A place called home

A place called home

Since arriving permanently in France in early April our lives have been hectic, tiring and at times confusing and frustrating. It’s now early July and things are starting to feel a little more settled (for the time being at least).

        

It had been our intention not to live in our new home in the Haut-Languedoc until after the renovation had been completed. We had a place near Béziers where we could stay until the autumn and then move closer to the village when the building work started. This worked well, until we signed and the house was officially ours. For me, the draw of our little, somewhat run down place and the little village, were stronger than the modern comforts of our rental accommodation. It was also impossible to start to get to know our new neighbours with only fleeting visits.

 

So, the day the dreadful Brexit result was announced, and with the help of our friends and neighbours who have loaned us a bed, fridge, some chairs and a table, we moved here, to start our new life. Life is basic here, but life is good. Learning to cook on a ‘Baby Belling’ style cooker is a challenge, the washing machine floods when plumbed in and we have to be careful not to overload the somewhat fragile and ancient electrical network. Currently we have no fixed phone or internet of our own, that should come in the next week or so. We are borrowing Wi-Fi from a neighbour; while this can be frustrating and limiting at times, I’ve found not being permanently connected to the world quite liberating.

 

I still have to pinch myself, that this tiny village, in the foothills of the Caroux is now my home. 

A place called home