Take a Break...

It's a quiet, autumnal mid-day much like any other in a small village in Charente Maritime. There's hardly a soul to be seen as I drive past one more house renovation, slowing to admire a freshly-applied coat of lime render. ' Il est beau , eh.?' This sudden interjection takes me by surprise. Coloured to subtle perfection by the local sand in the mix, the effect is indeed trés, trés beau, and due to get even better once it's been floated-off to a final smooth finish. So I reply 'Oui, bravo!' and wave approvingly to the owner of the voice, a small, middle-aged man relaxing in the sunshine in faded bleues-de-travail, a generous sandwich in his hand and the broad smile of a man who knows he's doing a great job.

And so they do - if you can find one. The artisans of France are in demand as never before, as her traditional homes and public buildings are systematically casting off the accumulated grime of history. The result of all this care and attention is that much of France is now positively glowing, in a way I could never have imagined when I first began discovering it. Even harder to take in is the knowledge that it's now been six years since we bought our very own chunk of it, and that advancing our own campaign of restoration still consumes otherwise idle moments. So why, I hear you ask, has it taken this long to reach the 'I think we're finally getting there' stage? For one thing, there's the scale of what we took on. An accident of pure good fortune allowed us to effectively exchange a minute cottage in the wilds of Cornwall for a gracious 150 year-old farmhouse here with 'potential for improvement'. This alone would have been quite sufficient to keep us amused for some time, but there was more: the additional outbuildings (we know why the French call them dépendances ) included a ruined pair of former farm-workers' cottages plus three substantial stone barns, the largest of which made me distinctly uneasy the very first time I peered inside with the agent who was showing us around. Feeling uncomfortably like Tom Hanks and Shelly Long in 'The Money Pit', Julia and I came close to walking in the opposite direction.

But we didn't. Why? Because we had a dream, and an old country house lay at the very heart of it. And this one (even without all the extra outbuildings) was exactly what we wanted. The location, in a peaceful but not remote small hamlet, also seemed close to perfect. But most of all it was just so. so French. And we were determined we would keep it that way. So restoring it to how it must have looked and felt when in its prime was never going to be either easy or quick, especially since our work takes us away so frequently to far-flung corners of this vast country. But it's what we do.

Not that we're complaining; it is, after all, what enables us to live here. And, after the long round trips to distant locations for photography, and the angst of making reluctant words come together and live in harmony on the page, a spot of DIY makes a welcome break and a reward for another job put safely to bed. But it's not like that for everyone. You'd be surprised at how many people move here, often as a result of a longstanding love-affair with a France they've spent years discovering during holidays, only to put themselves (and each other) under impossible pressure to complete a rebuild or renovation project. Get into this situation and it's all too easy to lose sight of the dream.

Or rather, to miss the big picture. Remember all those little things you fell in love when you fell in love with France? They're still there, right where you left them, so here's an idea: take a break from DIY. In fact, from now on it also means Discover It Yourself, and you're allowed - no, encouraged - to do as much of it as you like. Trust me on this. Wherever you go France will find a way to amaze you, often when you least expect it. Talking of which, if you'll excuse me I must get on - there's this great place I really want to see...

© Words by Roger Moss, 2005
This text first appeared in everything France magazine