Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Foreign Hoarders and Brocante Dreams
When we first bought our place we were warned by parents, other assorted family and basic-
ally anyone we told that what we had taken on was too big. There would be too much mainten-
ance they said; constant work. We thanked people for their concern, knowing they were right,
but all the time thinking it a small price to pay for basking in the smug knowledge that for
the same price as a two-up, two-two down in the rough end of a 'New Town', we'd bought our
dream property. In truth though, we had behaved like kids in a sweet shop.
Smugness doesn't do the upkeep either, and it was probably less than a fortnight before we
approached the handyman/gardener who had worked for the previous owners to 'help us out a
bit'. Manuel comes round at least once a week now. Whether he's been asked to or not.
He hadn't really got on with our predecessors; in his eyes, it seems, they were city folk and
knew nothing of the countryside, hacking away at their fruit trees and storing the winter logs
in a damp place. I think now, though, he'd regard them as a pair of professional gardeners
compared to my outdoor efforts. Thankfully, he adores Natalie, loves the boys - particularly
Thérence and Maurice who are both outdoor types - and is invaluable when I'm away. But like
I say, he's not sure about me. He's a fair bit older than I am (about sixty years old), but he has
fewer grey hairs than I do and though not really stocky or muscular is stronger than the Mafia
and just as unlikely to talk. He has a slow, rolling gait as if all the strength he possesses needs
to be controlled until needed, but could go off like a firework at any moment.
Manuel is Portuguese and part of a sizeable Portuguese community in the Loire Valley; the
Portuguese are actually the largest 'immigrant' group in France. Though he and his wife have
been here for thirty years, his French is spoken with a very strong Portuguese accent, and as
my French comes with a heavy Michael Caine twang, communication is something of an is-
sue. Over the years, though, we have developed a way of communicating: I'll shrug and he'll
tut. To be honest, communication between us isn't really an issue as he has little or no respect
for my opinions and thinks I'm not to be entirely trusted with any of the bigger property main-
tenance decisions or upkeep. The last of which I'd probably agree with him on.
One of his many advantages is that he owns a
remorque
(trailer) which comes in very handy
indeed. Every so often in a frenzy of OCD mania I will set about one of the outbuildings, ig-
noring Natalie's and the boy's cries of 'I could make something of that', 'I could put that on
eBay' and 'I've been looking for that for ages', and I will have a right good clear out. Nothing,
