SO thanks Cathinjoetown for kind words. And confirms that cigalechanta is correct: La Rochelle fades as the final destination of choice. The old city and harbor are gorgeous, rich in sights, sounds history and tasty moules. Also rich in ambling hordes of tourists, many of whom stop ambling to stand stationary for minutes on end, staring at les tours. Ile de Re is an alternate universe, idyllic, lore-soaked, beautiful, and rich in the impossibly rich. End of the day, it’s so special, so wealthy, and so protected by even its slight distance from the mainland, that the whole island feels like a gated community—a place to escape to, not to integrate into. Outside of the singular attractions of the old city and the Ile, you’ve got a proud, pleasant and productive city that’s otherwise rather undistinguished. So it’s a respectful farewell to La Rochelle. Great place, but we wouldn't want to live there.

<<I really do feel that the opportunity to learn from others in face-to-face conversation is always close at hand.>>

As do I, wholeheartedly, and I have no idea why you'd think it isn't a regular (daily) part of my experience. I guess you haven't heard about our "outdoor salon." But no matter....

Cigale, you are prescient.

Just wonderful, StCirq. I hope you don't mind the threesome at your Perigord house because I'm right there with you in your daily travels and travails. =) I am very familiar with the area and missing it terribly. When DH and I discuss our travel plans for the coming year, this is what we talk about first.

>>I have no idea why you'd think it isn't a regular (daily) part of my experience. I guess you haven't heard about our "outdoor salon."<<

Uhh, well, no, how would I hear of your "outdoor salon"?

I confess I now have no idea what the paragraph you wrote that I quoted means. What "astounds" you and "rekindles your faith in humanity" about what was said to you in Perigord? I'm stumped.

But I always enjoy reading stories about how people who had jumped to the conclusion that living in Europe is impossible have the crusted on scales drop from their eyes. Looks like what was key for you was having somebody not pour cold water on your investment in that dream. It is so common that people deride without ever realizing that for so many people, it is an idea they shouldn't just give up on.

Sometimes people who don't think they have a gift for words have a hard time expressing what draws them to dream of living in Europe. They are really at the mercy of people who don't understand their sensitivities. So many people just slap them down with taking any responsibility for what they are crushing. Great you are able to have such confidence in your writing. Hope you can keep your confidence in your original dream of having a European life.

huh?

what a weird comment! Another huh? here.

lorettajung, I don't want to presume, but it sounds like you or people you know have had some dreams slapped down and crushed. If true, then take it to heart that the slappers and dream-crushers should be ignored. They can have their opinions, but they don't own yours, and no one is always right ... nor are dreamers always wrong. Dreamers are by far the most important segment of the population, worldwide. We, you, all need to be dreamers, receptive, attentive, open, but most important ... we all need to be crushproof.

SO goes into town to do an errand, and I go through the cabinets on the ground floor and the kitchen to try to clean out stuff we need to discard. He comes back 45 minutes later with a big grin on his face and announces “I found Madame L.! She was outside when I drove past, so I stopped and asked her if it was her, and she said yes, and I told her (in French!) you were here and she wants to see you as soon as possible! How lucky was that?” I’ve told him many a tale about this wonderful neighbor of mine, so he has some background on her and our relationship over the years. I’m not wasting a moment getting down there to see her, so we pile into the car and drive to her house. Even though she lives just on the other side of the grotte next door to me, it’s far easier to drive up over the house and down the other side of St-Cirq, past the old washer-women’s pool and the pond and up by the mayor’s office – make a full circle, in other words, rather than backup down the lane into the grotte parking lot and try to turn around. And when we get there, there is the issue of being able to park without impeding traffic (such as it is) up and down the narrow lane. We squeeze into a small side-of-the-road space just past her house, and I go down the lane on crutches and knock on her door. And there she is! The wonderful woman who has taken care of my house for 20 years, who embraced me as a foreigner immediately and shared so many moments with me and my family over the years, always in good humor, always kind and helpful, always inviting me to spend time with her family members and friends, always leaving jars of confit and cans of pâté for me, always just being the best neighbor a neighbor could be.

It’s hot, really hot, but we sit outside because at this point I can’t really make it up over the stoop of her house, and we catch up. She’s got a spate of new grandchildren, everyone’s doing reasonably well, her garden got so fried in the heat this summer she gave up on it, but her peaches are coming in nicely. She’s given up the ducks and geese and just has chickens now, but some of them are young and producing only small eggs. The mayor is having an affair with his secretary. Madame G.’s husband has abandoned her, probably because of all the copains she has. There’s a new community center being built along the “main road” into town by the mairie. The Dutch lady has sold her place to a family of Canadians who are building an enormous house up in the hills. M. Teillet has expanded his house up on the ridge, and her grandson Benoît, who always said he never wanted to set “un pas” in St-Cirq now wants to buy a place there and is already living up in the hills in a small house. Raymond and Nadine are doing well. Other sons, whom we don’t know well, are fine, too. Life is good. She’s had carpal tunnel surgery, shoulder surgery, and phlebitis, but she’s 85 and she’s here! I get back into the rythym of talking with her, even with all the oops! And behs! and bombas!, and SO follows along well. It’s getting on nap time for Madame, so we take our leave and promise to stop by some evening soon. I am refreshed, with a glad heart because sometimes people can just be so good.

Then to La Rivière to check email, which really is my last (and dwindling) interest in keeping connected to my regular life (at this point I am completely ready to just emigrate and stay here forever). Bees and wasps have been bothering me since we got here. One day in Les Eyzies at the Café de la Mairie, a wasp was hovering around me mercilessly, and I kept fending it off. A man at an opposing table kept fending it off, too, so that I would shoo it in his direction and he would shoo it in mine. Eventually, this became amusing, and we exchanged words about how ennuyant this particular wasp was and which of us it would eventually pick as favorite. But today at La Rivière I have only just gotten my email open when I am attacked and stung by one. It’s been years since I’ve had a wasp sting, and MAN does it hurt! It’s bad enough to be crippled, but now I have a right upper arm that is red and swollen and really painful! The proprietors immediately note that Madame était piqué and bring me some vinegar, which helps, but that darn bite bothers me for the rest of the trip, even after I treat it with the crème d’arnica I find in one of the bathrooms.

Tonight Monsieur Baillon, M. Vialenc’s colleague, comes to see what treasures or junk he may want to buy. He shows up with a huge truck and a very timid, pensive 4-year-old son named Emory (hardly a French name, as far as I know) and gathers a fairly large group of things which he piles in the living room. We negotiate a price, lower than I want, but at this point I just want to get some things accomplished, and he and Emory haul it to the truck. It’s nothing special, mostly wicker chairs and baskets and some dishes and old prints. It’s a very perfunctory visit, but it seems the Baillon family is a truculent one of few words.

Then Franck comes by, just for a neighborly visit. I think he and Onamu are just glad to have some new people around – they just keep showing up, bearing gifts or not, to sit on the wall with us and chat. We tell him that we’ve seen Madame L., and he says they all think she’s a sweetheart, too. His 5-year-old son got all dressed up today to go to school and put his backpack on, only to find out that there’s no school on Wednesdays in the Périgord…and he was disconsolate. He’ll finish cleaning up the pool area tomorrow and gives us his card so we can keep in touch once back home.

In honor of Madame, we open another of her jars of confit tonight and devour it against a backdrop of stars and a gibbous moon.

Why is lorettajung responding to something vietritiles wrote? Are they the same person and were they in a previous lifetime a poster whose first 3 letters were zep?

Unless this is the case, I also have to say HUH?!

I have been joining you in the Perigord every couple of days. It is a pleasure to catch up again, and each day has been a gem, well written and evocative.

St Cirq, break your report into more psragaphs for an easier read.

Emory, Emery, Aymeric, Almaric, Emmerich - same German origin and same etymology as Henri.
Amerigo in Italian ...... and America

singing...

StCirq, your report is wonderful!

[vietritiles and lorettajung, welcome to Fodorville. If you click on a poster's name, you can see a history of his/her threads and learn a little more about that person.]

I am so enjoying this report and feel like we're on this trip with you.

I also just "discovered" that your SO also posts here; don't know how I missed that before!

I seem to sigh and smile with every new entry. Thanks, StCirq, for such an evocative read.

Ah, I am working on my latest entries, but so tired , after the debates, which I wish I had not watched/listened to. Will regroup tomorrow and post more, and thank you for all your support. You cannot imagine how much my heart was engaged with this place on this trip and how my SO fell in love with the place and how it became a grail to keep it, when that wasn't the original intention, and how that changed my plans. You'll see. We are formulating a new plan - life is changeable,and one needs to make new plans from to time.

That should be from time to time...

>life is changeable,and one needs to make new plans from to time.<<

Is this news to anybody over 16?

Well, better late than never to realize it.

pretty snarky for first-timer post, ya think . . .