A lesson from life
Today, what I’ve learned about French life in the three years we’ve lived in Marseillan, and a recipe for Cowboy Casserole.
It’s exactly three years since we moved to Marseillan, which is something I can’t quite believe because it feels simultaneously like a minute and like I’ve always been here.
On that day in September, we left London before dawn. The car, roof box, and trailer were crammed with our possessions, the cat and dogs sitting high in the back seat, their beds perched on suitcases. We arrived in Marseillan very late. Our electrician was staying in the house and he helped us open the gates to the courtyard. We were home. It felt momentous. It was.
Keep a cool head, a large folder, and more copies of any paperwork relating to you, your birth, your marriage, your cycling proficiency, than you could ever possibly imagine.
I was tired and I couldn’t face conversation. I had no opinion on how busy the A75 from Clermont-Ferrand was or was not. As I have done so many times, I made the dogs my excuse and left. It’s been a long day, they need to stretch their legs… if you have dogs, or kids, or particularly demanding house plants, you’ve probably made similar excuses yourself.
I walked out onto the port. I don’t know why I remember it as being inky dark, because the street lamps that line both sides of the harbour are always lit at night. There was also a full moon, reflecting its silver onto the mirror-flat water. I looked down the port towards the lagoon, the dogs at my feet, and in that moment, the bells of Eglise Saint Jean-Baptiste struck midnight, the beginning of a new day. Our first day.
People often ask me what we’ve learned, what has surprised us, what, if anything, we would do differently, so I thought I’d share some of my thoughts with you here. Obviously, there is much more I could write here, but I’ve focused on the things I’m asked about most often. If you’ve moved to France, or you’re thinking of moving to France, I would love to hear your thoughts, experiences or questions in the comments.
Moving to France
Everyone will tell you that the bureaucracy is overwhelming, and it can certainly feel that way, particularly if you need a visa. It’s often discussed as though this is a particularly French thing, but foreigners trying to get the right to reside in the United Kingdom or the United States or Australia, or almost anywhere at all, face similar levels of bureaucracy. It’s complicated. There are “hand holder” agencies that can help steer you through it, some better than others. Try to go on personal recommendation if you go down that route, but you can do it all yourself. Keep a cool head, a large folder, and more copies of any paperwork relating to you, your birth, your marriage, your cycling proficiency, than you could ever possibly imagine.
The days of very cheap French houses are over, and if they are cheap there’s usually a reason.
Buying a house or flat has no bearing at all when it comes to acquiring your carte de séjour, the card you get when you gain your right to reside in France. Without your carte de séjour, you still have to follow the 90 days in 180 allowed to people outside of the Schengen area.
Things that will drive you mad
Get used to people from home thinking you’ve bought a house for the price of your previous Prêt habit. Practice the smile and the “Well, actually…”, or just smile and move on and save your sanity. The days of very cheap French houses are over, and if they are cheap there’s usually a reason. They’re either in the middle of nowhere, particularly a nowhere where it rains ten months a year, with no services, or they will cost you ten times what you paid for them to make them habitable.
Getting work done on your house and acquiring the necessary materials will cost you more than you can possibly imagine (good morning from someone who was just quoted more than €60,000 to remove, renovate and repaint her garden railings and two large double gates; they can just stay looking scruffy, honestly) and take longer than you would probably like. Good craftsmen – and in my experience, it’s always men – get booked up months in advance, sometimes more than a year in advance. Never trust someone who can come tomorrow. Always get a written quotation (dévis) with a Siret number, which identifies the official business address of the company, and that it is officially registered and licenced with all of the protections that affords you.
Say yes to things. Jump right in. You never know where it might lead you.
We may have been fortunate, but the quality of the workmanship and the pride people take in it is high.
Living in France
It goes without saying, but the more you dedicate yourself to mastering the language the more you will get out of the experience. You’ll only learn so much by passive absorption. For most people, it doesn’t take long to master the basics – the sort of things you might need on holiday, such as ordering your lunch, asking for something in a shop, the ordinary pleasantries of everyday life. But you’re not on holiday. At some point you’ll plateau unless you make concentrated efforts to improve and actively commit to taking classes, whether online or in real life. There are masses of resources out there, many of them free. For me, watching French television with the French subtitles on helps a lot. And of course, plunging into any opportunity to talk to your neighbours, however terrifying it may feel at first. No one cares if you make mistakes. Most people really want to understand you and help you.
Always, always say bonjour madame, bonjour monsieur when you enter any kind of business, and certainly before you launch into any kind of question, and au revoir when you leave. These small civilities will take you a long way. Sometimes when you hear travellers say that French people are snooty, unhelpful or cold, it’s because visitors have unknowingly broken this sacred unspoken rule.
Things I love
People have been enormously kind to us, particularly when they realised we had taken on this big old house right in the middle of the village and were bring it back to life in the correct manner. Doing things correctly, à l’époque, counts for a lot. Ditto employing local artisans.
I love that many businesses close at lunchtime and on Sundays and often in August, too, even though I often causes me to flail about at the inadequacy of my own planning. The rights of workers to have a balanced life is central to civilised life. In the summer, when supermarkets now often open on Sunday mornings and sometimes all day, it gives me twinges of concern about the staff, slinging groceries when they could be at the beach or watching telly or playing with their kids.
The right to disconnect should be enshrined in law in all countries. Here, in most circumstances employers are not allowed to contact their employees outside of their contracted work hours. This includes emails, text messages, WhatsApps. And guess what? Productivity in France is pretty high, certainly higher than in the UK. Work and money tends not to be at the centre of people’s lives. No one cares what car you drive or that you’ve just been promoted to deputy vice under manager for paper products.
I love how proud local people are of this little corner of France, of their history and culture, of the food and wine.
How to live
Say yes to things. Jump right in. You never know where it might lead you.
You’re not going to love everyone – and everyone’s not going to love you, either – and that’s fine. When we first moved here, my friend Clara gave me great advice. “Treat it like the school gates. When my kid started school, someone said to me, ‘Be cordial with everyone, but don’t be anyone’s best friend on the first day. Give it a year. Those first day people, if you eventually discover you can’t stand them, you have to see them every bloody day for years’.” The school gate principle is a good one. You’ll find your tribe. No rush.
People sometimes ask me how I cope with living in a village after living in London for 30 years. Honestly? It’s not that different. I lived in a small corner of London called Stoke Newington where I shopped at my Turkish greengrocer most days, drank coffee in the café on the corner, met friends in local restaurants for lunch, went to Ridley Road market on weekdays, the farmer’s market on Saturdays, Columbia Road flower market on Sundays, my life punctuated by small pleasures. Here, I go to the greengrocer and bakery almost every day, the butcher and fishmonger several times a week, the market on Tuesday, and often to the flower market in Béziers on Friday. I meet friends in the village for lunch or drinks, and have coffee most mornings in the Marine Bar or one of the cafés on the port. Just as I used to go into town for exhibitions, concerts and shows, now I go into Sète or Montpellier (next year I want to go to Paris more, less than three hours away on the train). It took me a little while to realise I live the life I always lead. It’s true what they say, wherever you go, you always take yourself with you.
Gardiane de taureau
Herdsman’s stew AKA Cowboy casserole
Last week, I wrote about gardiane de taureau, the slow-cooked casserole of bull meat marinated and simmered for hours in red wine, associated with the cattle herders of the Camargue. Of course, bull meat isn’t accessible to many of us, but you can easily make it with beef shin or cheek or any of the cuts that benefit from slow cooking into tenderness.
Whenever I make any kind of casserole, I always try to buy the meat in one large piece and cut it into cubes myself because, especially with a dish like this one, if the cubes are too small they can just vanish into the sauce by the time you’ve finished cooking. I like something more substantial.
You can certainly serve this as soon as it’s tender, but I prefer to make it the day before and then gently warm it through. The olives, breadcrumbs (to thicken) and the chocolate I add at the end are entirely optional but they are additions I like.
Serves 6
About 1.6kg beef – if you can’t buy bull meat, use beef shin, cheek, any cut that’s good for slow cooking, either all one cut or a combination of cuts
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