Читать книгу Our House is Certainly Not in Paris - Susan Cutsforth - Страница 11

When the whales return each June, swimming north to warmer waters, it signals our return to France. The first winter moon is always spectacular. It shines in a bright river of light across the ocean. As the darkness of winter creeps in ever earlier, the silver path of the moon is in a straight line to our kitchen bench. I gaze out at it as I stand preparing dinner. The next full moon I see, peeps instead in a bright yellow orb, inside our Cuzance bedroom window, late at night.

Winter seems far away once we arrive in Cuzance. Yet I know winters were a harsh time in days gone by in Pied de la Croix. I know this from the newspaper tightly packed into every single crevice of the old farmhouse. It lined each step of the stairs up to the attic and the gap between each outside door and the floorboards. One day, as I am tearing out this tangible sign of the bitter cold seeping in, Jean-Claude tells me about Madame de la Croix’s attempts to stave off the icy fingers of winter. He kneels down and shows me how the old oak wood is exceptionally smooth and shiny in some places.

Those gleaming spots are near cracks that are wider than others in the floorboards. Why do you think that is Jean-Claude asks me? He likes to test my knowledge. I tell him I have absolutely no idea and couldn’t possibly hazard a guess.

When he reveals the reason, to say I am astonished is a huge understatement.

Apparently, Madame de la Croix, used to roll up small pieces of stale pain and then stuff the bread in the cracks to fill them up. The romanticism of days long gone dims with such tales that betray the ferocity of winter and a life lived on the land. I now have two summers, two rhythms and two lives. Yet the spirit of Madame de la Croix lives on in the dusty corners of our rooms.

Actually, while it seems far from Paris, in reality our petite maison is just a swift four-hour train trip on the TGV from Brive-la-Gaillarde to Gare d’Austerlitz. However, while in Cuzance, being in our petite village in the Lot, it is like being buried deep in the country. Rabbits bounce along the road right outside Pied de la Croix and squirrels scamper over the moss-covered stone wall opposite the French doors in our kitchen.

While the alluring streets of Paris beckon brightly, it’s just the way we like it. There is an encompassing sense of being far away from the world. Our friends find it even more so when they arrive to stay and to their dismay, they discover there is not even a boulangerie. They try to hide their disappointment, for after all, is not a boulangerie the quintessential essence of life in a petite village in France? On the eve of our annual departure to our petite maison, the enquiry from friends and colleagues is always, ‘When are you going to Paris?’ It seems that Paris is synonymous with going to France. We gloss over the fact that most times we simply land at Charles de Gaulle and the most we see of Paris is the metro.

While we no longer have a desire to be tourists in the other famous cities of the world, the romance and beauty of Paris will never lose its captivating charm. Yet given the choice of a Parisian apartment, or our old farmhouse, there is no question in my mind that I would choose Cuzance any day.

Apart from this year when we had a morning in Paris before catching the train, on the last leg of our journey from the other side of the world to Cuzance, we have not spent any time in Paris for five years. However, Paris will always be a city that has captured our hearts in a way that no other has.

Our other life in France, becomes even more astonishing when we start to discuss the details of how we can also spend a few days in Paris this summer. We can leave our Renault at the station and voila, arrive in Paris for déjeuner. When we had stayed in the Melia Colbert Boutique Hotel, five years previously, after I won a trip to Paris and five nights in luxury, we had discovered a small hotel round the corner that we liked the look of for future Parisian sojourns. Rather than search through my diary to unearth the name, Stuart goes on Google street view and indeed, just round the corner from the Melia Colbert, he finds the small, authentic Les Degres De Notre Dame Hotel. A virtual walk along the street shows a number of charming bistros and the comments posted for the hotel make it all the more enticing. Such is the immediacy of the internet, that from the reviews posted, we are able to even decide that Room 51 will be ours if it is available. It has a sweeping view of the Notre Dame Cathedral. As always, my mind works overtime, and my bag is packed for what I will wear in Paris. While in fact these plans do not eventuate, part of the joy is all in the dreaming, and, the plan will be in place for another year. Once again we are mindful of how privileged we are to know that we will indeed return. A night in Paris on our return leg home, will actually be imperative in the future, indeed, more than a mere luxury, to avoid the mayhem that ensues on this return trip and our almost doomed departure...