Mardi, 10 mai, 2016
Nous allons en France
Rob from
Bristol Express Couriers rolled up with Pete and two vans on Monday, 9th
May to load what we were taking with us. In theory this was everything we would
need in a two-bed flat with plenty of cupboard space where we would be living
for a year or so. There was much
discussion about whether it might all fit in one van as the only large items
were two sofa-beds (clic-clac in
French) but they managed it and disappeared to get ready for an early start at
5am the following morning.
Wilf and I
spent the rest of the day packing the essentials that we would take with us in
the car and have ready when we arrived (plates, cutlery, kettle, tea, coffee,
bedding, etc) and sorting out things for the two people who would be living in
our house while we are away. We got to
bed before midnight and woke again at 4am to set off slightly later than
planned to drive to Dover and catch the 9.10 ferry to Calais. Let’s just say we
didn’t have to queue to board but fortunately did have enough time to eat un full English before we left port.
French
motorways don’t seem quite as hectic as British ones and we arrived at Wilf’s
office half an hour early to collect the keys then headed back to Valenciennes,
parked in the garage under the flats, loaded the lift and headed up to the flat.
Rob arrived
bang on time, with Dave, today’s mate. Dave filled the lift with boxes, while
Rob unloaded and brought them into the flat. Monopolising the lift for a couple
of hours didn’t seem to inconvenience too many people and all neighbours so far
have seemed friendly. Boxes, beds, table and chairs proved no problem. The two
mattresses were slightly trickier and then it came to the sofa-beds. Both had
to come up the 92 stairs and after blood, sweat, toil and tears, both made it
into the flat.
Rob and Dave
headed off after a quick cuppa then Wilf and I went to find something to eat.
The local shops and supermarket provided what we needed and we enjoyed some
traditional French produce, surrounded by boxes and completely exhausted,
before assembling a bed and collapsing into it.
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| Supporting local producers and shops |
Mercredi, 11 mai
Nous allons au marché
I have been
telling people that the market was within spitting distance of the flat. This is
absolutely true, if you happen to be the world-record-holding spitting champion
and a 120mph gale is blowing from behind you. Still, it was visible through the
tree tops and we trotted off after our breakfast (bread, jam, coffee) to explore.
One of our favourite things on holidays in France has been shopping at the
market, eating the produce and doing it all again the next market day. The
purchases were predictable: huge tomatoes, lettuce, eggs, fruit and a fillet of
white fish from an impressive fish stall, straight from Boulogne.
We bought the
eggs from an elderly, well-fed lady who sat at the back of her small van,
selling things very much straight from the producer: huge goose eggs, parsley, a
large oven-ready something and hens’ eggs (“Medium or large?” she’d asked,
thought even the medium were big and she struggled to find a dozen small enough
to qualify).
Our next task
was to open a bank account. We went to a bank which had been recommended though
the man on reception looked as though he would rather we didn’t exist and offered
us an appointment for next Wednesday. We couldn’t wait that long so we went to
another who said we could see someone a week on Friday. Into the next bank, Credit
Agricole, who had the advantage of sponsoring a cycling team (with Chris
Boardman on it) in the 1990s and whose receptionist was a smiley man who took all
our details then told us we could see Florence tomorrow aft at 5. Done.
With a bank
account now almost in the pipeline, we headed off to see if we could make any
progress with setting up mobile phones and broadband. Unfortunately we couldn’t
do this without a bank account, so have to go back. We hoped we hadn’t
frightened the staff too much and they would still be there when we returned.
Jeudi, 12 mai
Wilf travaille et nous allons à la
banque
Wilf’s first
day at work. He’s been lent a computer until his own arrives and has been
linguistically challenged by it as its first language is Hungarian. He now
knows that the Hungarian word “Angol” doesn’t mean an African country but “England.”
It was a bit easier after that.
He rushed back
from work and we rushed round to the bank, leaving behind all the documents we
needed. He hurtled back, going up the stairs two at a time and returned,
breathing heavily as he was introduced to Florence. Despite the unusual start,
she was very pleasant, though I was slightly surprised by her outfit, which
would be very unlikely in a British bank: black high heels, denim jacket, and
skin-tight white jeans. I’m sure Wilf was concentrating too much on getting his breath back and spelling
his name to notice. We gave her great training as they have a new system and they
don’t have many foreign customers. Wilf and I shared the work during the
meeting: he can guess the meaning of words to do with finance and I supplied translations
of the more usual words. She gave us a sheaf of papers about the account and
banking in France and we headed round to sort out the phone connection, where
we were greeted as regulars and jumped the queue.
Vendredi, 13 mai
Grand Frère, Jour 3
Day 3 in the Grand Frère house and Jan
is beginning to wonder how much exercise she will need to do to counteract a
diet consisting mainly of bread, butter and cheese. While she considers this, she has
another piece of bread, spread with butter and cherry jam but is then concerned
about the amount of sugar in the jam so has another piece of cheese to
balance it out.
I decide that a
walk would be a good idea, as the weather is lovely, so have a wander round the
area, which looks like any other French town north of the Paris. I do
my first “Stair Climb Challenge” when I get back; 1 minute 30 seconds. I’m
hoping I can reduce it.
We don't have a tv until we're online. The sunset is some compensation.
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