to teach to a class of French under-10s (Even I don’t quite know what a ‘one horse open sleigh’ is...!) It is now that I realise that I have hardly mentioned teaching at all, despite it being basically the most important part of my life here! Soz about that. I will definitely rectify that, especially now that I am enjoying teaching so much. En plus, there is so much that happens in the classroom that is unbelievably funny – like little mispronunciations, shared jokes, kids talking back, lessons completely crashing and burning. Will definitely bear that in mind next term.

Actually, on a little teaching note, I just had my first lesson accompanying some little violin débutants for their lesson. Their teacher, a woman called Sophie Read, plays in a group with her husband called Paris-Londres (http://www.paris-londres.com/.) She was born and studied in the UK and America but now definitely passes as French. On parle que le français dans le cours, parce qu’en fait, on est en France! Anyway, I spent an hour that was as fun as it was funny with Sophie, her three pupils, Aurélie, Tom (who is in one of my Temniac classes), and Ludovic (who is in the Ferdinand Buisson Occitan class), as well as our miniature audience, consisting of Ludovic’s mother and younger brother. Sophie teaches by the Suzuki method, i.e. the students don’t begin by reading music but instead they start learning aurally and only start using printed music later on. Essentially, au début, this means learning a simple tune (such as ‘Twinkle Twinkle’) and then learning several ‘variations’ which use the same melody but teach different facets of the violin à la fois. Thus, the lesson, which took place in a little private apartment right next to the Cathedral, consisted of many repetitions of the same melody while the students played in turn. It was so nice to see some of my students do something other than ‘Hello! Howa yoo?’, and also was great to meet Sophie properly. Next lesson is in January, as this time next week I’ll be experiencing a different kind of violin music as Mike plays the Saint-Saëns Introduction and Rondo Capriccioso in the University of Manchester Symphony Orchestra Christmas Concert. Although I absolutely cannot wait to return home - see the concert, go to Cardiff, stay at Celyn's in Wales, see George in Bristol, go to Edinburgh and have Christmas with the clan... - I will be a little sad to leave here, a good feeling, right? 

L’action de grâce en France...

I don’t quite know the best manner in which to express the events of last weekend as I am brutally aware that it runs the risk of becoming a monotonous list of meaningless names, places and superlatives. Similarly, nor do I wish to sound like a sounding like a pre-schooler recounting in meticulous detail ‘ce-que-j’ai-fait-le-weekend-dernier’. It is with this (and a couple of failed attempts at compiling this post) in mind, that I am going to limit myself to a mainly photographic account, and a just a few accompanying paragraphs (I promise).

In case you didn’t already know, the last Thursday of November is Thanksgiving for all our American voisins across the pond. With Yanks in abundance here, we decided on one of the first weeks in France that we would hold some sort of Thanksgiving celebration, for Americans, Brits, French... whosoever happened to be around. The festivities were to take place at Elie du Bois – that little corner of paradise that the extended Schofield-Walker clan are so fortunate to possess.

Although much sleep had been lost at this end worrying about how the hair-oil everyone was going to be able to get to Ribérac (a feat in itself with no train station and a near non-existent bus timetable) and then navigate their way out of the town, through the single lane hamlet of Chez Moreau and up and over the main road to the petit Elie du Bois; everything actually turned out to be remarkably painless. With three cars between all of us, plus two more for extra guests on the night of Thanksgiving, I might even dare say that is was kind of easy. 

So Wednesday saw some frantic pre-party-preparation, including extensive mopping, bed-making and blowing up of balloons before rushing back to Sarlat for choir practice (that went on until 11pm...jokes!) An extremely early start on Thursday took Chev and I to Limoges (on the WORST route possible – never EVER take the D60) to meet Georgie, Amy and Celyn at the airport. The trip was in fact a surprise for Amy’s 21^st birthday – she had no idea that she was coming to France, only that she was going ‘somewhere’, needed to pack ‘warm clothes’, and had to bring her passport. It was at 4am that very morning in a taxi in Manchester, when Georgie casually mentioned that they were swinging by Celyn’s house before going to Liverpool airport that the actual destination of the trip became clear.

Making sure everyone knew which house to come to

Dramatic weather driving to Elie

Elie in November

Opening up

Driving back from the airport through torrential rain, I was apprehensive as to how they would react to Elie – after all, it’s one thing seeing her in all her glory in mid-summer, but quite another arriving on a cold November morning in the pouring rain. My fears were wasted as, no sooner had we got into the house we were eating a wonderfully simple French lunch in front of a roaring fire (I’m sorry to say this Cel.. but Georgie was definitely the fire-maker-extraordinaire! You get an A* for effort slash obsession though!)

Thursday evening saw Amy’s birthday celebration, as it was just us four after all. Baked camembert with almonds, chicken and mushroom risotto followed by chocolate biscuit cake topped with tea-light candles when the clock struck midnight. Best part was definitely Amy getting cross that no-one had texted her at midnight, but then realising a long while after that we were actually an hour ahead in France.

Lunch in front of the fire on arrival

Keeping warm

Baked camembert with almonds - cholesterol anyone?

Piping hot risotto on Thursday night

Cake

After a birthday breakfast on Friday morning (complete with Walker signature burnt croissants), we headed to the market in Ribérac, a very subdued affair in comparison to the chaotic summer Friday-morning fare that we are used to. Having (just) caught the last half hour of market, we drove to Aubeterre for a bit of sightseeing and birthday lunch at Hotel de France.

Birthday breakfast

Nice coffee.. not so sure about the facial expression (or number of chins)

Opening presents

Oop

Cel, Me, Amy and Georgie next to the terrace

Amy outside Elie

Stopping off to look at the view of Vanxains on the way

(Timer..?!)

Amy's new friend at the Riberac Market (One of her 21 tasks on her birthday was to get a kiss from a French man.. I don't think this was quite what we were expecting)

Walking through Aubeterre

Arsing about in the sun in Aubeterre

Don’t ask how, but by one way or another our little group of four became ten by that evening, as various people started descending on the house. As more people arrived, Elie became warmer and cosier, and, as if we weren’t warm enough with a perpetual fire and hot bowls of ratatouille and casseoulet, we decided half-way through the evening to show the Yanks (and some English) how to truly keep warm by holding our own miniature ceilidh in the dining room.

Singing Britney in front of the fire

Cel getting a little too enthusiastic about the fire...

Robby and Mandy's post-ceilidh repose

The Ceilidh - "Strip the what...?!"

A bit of American line dancing

Saturday was Thanksgiving preparation day, and we all split into separate groups; one to shop, one to chop, some to relax, some to pick up more people... I must confess, I had little if nothing to do with it (I was a bit hostess-ed out!) and the food preparation was really grâce aux autres. Thanks so much to Alaina who really took control and put us all to shame with her incomparable organisation and unbelievable dedication to the Thanksgiving cause! She even put up thanksgiving posters on the walls, gave us a miniature history lesson and let everyone make ‘turkey hands’ (which are still at Elie if you want to see them!)

The dinner was out of this world. Thanksgiving is essentially just Christmas without the stress of presents, which means you can concentrate wholly on the food – yahaas! We had a proper Thanksgiving feast: turkey, stuffing, mashed potato, roast potato, sweet potato, roast veg, creamed spinach, mushrooms and beans, cheesy leeks, gravy, cranberry sauce, sweet corn, pigs-in-blankets, Yorkshire pudding, pumpkin pie, pecan pie, apple pie, custard, ice-cream... it was phenomenal.

Mood lighting on the dining table

Sup's up

Our heavily laden plates

During dinner, Oregon-native Robby told us of a family thanksgiving tradition where each person in turn says something that they are thankful for. We were nineteen for dinner, and we did just that – with each individual contributing their own little piece. Although this communal outpouring of emotion was something that we Brits (and the French in our company) were a little wary of as it was so foreign to our culture, it was actually extremely touching. For a start, everyone’s miniature speech made me realise that I was extremely lucky to have found such kind, fun, and down-to-earth people as those that surrounded me. When we all spoke in turn about one thing that we were thankful for, nearly everybody mentioned their surprise at how easy life had become because they had all found a ‘surrogate family’ in their friends here. This was made all the more poignant when nearly all the Americans expressed their gratefulness for the company as they all are the farthest, geographically and culturally, from their real families.

However, the most touching moment for me personally was when all nineteen people, from five different countries, raised their glasses in a toast to my family and to my grandparents in particular as without them, we would not have the good fortune to be there. I rarely felt as much pride as I did this weekend, but I have been made to realise just how proud I am of Elie and of my family, and also I have been made aware of just how grateful I am for my incredibly privileged existence. Post-dinner, the night descended into a little less sophisticated affair, including a late-night walk to the corner accompanied by singing so enthusiastic that one half of our group actually forgot to stop walking and almost ended up in Vanxains.

After a very late night, the cold light of Sunday signified general tidying, sorting out, and heading back to our various logements. Although I had had an almost incomparably good weekend, it was such a treat to be back at Elie with just Celyn, having a simple dinner in front of the fire in our pyjamas at eight pm, with him quietly getting on with some university reading and me preparing lessons for the following day . Perfect.

Despite having been a little apprehensive pre-Thanksgiving, the weekend panned out better than I could have ever imagined. I am so touched that my friends from the UK made the effort to come to France, and their presence served to remind me how wonderfully easy it is to be around people that you are wholly comfortable with. Not only was I extremely grateful for their company, but I never quite realised how much their opinions meant to me. As we made the rainy journey from Limoges Airport to Elie du Bois, I began to feel a little apprehensive. Would they like Elie? Would they think it was just a cold, old barn-house with spiders in the bath, ground resembling WWI trenches outside the kitchen door, and the worst sound-proofing known to man? Obviously, I was completely wrong – from the moment we unlocked the red barn door right through to pushing open the terrace shutters to reveal a bleak yet modestly spectacular view of the misty valley, they were completely bewitched by its modest charm and unassuming enchantment. Furthermore, I am so pleased that Celyn has finally seen the place that I have so raved about. It means so much to me that he was as enamoured with Elie’s unpretentious charm as I, and Elie and everything that it stands for and signifies has more than done me proud..

Happy Thanksgiving.

PS Here are a few more pictures.. just because.

Photos courtesy of (mostly) Georgie Raggett, with a couple from Alaina McCallum, Mandy Berman, Rosie Oxenbury and me.