more straw

Nearly a week has gone by and I feel completely at home, relaxed, amongst friends and happy that my capability to speak and understand french has returned.

The first couple of days were a bit strange on many counts; the change between hotel living with all the comforts and a building site, getting up at 6 to leave for work at 7 is something I haven’t done for a while either, a raw food diet (yes, here too now) after a winter of chef prepared feasts, speaking a foreign language all the time - it’s getting easier and easier I know and the cold, the weather has changed too, damp and cloudy after weeks of sunshine is shocking.

This morning after a night of rain, the mountains are newly white down to below 1500 metres, something that would have filled me with joy a week ago, now only bodes for a chilly day sieving soil or carpenting inside. Thankfully it’s Saturday so we’re not working, a trip to the market to stock up on food, just the market, no bakery, butchers or supermarket.

Pause......till Wednesday

It’s still cold and has been frosty most nights, but sleeping in a tiny cabin with a wood burning stove that stays alight all night and working in a very well insulated house by day, all is toasty warm. The only challenge is waiting for some sunshine to warm enough water for a shower. The solar panels here work extremely well and there is warm water even with slight cloud cover. A couple of hour of sunshine and it starts to become hot. Half a day and there is enough for everyone to have a swift shower and perhaps even a bit for washing up. When all else fails, a bowl of water heated on the wood burner suffices.

Chez Pierlo and Sandrine, the house that I lodged at last year, things have progressed enough for the family to move in. It’s not complete by any stretch of the imagination, but sufficiently so for a rough and ready existence. Still no hot water there, but it is always lovely and warm. We’re working on finishing the first floor rooms now, the loft area is complete and looks wonderful. Just ceilings, final finish to the walls and a wood floor to go down on the first floor, final fix electricity and then it’s on to the ground floor. Pierlo thinks they will be finished by the end of the year.

Here, at Dominique and Patrick’s, where we built the straw walls last summer, construction has continued at speed. Considering that the team only spends half a week at each site, there are no professional craftsmen and most of the help is voluntary and transient the whole process is amazing. The structure resembles a house, the roof is complete, minus a few finishing touches, the upstairs, chalet bungalow style has first fix electricity throughout, walls and ceiling more than half way finished using a different method than before, wood lined throughout, insulated with bales of straw throughout. It’ll keep the heat in through the winter and out in the summer, from working inside at present I doubt there will be much need for heating on sunny days throughout the year. The straw has spent the better part of a year being compressed by the weight of the roof structure and has stopped descending and is stable enough to take its clay coating, this can start as soon as the weather is warm dry. It might start before I leave, but if not there may well be the opportunity to check out the methods later on in the year.

to spain and back in a day

Spring has sprung in Bagnere de Luchon

Clare, Mark and Tom refusing to be properly photographed

Odd one, they don't sell alcohol, but we get the drift

smart bandstand

the original bath houses where people came to be cured by waters with special qualities

We hadn’t had any guests for over a week, so life had been a bit different around the chalet, it is slowly being cleaned from top to bottom, more thoroughly that ever before and we take the opportunity to head out together when the chance arises.

Clare needed to visit her accountant before the end of the season so we all went to Bagnere de Luchon, a couple of valleys away for the ride and to see a different town. I had visited a couple of years ago in mid summer so thought it would interesting to see the difference, plus there is a large ski station higher up in the mountains although it was already closed when we arrived through lack of snow.

A classy joint, I would imagine Victorian, though have no idea how french describe that period, without royalty to denote the years. A spa town with tall buildings, wide tree lined streets, smart public buildings and today, a feeling of decaying grandeur. Clare headed straight for her meeting whilst Mark, Tom and I checked out the town. In France plenty of shops remain closed on Mondays, so, being Monday we were out of luck to start with. Additionally it was approaching lunchtime so those that were open closed their doors as we headed down the main street so everyone could go for a leisurely lunch at the same time. Not that it mattered terribly, as no one had need for shopping. We passed the bath houses noting a slight smell of sulfurous air venting the buildings, realising too, for the first time, that spring had arrived, the flower beds full of daffodils, tulips and primroses. It’s easy to miss the changing seasons up in the mountains as winter was still in full swing up there.

The town wasn’t particularly large so we quickly made our tour, through the old area, out along a small river, through a park complete with crazy golf and tennis courts, someone n the past had been an international tennis player and the club house proudly displayed the cups and trophies. An obscure street of closed shops, restaurants and hotels, just too far from the popular tourist area to continue trading through the current lean years.

We lunched in proper French style, perusing the menus of several restaurants before choosing the one with the most attractive “Formule” often three courses with a choice or two of each, offering a set price for three, two or one courses. Pizza was attractive mainly because it was something that wasn’t served at the chalet, everything else resembled somewhat our own menu, nice, but a change is always good. A leisurely two course meal, washed down with plenty of house red and a good, tiny, coffee to finish things off. Clare caught up with us as we finished our meal and we headed off in the direction of Spain to stock up on cheap booze and cigarettes.

The frontier was literally in the next valley and we were there in half an hour or so. A strange town, there previously as a distant outpost from central Spain, now part of the european union with minimal ‘foreign’ offerings for the local populations. Some of the touristy shops were a little more gaudy and of southern european in taste compared to those on the French side, shops packed with cheap tobacco products, supermarkets offering nothing but alcohol, olives and cold meats, shops for handbags and jewelry, shops offering everything to cultivate marijuana successfully in your garden, house or loft, a little research afterwards explained everything and shops of nothing but tat. It is now legal to grow dope for home consumption in Spain and it was obvious that they were expecting their neighbours to try the same.

Shopping complete, mainly replacements for the bar and a few packs of ciggies, bits and pieces for the following few days and we headed back to France. Crossing the border we passed the first signs of any frontier at all. We didn’t pass through, a new road takes a different route but the old guard and customs house was still standing, dirty windows and all covered in dust, perhaps saved for the next stage of Europe’s ever changing history or just coz it hasn’t been found a new use as yet.

The journey back took a couple of hours and we had been gone for the best part of a day. Once back in the chalet if felt, for me at least, as if I had been on holiday for quite some time and it was good to be back.

It snowed a couple of times more before the end of the season, nothing spectacular, just enough to refresh the slopes and give several more mornings of decent skiing. After the whole season it seemed strange to be on the mountain for the last time, the scenery as breath taking as it was the first day I ever saw it, blanketed again in its fresh new covering. I expect it will be melted again by now. Goodbye and thank you once again for a wonderful winter.

bye bye beauregard

That’s it with my Beauregard purchase. Saved from buying a house that I couldn’t afford to connect to electricity and water supply, and still have enough money left to renovate. Purely by accident, as I wrote about some little time ago.

The estimates for both utilities are now in and I am astounded by the cost of both. I have absolutely no idea how far they would have had to start the instillation from, but, having talked to several people on the phone, discover that there are no alternatives. Solar panels are not allowed in that area and the thought of starting the project completely off grid is not something I feel equipped to try at the moment. I could probably have coped with a well, but not both. Perhaps after another year of helpXing and researching I may feel differently, but for now it’s not on the cards. For the electricity the estimate for enlarging the network to allow me to join it came in at 17,000 euro and the water, a snip, at 11,500 euro. Both prices are before paying a separate bill of about 2,000 euro each for connection.

Hugely disappointed and sporadically furious at the misinformation that the estate agent provided, I am in the process of writing a strongly worded letter. Overall though I am relieved that coincidence and happenstance prevented me from purchasing the property at this time. I have learned plenty and am confident for the future, there will be plenty more opportunities, possibly even in the region that I originally pencilled in, so I continue my journey and start researching once again.

Windy in the mountains

How time flies. The last four months have passed so very fast this year and the season is nearly at an end. Windy, my brother, visited last week and we had a great time. I picked him up from Tarbes airport on Tuesday morning. It was the first time that I had been out of the valley for a while and it was a joy to realist that spring is already here and the countryside was bursting into life again. We visited the straw bale houses on the way back to the chalet, the ones that I spent time at last year, so that he could see first hand what I had spent so long talking about when I visited last year. It was brilliant to spend time and share a part of my life that has been so inaccessible to friends and family, he loved it too. I can hardly wait till the end of the season as I shall be heading back there again for a few weeks to lend a hand and really catch up on progress at the two sites.

We skid almost all the second day of his visit, he soon regained his ski legs although suffered slightly by the end of the day, not surprisingly really with the amount we achieved. We had a few guests at the time but the atmosphere was relaxed enough for us to spend almost all of his visit without me having to work, so the evenings were for chatting, playing cards and relaxing, during his action packed short stay he never did get an early night.

The weather was unseasonally warm so we hit the slopes early every morning to get the best conditions. The pistes were groomed to perfection, as ever, and we made short work of completing almost every route available to us. We even managed to entice Clare out for the morning, which was great, she enjoys it so much but is a master at finding excuses not to go. “Next year will be different” she says. We’ll see. Lunch was at the best snow side restaurant in the resort, La Cabane, a delicious thai soup, on the terrace in the sunshine. Windy had “Tartiflette” a mountain speciality of cheese potatoes and lardons that disappeared in record speed. Whilst there we decided to have a relaxing afternoon and headed back to the chalet.

I didn’t explain where we were going, just that we needed swimming trunks and would be back for dinner. Balnea is in the next valley to Saint Lary, so after dropping down to the village I took the col route, up the winding mountain road through the countryside and got to see first hand the tiny villages that I had looked down on from my walk the other week. Paragliders were enjoying the mild sunny weather and finding thermals enough to keep airborne for a good long time. We passed through a tiny amount of snow at the highest point before descending steeply to the valley floor, round what seemed like hundreds of tiny, tight bends on the narrow road.

It wasn’t swimming, just floating, soaking and relaxing in numerous thermal baths. There were roman style baths in an authentically styled quarry stone zone with arched ceilings, elaborate tiling, plunge pools, a sauna and icy bath. An asian area with palm trees and carved wooden poles, jaccussis, bubble beds, whirlpools, massaging spouts of water and a great view of the snow capped mountains. A pod to lie in that played under water music that could only be heard with your head submerged. Hot tubs, saunas, steam rooms and the newest part, outside, Japanese baths ranging in temperature from warm to just too hot to stay too long, on the side a pile of snow for an icy rub down. It was magical to sit and soak in warm, thermal waters outside in the chilly fresh air in such a setting, what must it be like when it snows?

Thoroughly relaxed, we returned to the chalet for dinner and another enjoyable evening of chat, laughter and cards. Windy wondered how much of the resort we had covered so I got out a piste map and highlighted the runs that we had already visited. Probably two thirds of the runs that were open and accessible. Pretty impressive for a day and a half. We vowed to complete more the following day, his last. on this flying visit to the snow.

Day three arrived soon enough, for me it was like being on holiday, three saved up days off in a row, no work to do in the chalet apart from overseeing breakfast that morning and with six guests, hardly a difficult task. We managed to head off just after 10am for another day in the sunshine. How lucky we were, a week later as I write it has been damp, cloudy and trying to snow for the last four days. The first slope that we went down was so good that we had to enjoy it a coupe of extra times before moving on. Almost deserted and groomed to perfection once again, the mountain was breathtaking as ever. I wonder if I would ever tire of this. We head off, mentally ticking off those missing routes and revisiting favourites of the last couple of days, cruising from one area to the next, Windy almost completely back to the skiing agility that he had when he worked in the Alps a while back. We had great fun speeding down slopes and discussing our respective projects and other topics whilst sitting on the lifts, time together always passes so fast.

Before we knew it I was dropping him back off at the airport, hugging my brother good bye, his whole trip was over in the blink of an eye. His early flight had given me a head start for the day, so I made the most of it by exploring a different area on the way back, checking out the occasional estate agent and having a good look round building supply yards for ideas for the future, hopefully I will be getting going on my next project soon.

barefoot

I knew that I needed to walk barefoot the other day,

Scientists confirm that bacteria is essential to Proper Immunity

Now I know why.

(click on the blue writing to read the article)

walk the dog

The holiday season is drawing to a close so I thought that I’d take Chester for a walk seeing as the weather was so warm and sunny. The pistes would be packed and the snow not that pleasant in the afternoon, but I needed to be out in the open air.

For ages I had thought of walking out onto the ridge that juts above the village to see how much of a view there was both up and down the valley, so I did just that. After ten days or so of clear weather the snow on the sunny side of the valley had nearly all melted away, making the going easy. Hardly a cloud in the sky and a light breeze warmed by the sun baked ground made for a very pleasant afternoon. I set off, comfortably warm in just a Tee shirt and jeans though mindful of rapidly changing weather in the mountains. I wasn’t going far.

There had been much discussion one evening last week, when several new guests arrived, of an amazing fire on the mountain side. We had looked out at the time and could see nothing of it from the chalet, but hidden from view, a vast tract of hillside had been scorched black from a controlled burn that had obviously gotten out of control. Amazingly, with the warm weather and moist soil, small green shoots were already beginning to appear. I suppose that they burn off the old, dry vegetation to let more light in and also to minimise the risk of summer fires which would cause much more damage. At least the snow brought the inferno to a halt this time.

My path took me across a blackened section of hillside on a vaguely horizontal trajectory, I wasn’t sure whether I needed to be higher or lower than my starting point to hit the top of the ridge, so I followed the sheep tracks, rising slightly, in preparation for enlightenment around the next corner. Or not, as it happened. It took rounding another couple of headlands before the ridge came into view below me, the sunny side partially scorched by the fire or struggling to become green again in the spring sunshine, larger patches of snow on the level higher ground, interspersed with a smattering of bushes, pine forest further out and the green valley in the distance. Clusters of tiny houses with obligatory spire, spread out well below the snowline, the occasional remote farmhouse, joined by a network of roads all in miniature. I suppose in times gone by they were constructed at a spacing that allowed easy working of the land without the luxury of modern machinery. One can only imagine how remote life in such a valley must have been before the invention of the motor car. Even the railway stops several miles away down the valley in Arreau. It would have been a decent horse ride away even to the nearest market town, let alone out of the valley and onto the plains towards Toulouse. I suppose the vast majority of people never even saw a town, never mind a city. Now folk drive here or fly from other countries to ski, walk or enjoy the scenery during their leisure time and think nothing of it. The hills and fields and majority of buildings remaining just as they were in times gone by.

The view of the mountains into the distance was stupendous, I could just about make out a neighbouring ski resort in the distance, mainly from the glint of reflective sunlight bouncing off cars rather than anything distinctively visible on the landscape. That was just one tiny point in a scene that stretched for miles and miles and miles, the rest a range of snowy peaks stretching out further than the eye could see, all the way to the mediterranean sea. Closer to hand, on the opposite side of my little valley, the recent village of Plat d’Adet, built to house the explosion of fashionable ski visitors back in the 50’s and now looks like some concrete monstrosity lowered onto the snow from an alien land, sits on its own headland linked to the village by cable cars and lifts. I wonder how they’d approach building a new village today, it definitely wouldn’t be allowed to look like that.

Chester and I rounded the upper part of the ridge in an attempt to look up the other side. One of our neighbours, a ski instructor, had said that it was possible to ski down to a village there, so I was interested to see what it looked like. We started to cross a massive patch of snow that continued right round onto the shadier side of the hill, our footprints a telltale indication of our route, going was tough as the icy crust frequently gave way into powdery snow underneath, I really should have prepared myself with racquets (if I had known).

We never got to see the ski route, the valley was huge and the view partially obscured by trees. The whole of the shady side was covered in thick snow with the odd bush protruding and impressive rocky peaks in the distance. After persevering for a while I decided that we needn’t go any further so we turned and headed down hill towards our original destination. Out across the grassy open ridge with clear views both up and down the valley, the sun was warm and the slight breeze filled with the summer scents of warmed heather and earth. There were lines of fence posts, their wires dropped to the ground for the winter protection and probably to allow wildlife free reign over the mainly frozen landscape, there were plenty of tracks to indicate their presence.

A tall signpost with several directional panels showed us the official options of routes from the ridge. I knew the names of the villages, but was surprised to see that I had discovered another section of the GR10. I had always imagined that it stayed in the high mountains here, but no, it obviously descended into the valley and so passed much closer to the chalet than I had expected. GR stands for Grande Route or major trail, one of the more famous hiking tracks in france, it stretches the length of the pyrenees from atlantic to mediterranean. There are many GR’s crisscrossing the country, one, the GR36 passes the property in Beauregard that I hope to buy.

Back to the walk, before i get too distracted. We descend far enough down along the ridge to see most of the village from a height, skirting more burnt pasture above the line of the fence. I decide that the sun may be well off the valley by the time we return, so, after a break to take in the view, reflect and rest for a sort while, we head back up the ridge towards the chalet. It’s not a steep climb, but enough to keep me on the warm side of comfortable. I daydream of beaches and sunshine and walking on the sand and realise that the sensation that I desire is to be barefoot. Momentarily I think it’s a stupid idea, just a pleasant thought to save for a summers day then I decide to give it a try. Will the ground be too cold? or the rocks too sharp? or the mud too slippery? will my feet grip or my toes get frostbite? There was only one way to find out. Chester didn’t bat an eyelid, he was too busy following the scent of some small creature or bounding off to eat snow to cool down.

The ground was surprisingly warm underfoot, the rocks were little different to the sand or stones on a beach, fairly comfortable to walk on and not that sharp, the grass, silky smooth and slippery, with the overall sensation being one of freedom, it felt wonderfully liberating and natural. It was amazing that the change in one small detail of clothing could make such a difference to a walk in the hills. I walked all the way back to the chalet barefoot, through streams, across patches of snow, on warm earth, smooth grass and probably the occasional cow pat. It was a wonderful hour or so. even in the shade, where the temperature plummeted, my feet didn’t seem to get that cold, it was great.

I don’t think I shall leave it that long again to walk barefoot. It may be bucking the norm, but thats nothing new from where I stand. It was a great experience, a new found freedom and if I remember rightly from something I read a while back, an excellent cerebral conditioner. Barefoot walking on rough terrain stimulates millions of nerve transmissions to the brain that in turn reignite areas of grey matter that remain dormant when wearing shoes. Anything to keep some activity going on upstairs must be a good thing. I’ll let you know in good time.

progress with a ruin

Where do I start? Everyone is excited about the little ruin in Beauregard, but nothing much seems to be coming to fruition.

I have recently discovered, through a friend of my last helpX host last year, that the estate agent was not exactly telling the truth. Brigitte, whom I stayed with last November wrote to me asking how things were going and said that one of her good friends was also a friend of the Mayor of Beauregard and could she do anything to help with the purchase.

To start with I thought that all was proceeding fine, then I thought that it would be good to check the details that the agent had provided. Thankfully I did, as all is not as I had been lead to believe. There is no electricity or water supplied to the site, I had been told that it would be financed by the town and all I would have to do is pay for connection. In fact, there is no finance and I will have to pay for the whole instillation.

I am currently writing to the relevant utility agencies to get estimates or quotes for the instillation of a supply of water and of electricity. The closest electricity supply I found last time I visited was 185 metres away. No one can tell me where the nearest water pipes are. Various costs have been banded about, although without substantiation, so I am waiting patiently for the correct business to supply me with the details.

It takes a while, firstly to find out which business deals with what, to then translate their websites, download or print the forms, complete them, before sending them off, often via the town hall for a mayoral stamp of approval. I have done several already, only to be contacted to be told that they are not, in fact, the correct agency, and I should reapply to another department or business. The town hall has been incredibly helpful and has answered all my email enquiries promptly and with all the information I have requested. Most of the companies too, are helpful, although, as everything is so fragmented here I still have to find the correct offices to obtain the figures that I require. Patience is ever necessary and thankfully I have been fully occupied here in the mountains for the duration of this time consuming exercise.

So the fact that my contact at the agency was off sick for nearly two months has made absolutely no difference to the speed in which things are progressing. Thankfully she was, otherwise I may not have discovered these facts in time and may already be in possession of a building that I cannot afford to connect to the electricity or water supply. We are looked after in mysterious ways and I give thanks for whatever force it was that has controlled these events so far.

I remain hopeful that all will come right, though more cautious and also prepared for other outcomes. If connection to the utilities proves too expensive then it is not the property for me. Searching again for ruins and plots of land on the internet is fun and interesting and so far has confirmed that the ruin at Beauregard may well be good value for money. Fingers crossed as ever.