Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
ing how to challenge our sub-agent on this when the owners appeared and my moment was
lost. There was nothing for it but to get on with the visit.
Our first impressions of the owners were positive. They were undeniably a bit grubby
in a bucolic sort of a way but babbled away pleasantly whilst simultaneously proffering
words and gesticulations of welcome. We did have a couple of goes at responding but this
was clearly their show. Their well-rehearsed duet was not going to be spoiled by listening
to questions or comments from mere foreigners.
Actually, one feature of French social conversation we have since learned to admire
is
the ability of three or more people to speak simultaneously about completely unconnected
subjects. Any attempt to inject a common theme is steadfastly ignored and met with an in-
crease in the volume and speed of rhetoric. Another feature of the various French regional
accents is that words don't always sound the way you'd expect them to. All of which com-
bines to create a real possibility for total confusion.
With the chorus of welcomes complete and before we got involved in the 'grand tour',
I asked if there was somewhere secure to leave the dogs. They were looking pretty glum
now that any erstwhile hopes of a decent walk had obviously been abandoned. So the very
least I could do was to find somewhere for them to have a snuffle around and a gnaw at a
compensatory chew. The owners beamed (plainly animal people, which is always helpful)
and motioned towards a small paddock where the dogs spent the rest of the morning.
Lord
,
I wish I'd stayed with them.
To be fair, the first building we were led to did resemble the photograph we'd seen
in the blurb. From the outside it was an attractive, although a rather crumbly, stone dwell-
ing with a sloping roof that was covered with Roman-style tiles. Wooden shutters of inde-
terminate colour protected windows and surrounded a rickety portico. This framed a large
wooden door which was the main entrance.
Madame
had now disappeared so
monsieur
, assuming the role of tour operator, drew
himself up to his full (albeit modest) height and flung open the door. Ignoring the threaten-
ingly creaking sounds emanating from the woodwork he cried, “
Bienvenue monsieur, mes-
dames!”
We walked into the lobby and peered owlishly into the semi-darkness. I'm not sure
whether the badly stained ancient décor was to blame, or the veils of cobwebs that covered
most of the walls and furnishings. Whatever the reason, it was almost impossible to make
out what lay ahead. It probably was pleasant, or might have been, if visible. This practical
difficulty was then made worse by the pervading smell of damp and something else slightly
reeky which I couldn't quite put my finger on.
We were then treated to an experience that was to be repeated several times over the
next few days. It seems that many French people don't worry too much about how they
present a house for sale. The notion of giving it a quick brush or swipe with a mop clearly
doesn't register as being important, nor does the removal of cobwebs and dead creatures.
