Wasn't sure what to call this post - Varen was the nearest 'town' although I stayed nearby in a tiny hamlet called Soucaillac, where the nearest station was called Lexos, and the house I viewed was in a nearby hamlet called something else (which I forget). Anyway, it was a train journey going north from Gaillac, only a few trains daily there (about 3) and at least this time I was already booked into a gite, where the owner's would be present. It wasn't self-catering, but I had my own space and front door in a separate part of the stone building, while they had the pigeonnier which led to a vast room where the kitchen/dining and living room were.
Lexos looked a strange station as the train pulled in. Architecturally different (wish I'd taken a photo) and also unmanned - you buy your ticket on the train. Although I was offered a lift from the station, I had originally refused because I didn't know what train I'd be arriving on, and thought that if the train was delayed and I was late I wouldn't be able to use my French mobile phone to let them know because I still hadn't worked out how to re-charge it. Each time I listened to the instructions they were in very fast French and virtually incomprehensible to me. I didn't want anyone waiting at the station in case of delays. In the end I told them exactly which train I'd be on as there were so few of them anyway, and hoped they would turn up and give me a lift, although by now I'd been given instructions on the quickest route to walk it.
With my big heavy suitcase on wheels, my first instructions were to cross the railway tracks to the other side. No bridge or walkway, just bare tracks. Big sign says it's dangerous to do this, but I have no choice. The day was getting hot even though it was only February, and going uphill was a struggle. Past fields and hedgrows, I finally reached my accommodation after about half an hour with numerous stops to catch my breath.
Lexos looked a strange station as the train pulled in. Architecturally different (wish I'd taken a photo) and also unmanned - you buy your ticket on the train. Although I was offered a lift from the station, I had originally refused because I didn't know what train I'd be arriving on, and thought that if the train was delayed and I was late I wouldn't be able to use my French mobile phone to let them know because I still hadn't worked out how to re-charge it. Each time I listened to the instructions they were in very fast French and virtually incomprehensible to me. I didn't want anyone waiting at the station in case of delays. In the end I told them exactly which train I'd be on as there were so few of them anyway, and hoped they would turn up and give me a lift, although by now I'd been given instructions on the quickest route to walk it.
With my big heavy suitcase on wheels, my first instructions were to cross the railway tracks to the other side. No bridge or walkway, just bare tracks. Big sign says it's dangerous to do this, but I have no choice. The day was getting hot even though it was only February, and going uphill was a struggle. Past fields and hedgrows, I finally reached my accommodation after about half an hour with numerous stops to catch my breath.
It was the first time I'd stayed in a hamlet environment, with only a handful of houses, most of them seeming to be empty. The English estate agent was due to pick me up from here in a couple of days time to view my dream home by the river, so that gave me a bit of time to settle in and discover the nearest town by bicycle to see what facilities it had. As the nearest shops in Varen were quite a way to walk, the owners lent me a bicycle. I still opted for the evening meal though as I had no kitchen, but was glad of some company and conversation over my 3 courses with wine. They both spoke English (he being English anyway) so that made it even better.
I was even helped with re-charging my mobile plus given written instructions on how to do it for next time. Although he seemed to have loads of students, presumably ex-pats, to whom he taught French, they still seemed to need to work at lots of other casual jobs as the gite was only a supplement to their income.
Considering they are a couple, and this was necessary in spite of having a gite and plenty of students, I was getting the impression from everywhere I went in France that living in France was expensive and that I'd probably have to work at many jobs if there was just me living there and paying the social charges etc
There were fields all around, the river Aveyron ran through the area which you could walk to and see from the gite, plus the gite owners had some unattached land a few yards from their home. It was very rural there. I cycled into Varen and was glad I didn't try to walk it. From what I could see there was one post office, a bakers, a pharmacy and a general store. If there were more shops I couldn't see them, and there was only the one main high street (photo left). I'd told myself previously I wouldn't need more than a few basic shops. Perhaps I need to revise those ideas. I must have been visibly turning my nose up at the empty high street devoid of shops, when a woman passed me and with a wonderful smile said "c'est beau!"
Yes, it IS beautiful, it's just me that needs a perception shift, I don't know why I'm like this. Not only that, it's for nature that I want to be living in France anyway, as I told myself I could order anything else I wanted over the internet.
The estate agent showed me around the house a short drive away, which was the sole purpose for my being in that neck of the woods anyway, but I knew after thinking about it for 24 hours that it wasn't right for my project. I'd stayed awake all night with insomnia. Next day I phoned her to say I wouldn't be putting in an offer after all. I'm sure she just saw me as commission on legs, and I could feel the previous day how we seemed to be playing ping pong. She wanted that house sold no matter what, and whenever I opened my mouth I wasn't really being listened to but given the usual type of sales talk reply. She had no other houses to show me but had planned on showing me a cheaper one (that she'd not told me about) that was so unsuitable as it had even less garden. She knew I wanted to do horticulture, but I think even I would have been challenged such with a small patch of lawn in the front. She even suggested I turn one of the small outbuildings housing the oil central heating boiler into a gite. Well, even the fumes were knocking me back as I popped my head in the door. "You could build a brick wall", she said, "enclosing off the boiler". So how to access the boiler then? And what about health and safety regulations having paying guests in the tiny space (and I mean tiny) right next to an inflammable liquid chucking out fumes? I'd probably get done for manslaughter if they lit up a cigarette. I wouldn't want to hang around that area given the smell, let alone have the nerve to charge someone for staying in a small shed with a smelly oil tank/boiler.
Anyway, the owner of the gite offered to give me a lift into Saint Antonin the following day, as he had a student there. It would only be for half an hour for that's how long his class lasted, but at least I could get to a bank and also maybe a few estate agents.
Saint Antonin
I was given a lift back via the scenic route so could see what the surrounding terrain was like from up high. Although I only stayed about 3 nights at the gite I really enjoyed my stay and learned a lot about the various challenges of being an expat in France, as well as things about rural life I didn't know about before. Such as how to get rid of moles in your garden. I was shown some contraption that you plant underground which when triggered explodes a loud noise which scares the moles away.
I was even helped with re-charging my mobile plus given written instructions on how to do it for next time. Although he seemed to have loads of students, presumably ex-pats, to whom he taught French, they still seemed to need to work at lots of other casual jobs as the gite was only a supplement to their income.
Considering they are a couple, and this was necessary in spite of having a gite and plenty of students, I was getting the impression from everywhere I went in France that living in France was expensive and that I'd probably have to work at many jobs if there was just me living there and paying the social charges etc
There were fields all around, the river Aveyron ran through the area which you could walk to and see from the gite, plus the gite owners had some unattached land a few yards from their home. It was very rural there. I cycled into Varen and was glad I didn't try to walk it. From what I could see there was one post office, a bakers, a pharmacy and a general store. If there were more shops I couldn't see them, and there was only the one main high street (photo left). I'd told myself previously I wouldn't need more than a few basic shops. Perhaps I need to revise those ideas. I must have been visibly turning my nose up at the empty high street devoid of shops, when a woman passed me and with a wonderful smile said "c'est beau!"Yes, it IS beautiful, it's just me that needs a perception shift, I don't know why I'm like this. Not only that, it's for nature that I want to be living in France anyway, as I told myself I could order anything else I wanted over the internet.
The estate agent showed me around the house a short drive away, which was the sole purpose for my being in that neck of the woods anyway, but I knew after thinking about it for 24 hours that it wasn't right for my project. I'd stayed awake all night with insomnia. Next day I phoned her to say I wouldn't be putting in an offer after all. I'm sure she just saw me as commission on legs, and I could feel the previous day how we seemed to be playing ping pong. She wanted that house sold no matter what, and whenever I opened my mouth I wasn't really being listened to but given the usual type of sales talk reply. She had no other houses to show me but had planned on showing me a cheaper one (that she'd not told me about) that was so unsuitable as it had even less garden. She knew I wanted to do horticulture, but I think even I would have been challenged such with a small patch of lawn in the front. She even suggested I turn one of the small outbuildings housing the oil central heating boiler into a gite. Well, even the fumes were knocking me back as I popped my head in the door. "You could build a brick wall", she said, "enclosing off the boiler". So how to access the boiler then? And what about health and safety regulations having paying guests in the tiny space (and I mean tiny) right next to an inflammable liquid chucking out fumes? I'd probably get done for manslaughter if they lit up a cigarette. I wouldn't want to hang around that area given the smell, let alone have the nerve to charge someone for staying in a small shed with a smelly oil tank/boiler.
Anyway, the owner of the gite offered to give me a lift into Saint Antonin the following day, as he had a student there. It would only be for half an hour for that's how long his class lasted, but at least I could get to a bank and also maybe a few estate agents.
Saint Antonin
I was given a lift back via the scenic route so could see what the surrounding terrain was like from up high. Although I only stayed about 3 nights at the gite I really enjoyed my stay and learned a lot about the various challenges of being an expat in France, as well as things about rural life I didn't know about before. Such as how to get rid of moles in your garden. I was shown some contraption that you plant underground which when triggered explodes a loud noise which scares the moles away.
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