March in Seix

March 5, 2008

Yes, it’s March and it’s snowing! It’s so beautiful to see the village, the surrounding hills and the mountains covered in white, as they should be. The snow has barely stopped falling for 24 hours. Sometimes it’s snow, sometimes it’s almost rain, and sometimes it’s tiny balls of hail. Whatever it is, though, it’s white. When I met the children at school yesterday all the kids were running out to play in the snow and throw snowballs. One little girl was making a mini snowman on the bridge as we walked home. It seems that whether you’re from Australia and have never see snow falling, or whether you’re a local and see it every year, it brings out the fun in everyone.


The hills rising from our valley; the Biscuiterie

Guzet finally has some decent snow, although this morning there was so much wind they couldn’t operate the chairlifts. This week we have Ludo’s sister and her family staying with us. Their timing is very good for skiing! Yesterday when Anne, Laurent and the three youngest children went skiing, their oldest, Jules, and I went for a bike ride. We rode up the valley in the snow and turned left at Pont de la Taule into the Ustou valley that leads to Guzet. The higher we went, the more windy it became, and then tiny frozen balls of hail started coming at us horizontally, biting our faces. We could see nothing! On the way back we came across a dead animal on the side of the road, road-kill that I’d never seen before. It was a marmotte, a little furry creature the size of small dog that lives in the mountains. On another ride I saw a dead badger with its body-length black and white stripes. It was much bigger than I expected. It’s funny to see these animals that we’re familiar with through the stories of Enid Blighton and Beatrix Potter; animals that we never actually see, even in our zoo.


Ludo with his crutches; Chateau de Seix in the snow

Ludo is now out of action for quite some time due to his support of the local football team. He’s done his right knee in and has been on crutches for a few days. It will be a long rehabilitation I think. This puts paid to any marathons, and we’ll be well into spring before we can do any mountain walks or cycling together. Sigh. I guess it’s fortunate that it happened now and not in the middle of summer.

Saturday, 1 March, 2008

Felix has been invited to his first play-date here – it’s actually the birthday party of his friend Gabin, from school. So after lunch I hopped into the car with Felix (Ludo being so out of action) with Ludo’s instructions on how to get to the party. Go up the valley a little way, turn right at Moulin Lauga and go to Estours (a tiny hamlet at the end of the road) then follow the dirt road a little way and the house is on the right. You can’t miss it, there will be a black 4 wheel drive by the road. Off we go. We arrive at Estours and follow the dirt road (I’d ridden up here 3 years ago so it’s looking a little familiar), but there are no houses here, and certainly no 4 wheel drives. Even Estours is deserted – it doesn’t have any permanent residents any more. It’s a ghost hamlet. Felix is worried we’ll be late. Given my experience to date with French punctuality I don’t think that will be a problem. He’s getting upset though so I returned to Seix to ask Ludo if he had any more explicit instructions. We telephoned Melanie and Alistair, the parents, but there was only an answering machine and no answers.

So Ludo hobbles out to the car, Felix is telling him to hurry up, and off we go for a second time, turning right at Moulin Lauga and going to Estours and beyond. Nothing. We stopped to ask some people who were visiting their weekender in Estours and they had never heard of the family. Curious. We head back the way we came, Felix clutching Gabin’s present, until we came to a fork in the very skinny road. A tiny road led up the mountain, doubling back on itself over and over to cope with the steep rise. We thought there was no harm in trying – no other choice any way. Up and up we drive until we see some houses and the landmark 4 wheel drive. They were just setting off on the treasure hunt, so Felix joined them and we set off down the mountain, leaving our littlest with people we barely know for 4 hours.

Next stop was in the completely opposite direction: the emergency room at the hospital in Saint Girons. After waiting there or two hours, I had to go home and leave Ludo with people he didn’t know for 4 hours! Back to Seix to make sure the other kids are OK and then Agnes and I went once more in the direction of Estours to pick up Felix. He had a great time at the party. The treasure hunt alone took 2 hours, looking for things all over the mountain. We slowly made our way down, pulling on the steering wheel tightly at each turn, and then as we reached the bitumen it was clear that one of the tyres didn’t survive the descent. Here I was on a road that was barely wide enough for one car, so I couldn’t leave it there (there was no ‘side of the road’). I had to drive on the flat tyre for 3 km to the main road before I could find a safe place to park the car. The tyre was practically in shreds. And we were several kms from home, and Ludo’s sister and her family of 6 were arriving for a week’s stay any minute. Yikes! It had been years since I’d hitch-hiked anywhere, but it comes back naturally when you’re in a pickle: The first car picked us up and dropped us outside our front door. I walked in to find Anne and Laurent had arrived, and given that I now had 12 mouths to feed, Laurent extended his 9 hour car trip by another hour to go and pick Ludo up at the hospital (and then kindly changed our flat tyre the next day)!

March 7, 2008



Ecole Elementaire (little orange roof on right) and College (orange roof on left); Ludo hobbling Felix home from school

At the school gate today Felix turned around and with a big smile on his face, said “Have a good day Mummy”. This is a turning point - he’s happy to go to school. So with a light heart I headed out of the village in the direction of Spain, to buy our daily milk. About a kilometre up the road, on the right, in an old house whose doors open right onto the road, is Monsieur Germain, our milk supplier. I knocked on the window hard because he’s hard of hearing, but got no reply. I knocked and knocked and the only signs of life I saw were the fire in the grate inside, and the dog that came bouncing up from around the corner. I followed the dog to the barn door and felt like I was intruding as I opened it. It was dark inside, with cobwebs hanging from the rafters and hay scattered all over the floor. It took a while for my eyes to adjust to the dimness. A voice came from the corner, and there was Monsieur Germain milking the cow. She was a beautiful cow – a Swiss white. Her name is Coquette (flirt, when translated). One wall of the barn was lined with cages full of rabbits, and running everywhere else were loads of tortoiseshell cats that must have come from the same litter. When he finished and we got up to leave the barn I put my foot in a big hole full of freezing water mixed with very smelly cow poo – up to mid calf. Erk! Erk! He chuckled and said, “Everyone does that!” (Could have warned me).

Monsieur Germain and Coquette

So then we went into the house to transfer the milk from the yellow plastic bucket into a container. This was basically one room with the fire at the end, the kitchen bench in one corner, a table in the middle and a few chairs round about. Mr. Germain walked over to an old vacuum cleaner box next to the fire and pulled out a lamb! An 8-day-old lamb, which he promptly handed to me. It was very cute and soft and adorable, but now I had cow poo up to my knees and lamb poo all over my arms. I was not allowed to leave without toothless Mr. Germain giving me too many kisses – disconcerting.

Having seen the conditions in which our fresh milk is produced I will boil it thoroughly, assiduously, every time.

March 10

Communicating in French is a constant source of frustration (for me) and amusement (for Ludo, and probably everyone else I talk to). I still have to think about every sentence I say, and frequently my sentences reduce in volume from beginning to end as I lose confidence in the grammatical construction I’m trying to use. Sometimes this works well, given that for almost all French words you seem to pronounce only the beginning anyway, but doesn’t work well for the adjectives of feminine words which need their endings enunciated clearly. A big problem for English speakers learning French is the pronunciation of course, and that can make all the difference to the meaning. Once I was trying to explain to Ludo’s Mum that I had mal au cou (a sore neck) when what she heard was mal au cul (a sore backside). I can remember a friend of mine, who was fairly fluent in French, explaining to someone that she was in a queue waiting to be served when someone pushed in front of her – “il m’a sauté dans la queue”. Unfortunately queue came out as cul, and, remembering this means backside, the translation wasn’t pretty (but was very funny).

Another source of frustration is in greeting people. Never having had to distinguish between those people I’m close to and those I’m not, using the vous and tu forms is a minefield here. I’ve learnt spoken French in a family situation, so my automatic reflex is to say tu. Sometimes in the same conversation I’ll address someone as vous and then forget myself and use tu. I don’t know what they think of this, whether they excuse the ignorant foreigner, or whether they write me off as a bit of a dodo. I remember very clearly reading “Almost French” and recognising a kindred spirit when the author said her IQ dropped 100 points the moment she opened her mouth to speak French. That’s me! You know you’re frustrating not only yourself but the poor people that have to listen to you when they start finishing your sentences for you. This is what happens when I speak to Ludo’s sister and her husband.


Liquid Mahalia; Inarticulate Jane

The vous/tu dilemma is pretty clear with respect to old people, but what to do at the school gate? Sometimes I’d rather say nothing at all than to have to deal with this linguistic difficulty. I also can’t get used to being addressed as madame. It makes me feel either old, stuffy, or the owner of a brothel.

On the other hand, I have people coming up to me in the village and behaving as though they know me well - well enough for a kiss on both cheeks - when I can’t even recognise their faces. That’s the problem of being famous (in terms of the village) just because you come from the end of the world (which is pretty much where Australia is perceived to be from here). So far I’ve managed to pretend I know these strangers pretty well and carry on talking for a while, before we part amicably with a salut and a bisous, without offending anyone. I hope it’s not age or Alzheimers at fault!

March 11


Local Transport; Local Fauna

Emile has soccer training on Tuesday night from 6pm to 8pm. It’s dark and it’s freezing, but it’s not snowing so training must go on. It’s a hard commitment, given that they finish school at 5pm, it’s a half an hour’s drive to the oval, two hours of running for Emile (and waiting for me), then a half hour drive home. Luckily there’s no school on Wednesday.

It’s very hard to get used to the school hours here. On Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday the 9 to 5 day is great, fantastic – especially for working parents. The Wednesday off is weird, though, because it feels like Saturday every Wednesday. Then there is school again on Saturday morning, which is a real pain in the neck. It’s obviously painful not just for us, because Sarkozy has decided that as of September this year, there will be no more Saturday morning school for primary aged children. Halelujiah. Just to make matters even more confusing, the high school kids in this area go to school on Wednesday morning, but not on Saturday. On top of these weird routine changes, the boulangerie is open on Sundays but not Mondays, the epicerie is open on Mondays but not Wednesdays, and everything is closed from 12 to 2pm, which I will never get used to.

Even though the three hours of Saturday schooling are being consigned to the dustbin of educational history, apparently they won’t be made up at any other time and I find this strange. Already there don’t seem to be many school hours happening. Despite the longer 9 to 5 day four days a week, there are so many holidays here that it’s a full time job trying to organise them. There are 2 weeks at Christmas, two weeks in February, 2 weeks in April, 3 long weekends in May, all of July and August and 2 weeks in November. And this year because Easter is early, there’s a long weekend in March as well! For working parents, 16-17 weeks of holidays each year must be an absolute nightmare with respect to childcare. Luckily the extended family is still pretty strong in France.

March 15, 2008

Yesterday Felix went to the swimming pool with his class for lessons. The pool is an indoor heated pool at the spa treatment resort at Aulus les Bains, 25 minutes away at the end of the next valley. We take the ability to feel comfortable in water for granted from a very young age, but in Europe swimming is not a priority for most of the population, especially in a mountain environment like this one. All the children of Felix’s age wore flotation devices.

Today was another cultural experience – the primary school fundraising event. It’s a bingo night! Bingo is big in Ariege, and apparently we can expect a packed hall tonight. This afternoon I went to help set up the hall with trestle tables and benches, squeezed closely together to fit all the children, parents and old people in. We’re all baking cakes and donating items for the prizes, just like a fundraiser on the other side of the world. One of the prizes is entry for 4 to the snail farm at Barjac! The money will go towards the childrens’ 3 day trip to the Mediterranean coast at Paul-Locate in May. It should be interesting!


It's always a Long and Winding Road that leads.....to a big rock!

Yesterday I went to the hairdresser here which is always fun and educational. The salon is run by a Catalan lady from Barcelona called Madi who came to the village years ago with her young daughter. Now her daughter, the beautiful Celine, also works in the salon and has two girls of her own. Ever time I walk past the salon there are people going in and out, either for haircuts or just to have a chat, because clearly there is a lot of social interaction going on in this small space. I was telling Madi how nice everyone in the village is and how welcoming they have been and her response was to warn me not to be too accommodating to people. Sure, say hi and ask how they are, but beware because there a lot of people here who are not so nice. (I should have asked her which ones!) Ahh, the joys of life in a small village where everyone knows everyone else.

We have a friend here, Mireille, who is in her 70’s and runs the local gift shop. She has beautiful handcrafted goods, and has been here for 30 years. She’s an incredibly generous person and is always giving us homemade jams, toys for the children, flowers from her garden, and advice on what to plant when (see later). Unfortunately, it’s really tiring talking to her because no matter how the conversation starts, it always ends with a litany of complaints about her neighbours, the mayor and the village in general. It’s got to the stage where I avoid seeing her!

Chantal works at the boulangerie so we see her every day. She has sharp glasses and different coloured hair every month. Sometimes she’s as friendly and laughing as can be, and then the next day she makes you feel like you just ran over her dog. Her mother, Arlette, on the other hand, is the ideal neighbour. She always asks how everyone is and stops for a long chat about our latest activities. Her husband used to be the butcher here, but has retired now. They still live above the butcher shop and haven’t changed a thing about the shop. It still has its blocks and knives and cabinets and fridges and collections of ceramic pigs and chickens and cows. Arlette’s best friend is Marcelle. She's wonderful – like Arlette she’s always ready for a chat. Her husband was the barber in the village and is also now retired. He moved to Canada, and Marcelle splits her year between Canada and Seix.

Ludo’s knee is slowly improving – he can walk without crutches now. I was riding with Felix a few days ago when he fell off his bike. I rushed to reach him and slipped off the pedals and hit my coccyx on the seat. Yow! I can hardly sit on it now. What a pair. Ludo can’t stand up for long and I can’t sit for long! I hope it’s temporary.

March 20



Yesterday we had a million children playing in the house, including two English children from the next valley over, near Castillon. Hope and Robin have parents who were desperate to own land and couldn’t afford it in England, so bought here, over the internet! They home schooled their children (ages 9 and 6) in England and continue to do so here, which means the poor children have no friends, and can’t speak French very well at all. They’ve been here for a year! The Dad has a PhD in history and plans to produce organic fruit and vegetables, and the mum has a successful internet business selling second hand clothes. The population here is split now between the old school Ariegoise who have been here for generations, and the neos who have recently arrived and who invariably are those seeking an alternative lifestyle. Many don’t work and live comfortably on the generous French social security system. Needless to say, the two camps don’t mix.

Ludo has been doing a bit of research on the history of his family, and it seems that it goes back a few hundred years, maybe more, in this valley and the valley of Massat, in a village called Soulan which is very beautiful. The cemeteries around here are filled tombs bearing the same names: Pujol, Sentenac, Viros (Ludo’s ancestors), Andreu, Rouge….. Many of these being the names of the village they come from. For an Australian, it’s fascinating to see how deep the roots are and how apt the expression ‘family tree’. Even in the 21st century, the fruit of many of these families doesn’t fall that far from the tree. (There are of course exceptions, like Ludo, who fell first in Paris, and then on the other side of the world).

March 25, 2008


The hotel in Castres

Last weekend, Easter weekend, we headed a few hours north into the Tarn to stay in the town of Castres. It was a a pretty enough town with beautiful old buildings, majestic avenues of plane trees and a creditable art museum specialising in Spanish paintings. The most remarkable memory we’ll take with us, however, will be how happy and welcoming the people were. Everyone was kind and helpful and interested and just plain wonderful. We had a fabulous dinner in a 1000 year old building hanging over the river Agout. The food was good, but our hostess was special. She made us feel very much at home and brought all the local English speakers to our table, introducing them to us. It snowed while we were visiting the nearby Sidobre, famous for it’s forested hillsides covered with granite rock formations. Granite is big business here.

The houses on the River Agout; Granite formations in the Sidobre

Today I drove Ludo to the hospital in Foix to have an MRI. It’s not good news – torn meniscus and cruciate ligaments in bad shape. He’ll need an operation. I don’t quite know where that puts all our plans – most imminent being 2 weeks in Rome and the Amalfi Coast in 3 weeks time. Hmm. It’s a long drive for a couple with a bad knee and a very sore tail bone.

Tomorrow is Ludo’s birthday, but I’m not sure he feels like celebrating.

March 27

Mahalia and Emile doing Voltige

Yesterday the kids had their regular Wednesday horse-riding lesson up at the panoramic Ferme Equestre de Coumariou. It had been raining steadily all day, so the lesson took place in the sheltered arena. They had a lesson in voltige, which involves doing tricks on the back of a horse – without a saddle. It was very impressive to see them standing up and doing gymnastic moves on a moving horse. They also had a go at galloping, which resulted in Mahalia on the ground, and Agnes’ neck doing an action that didn’t look healthy. Slowly, slowly they’re making progress, and are feeling more comfortable on the horse each time. Felix has decided horse-riding is not for him.

I love taking them up to their lessons because it’s so beautiful there, as you can see in the pictures. There are two teachers – Lorena, who owns the farm, and Delphine – who between them they manage 40 horses. They work very hard, 12 hours a day, sometimes 7 days a week. The lessons are never on time – yesterday they were 40 minutes late – punctuality is not so important here!

March 30, 2008

I’ve been cycling a lot lately, most recently up the valley. The river is practically breaking its banks with all the snowmelt and rain. The road follows the contours of the river, winding closely beside it with every bend. Everywhere there is water. It pours in small torrents from the sheer sides of the valley, it dribbles through the steep fields like snail trails, it oozes from the very rocks at the side of the road, pouring into the swollen river.
The water gallops along (as Agnes says) turbid from the run-off that has collected leaves and sticks and soil. In a little while it will be crystal clear, and we’ll be able to see the trout again. The river is also very noisy. It provides constant background noise that we can hear from the house, a bit like being in a house by the beach. When I was cycling yesterday it was so noisy it was almost annoying. It does drown out the tinnitus though, which is a good thing. This is the time of year when the crazies come out in their tiny kayaks and helmets and nose-pegs to brave the whitewater. I'm sure the khahi-clad trout fishermen curse them for disturbing not only their tranquility, but their chances of catching a trout with their delicate casting technique. It's like poetry made concrete, watching the form the line takes in the air between the flick of the wrist and the landing of the fly on the surface of the water.

Yesterday was my birthday and we celebrated with a picnic up at La Soumere, 10 minutes by car from Seix. It felt like we were miles away from the village. Here we’re at the bottom of the valley, but up there, we were bathed in sunshine looking at the most extraordinary panorama. One of the wonderful aspects of the great outdoors in France, above all in the mountains, is that there are walks for miles through countryside that anyone can enjoy. There are hundreds of public rights of way all over the country allowing you to enjoy amazing places. If you have a spare 6 weeks you can walk from the Atlantic Ocean all the way to the Mediterranean along the GR10 through the Pyrenees. Seix is on this track.

March 31

Today Felix corrected my French pronunciation, and Agnes used a French word to describe something because she couldn't find the right word in English. I think we've turned a corner......

And that's it for March!

Agnes and Felix throwing snow above La Soumere