What I miss most about France - It's the little things

What we all miss most about France has become even more difficult to tolerate as France slowly opens up. France is so tantalisingly close and yet…Attractions, sites, museums, cafés and more all over the country are opening their doors this week. Close to the UK, the long, sandy beaches of north France beckon – perfect for social distancing. However for us in the UK, trips to France are still uncertain.

blue and whit striped beach huts at Hardelot — Beach huts at Hardelot

The very real possibility of getting there soon brings on a real yearning for the country.

It’s the little things

What I miss most about France are the little things.

Freshly baked croissants

Round plate of croissants — Public domain via Wikimedia Commons

I woke up this morning with an overwhelming desire for a fresh croissant. My house in the remote Auvergne is in a tiny hamlet with no shops. So when we’re there, we get up and bicycle the 5 kilometres along the gorges of the Allier river to the nearby small village which has one alimentation attached to the bakery. We buy fresh croissants, still warm from the oven, then go for a coffee in the local café eating some of them before cycling back, keeping some of those croissants for later.

When we first bought the house decades ago, the café was run by a man who had a steel plate in his head – a casualty of the war. He ran a multi-faceted business: café, petrol station and building materials shop. To us, he was the Pastis and cement man.

French Greetings

Shopkeeper in Paris talking to customers — Shopkeeper in Paris © AtoutFrance/Cedric Helsly

There’s the cheerful ‘Bonjour monsieur-dame’ when you go into any shop (apart from the odd exception, usually a cashier like the non-smiling grim-faced lady at Monoprix in Antibes). The greeting is a connection made, an acknowledgement that you’re somebody there with them. The greeting works wonders.

In the same vein, I do missing all that kissing. It can get a bit tedious in my region; sometimes hitting 5 kisses. I put it down to the slow pace of life – have they forgotten the first one by the time they get to the fifth? Or perhaps it’s just another way to pass the day.

Visits to Unknown Places

Chateau de la Rochelambert looking up a steep path to the front door with small turreted castle nestling against the hillside — Chateau de la Rochelambert

I miss visiting small, unknown châteaux. It’s particularly relevant in my region where there aren’t very many. Take the Château de la Rochelambert. For years it quietly promoted the legend that Georges Sand stayed here with her lover, Chopin. It wasn’t quite like that; in fact the formidable writer spent just one afternoon here on June 4, 1859. And her lover? Nowhere to be seen.

The château clings to the hillside that rises above it, a massive, sturdy building of granite hugging the slope for comfort. It’s charming, and despite the debunking, there’s a bedroom dedicated to Georges Sand, with portraits and letters on display.

I love the small rooms and remember walking through the quiet château as dust motes quivered in the sunlight coming through the windows. Nobody there, just me and ghosts from the past – surely that was Georges Sand disappearing behind that door?

And the Château de la Rochelambert is now open. You just have to book in advance.

Restaurants, cafés and bars

Two waiters in black withlong white aprons going through a door in a Paris restaurants; back view — Waiters in Paris © AtoutFrance/Nathalie Baetens

I miss the busy waiters, immaculately dressed in black with long white aprons around their waists, even in the height of summer in the resorts along the south of France. They negotiate the tightly packed tables with consummate skill, trays balanced at shoulder height with glasses of beer, Pastis with jugs of water, citron pressé for those after a healthy drink, or a cure for a hangover.

Brasserie Thoumieux in Paris. Inside detail shot of pot of plants with people behind at tables, andglasses to left — Brasserie Thoumieux in Paris

I even miss the rude waiters of the past. Years ago, the French government ran a campaign to teach hitherto rude or indifferent waiters how to charm their customers. That year we went back to one of my favorites: Thoumieux which in those days was a wonderful, local and inexpensive brasserie, with the aforesaid grumpy waiters. They had changed; they were polite; they smiled! It was not the same experience at all.

Gardens – French formality vs English wildness?

The King's Kitchen Garden at Versailles. Aerial view showing neat paths bisecting large green vegetables plots — The King’s Kitchen Garden at Versailles Public domain via Wikimedia

I miss the slightly smug feeling of superiority when I’m visiting gardens in France. Looking at those military-style parterres with their regimented flowers and longing for the English approach of herbaceous borders spilling over onto brick paths, and rolling parkland dotted with mature trees.

What I miss most about France…less health and safety!

View of Ainy le Vieil in distance over green lawn with two towers and massive stone walls of 14th century fortress — Ainy le Vieil © Mary Anne Evans

I remember visiting the gorgeous château at Ainy-le-Vieil, one of the best preserved fortresses from the 14^th century. I was on a press trip covering gardens in the Loire Valley.

It is still in the family of the original owner, Jean-Baptiste Colbert, Louis XIV’s Finance Minister, passing where needed through the female line. The redoubtable current owner, a Princess no less, wanted to show us the ramparts and the view. We dutifully climbed the stone spiral staircase to the top where the Princess was trying to open a door. She pushed hard and voilà! We were out on the ramparts that ran around the castle. They were about one metre wide with a battlemented wall to one side and the other? A sheer drop into the courtyard and no railing.

And just chilling out in my house in the Auvergne

Looking from far above down onto the viaduct and distant train line enclosed in the gorges of the Allierl — The train way below in the Gorges of the Allier © Mary Anne Evans

I miss just sitting in my garden waiting for the train on the Train de Cevennes line going past way down in the gorges at exactly…11.27am. Yes, you can just see it.

There’s a whistle seemingly far away then the train comes out of the tunnel into the gorges, trundles along…how many carriages this time?…then disappears into another tunnel to continue on its journey.

Jam Making

Pots of apricot jam with red and blue gingham check tin covers on round board on old table with lavender behind — Apricot Jam © Mary Anne Evans

And buying the apricots (testing them for sweetness first), and sugar for jam then spending hours making quantities of apricot jam to take home to London. It keeps a little bit of summer going for a very long time.