La Giraudiere


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Europe » France » Poitou-Charentes
July 26th 2008
Published: July 26th 2008
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Charente CountrysideCharente CountrysideCharente Countryside

View of the countryside when walking to La Giraudiere from Brossac Village
Arrival

It was Monday, the 5th of May in late afternoon. I arrived in Angouleme, France, at the train station after traveling for 12 plus hours from Colorado. I had gone to France to take part in a work abroad program for three and a half weeks, and the program coordinator was supposed to pick me up. I was a little skeptical about if anyone would be meeting me because the program sounded great, and the old adage, if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is kept running through my mind.

The work program was in Charente on the property of an old French farmhouse called La Giraudiere being renovated to be a tourist complex. I would work three days and pay 90 Euros a week for my lodging and three meals a day, which made it affordable for an American in Europe. There wasn't a lot written about Charente in the three guidebooks I checked, and it seemed like a great opportunity for cultural immersion and a change of pace. In the end, I went as much for not knowing what to expect, as for what I thought it would be about.

I stood in front of the station to get fresh air, and to look for an English man named Paul that would appear to be looking for me. I had emailed a photo of myself, but I didn't know what he looked like.

Are You Michele?

"Are you Michele?" I heard asked in an English accent. I turned to see a man who looked to be approaching 50. He had short gray and white hair and a tanned, almost sunburned face. Through silver, oval-shaped glasses sitting in front of blue eyes, he kept direct eye contact. His attentive look reminded me of how, with curiosity, I check over a gadget I purchased on the Internet and have waited weeks to receive. He appeared to have left work to pick me up, and was dressed in a sweatshirt, dusty jeans and gray tennis shoes.

I kept eye contact with him while deciding if I would own up to my identity. I had a positive gut-feeling about him, so finally, with a smile, I said, "Yes. Are you Paul?"

He carried one of my bags to his car in passenger pick-up, and soon we drove away from the station through the busy city on route to La Giraudiere. Riding in the car, I remembered that I didn't know this man and he could be taking me anywhere. But in the left-hand side of his English car, I felt the comfort of being with an old friend.

Scenery

Outside of Angouleme, we were among green rolling hills under a shining sun. Stone houses with bright-colored flowers and small vineyards were tucked away in groves of trees. Manicured fields of long straight rows crawled up and down the hillsides with small sprouts of green growing up from the soil. What I saw brought thoughts of simple life built around land, family and work.

In the drive, I was reminded of the differences in British and American English. He talked about the lorries on the road, which I gathered were trucks, and I had to listen with focused attention to recognize words spoken in his English accent. I assumed he was probably cringing each time I spoke my American English, and I tried to avoid any slang and national references. Considering how American politics are viewed around the world in current times, I was feeling apprehensive about traveling in France. I wanted to be liked and because of my nationality I felt like the odds were against me.

La Giraudiere

I looked forward to seeing La Giraudiere in the way you imagine a place you have only experienced in pictures. We drove through the small village of Brossac and about a mile further, turned down a quite narrow road surrounded by grassy fields and trees on both sides. I saw a two-story cream-colored house built of large mason stones. Tall, wooden, dark-green shutters framed large windows dressed in lace curtains. It was La Giraudiere and it had an old world sentiment of charm and invitation.

We went inside to meet other people that had also come for the work abroad program; Simon, Ann and Dave. Geoff, an English friend of Paul's that lived in Brossac, was also there. While Paul was picking up me in Angouleme, Geoff had gone for Ann and Dave in Bordeaux. Ann and Dave were Scottish and retired, and the three of us stayed together in gite 2, or its proper name is La Cour. Gite is the French term for a self-catering holiday apartment and is pronounced gheet. There were three gites at La Giraudiere and they were used for the work group's accommodations.

Simon was 18, from England and in his gap-year. Simon had been at La Giraudiere for a few days already and was staying in gite 3, which is where all the English guys would stay once the other two arrived later in the week. Paul was in gite 1 with his dog Sidney.
I collected my bags from the car and climbed the steps to my room. I was too tired to unpack and the surroundings were too new to fall asleep. I decided to join the others for a glass of wine outside and socialize.

Geoff left and Paul prepared dinner. Around 7pm we gathered at the table in gite 2, which Paul told us was where we would have all of the meals, but we would cook in gite 3 where there was a gas stove and oven. We all talked as newly acquainted people do of travels and where we were from. Paul told us about the coming weekend's community football tournament, friends and neighbors that would be stopping by during our stay, and some of the work we would be doing at La Giraudiere. I looked forward to all of it.

After dinner Paul headed down the lane to walk Sidney, and I joined him. It was dusk and the sky glowed in shades of pink and orange from the setting sun. The air was warm, insects were chirping, and we meandered to the end of the lane and back. I felt carefree.

The Rest of the Group

Paul picked up Dony and Ryan later in the week from Bordeaux. Both of them were from England. Dony was 31 and closest in age to me. He was a comic with non-stop jokes and flippant comments. Ryan, 22, had recently completed a master degree program in international marketing. He was full of ideas to market La Giraudiere, and it was the focus of his work there. Ryan's company put me at ease because he liked America - as he called it. He had been there several times and enjoyed the culture. The three English guys were called the lads by everyone except me. The term felt too parental for this 35-year-old American woman to use - I used their names.

Soon all of us were settled in our gites and forming a routine.

The First Morning and All the Rest

I heard the clatter and clang of dishes and silverware downstairs. As I was waking, I remembered I was in France and it was Tuesday. I looked at my clock - 7:30 in the morning. I thought I must be hearing Paul set the table for breakfast, and that it was also a wake up alarm - time to get up. I heard Ann and Dave whisper back and forth and the bed and floor creak in their neighboring room. They moved in a rush like they were concerned about being on time. In less than 10 minutes, they went down the stairs and I heard them exchange morning pleasantries with Paul.

I finally rose and made it to the table by 8am, dressed and with a jet-lagged mind. I was glad to see coffee on the table.

Most mornings at La Giraudiere were like my first one, even on the days we did not work. The group would gather by 8am at the table and eat a breakfast that was an assortment of cereals, fruit, and bread and jellies with coffee and tea. Everyone was always pleasant in the morning, and occasionally a little quiet if it was the morning after a night out in Brossac. Sometimes Paul would watch the weather and news, and the attractive French women on TV always stirred up conversation.

How It Began

Paul purchased La Giraudiere in 1997. He had traveled in France and enjoyed it so much that he wanted to spend more time there. He had an appreciation for the French way of life and thought it would be nice to live and work in France full-time. Paul enjoys entertaining people and liked the idea of having a place in France where people could come to relax and experience French life. For three years he searched throughout France for property to buy, and in the process he discovered Charente. He then looked for another year in Charente until finding La Giraudiere. With additional investors he arranged for the purchase of La Giraudiere. The plan for the property was to establish a self-catering holiday hamlet to keep 40 people with a restaurant and bar onsite.

La Giraudiere's history was as a maison de maitre, which means the master farmhouse. It was a term used in the French countryside for the home of someone that owned a large amount of land. Now, it is also used to describe a style of home design and construction. La Giraudiere was the maison de maitre for Doctor Paul Giraud and his family who first owned it and much of the property surrounding La Giraudiere. They leased the land out to others for farming. Annie, a neighbor whose family once leased their property from Doctor Giraud until he sold it to them, told Paul there has always been a Paul at La Giraudiere.

In 1998 Paul left England and moved to La Giraudiere to begin its transformation. He has been restoring the property in stages to convert it into a tourist complex and employs two French artisans, Julien and Aymeric, to work with him. Paul began renovation work in what is believed to have originally been the living quarters for La Giraudiere's land foreman. These living quarters were converted into two separate gites, each with a kitchenette, bathroom and shower, fireplace, dining and lounging areas on the first floor and three bedrooms on the second floor. He then built a third gite with the same design in what
Inside the Main HouseInside the Main HouseInside the Main House

Place of restoration work
had been a small barn between the main house and the foreman's quarters. These gites are currently available for holidaymakers to stay in, and are also what our group stayed in.

Paul, Julien and Aymeric are building three more gites and restoring the main house to be a restaurant and bar on the first level, with additional accommodations on the second and an outdoor pool on the grounds.

My Work

Paul asked you to perform work where you had skills and talents, and he also allowed you to be trained in work you didn't know much about. I did both.

For the first two weeks, Simon and I worked together to create a directory of Brossac village's restaurants, shops and activities. Simon is fluent in French and he planned to major in it at university, along with German and Literature. He interviewed people at each location to gather information on contacts, open and close hours, and special details of each place. Simon shared this information with me English because that is the only language I speak. I recorded it and took digital photos. Once our data collection was done, we created web pages based on Paul's
Outdoor Bread OvenOutdoor Bread OvenOutdoor Bread Oven

I worked on restoring this oven
web page template. This work assignment was fun and allowed me to get to know Simon, learn about Brossac village and how to create a web page for the site.

My job at home requires me to be at a computer full-time, and I was eager to perform different work. I asked to spend my last week working outdoors or learning about building techniques. Paul accommodated my interests.

We talked it over and decided I would begin restoring the outdoor bread oven. These ovens are a tradition with Charente farmhouses and I had seen one on the neighbor's property and outside of a bakery in a village nearby. It was seven feet high with a roof on it and constructed of limestone. At chest level was a black iron door where a baker would put bread into the oven. I looked inside and it appeared to be in perfect condition.

My work was to chisel old mortar from between the layers of limestone, so new mortar could be applied to make the structure more solid. I began with using a chisel and hammer then, Paul brought me a power chisel. This made the job faster and easier and, with time, also made my trigger finger and hand go numb. The mortar crumbled away as I chiseled and the oven seemed to be coming apart. This revealed that I was working on a facade of the original bread oven because behind it was a wall covered in black soot I am guessing from previous use. I continued my work on the oven and took breaks (as many as I could) by laundering the bed linens in the afternoon. This gave my trigger finger and hand time to get the feeling back in them.

The next two days I performed grounds maintenance with Ann and Dave, and sanded and started painting a courtyard bench.

Gite 2 Living

I showered in the evenings after work, and the shower room was on the first floor on the left just after you entered the gite, and the toilet and sink were in a room on the right. I would take my clothes to the shower room and pull them on after I was done. Anyone who has tried to put clothes on in a steamy room after a shower knows it is an awkward task. Within a week I
Morning BreakMorning BreakMorning Break

Paul in the kitchen for morning break
started leaving the shower in my bath sheet and foam thongs. I would hope the gite was empty, but if not I told the others don't look, as I zipped around the table and up the stairs. The group was relaxed enough that this was not a problem.

The staircase was in the corner of the kitchen and it turned a half-spiral as you ascended to the second floor. It was steep and the width for one person to use it at a time, going up or coming down. Every other step let out a creeaaakkk of varying levels. It was built of a dark solid wood, maybe walnut and a showpiece in the room. If I needed the facilities in the middle of the night, I had to remind myself to be careful of my footing. I startled myself to alertness more than once by slipping and catching myself against the wall.

In the mornings, Dave sang and whistled almost as soon as he got up. His songs sounded like traditional Scottish songs that told a story and could be a bit woeful. His full-toned voice filled the gite with sound, and while I would have liked
Morning Break VisitorMorning Break VisitorMorning Break Visitor

Ian stops by to join morning break
to have slept longer some mornings, I enjoyed the novelty of being woken up this way. One morning Ann went downstairs and told him Dave, when you get up, the whole gite gets up. I could not have agreed more.

My room was large and had two twin beds and furniture to keep my clothes and bags. There was a space heater I could use for chilly nights and a duvet on the bed. Directly below me was the kitchen and the old courtyard was the view from my window. I could hear when people were downstairs, and if Paul wanted my attention he would call Meeshel from the kitchen, and I could hear it clear as day. I liked to rest in my room during the day, and would sit in front of an open window to listen to La Giraudiere's many birds sing and breathe its fresh air.

In the quiet night from my room, I could hear murmuring voices if people were outside and when they climbed the stairs in neighboring gites as they went to bed. Paul commented about hearing me move about in the night too when I did not sleep well. Being able to hear these sounds and the voices of who was at La Giraudiere felt like I was staying in a house full of family.

Breaks and Lunches

Work would stop around 11am and pots of coffee and tea were made for the morning break. Often we sat in the courtyard and relaxed in the warm sun and would hear how everyone's work was going. Morning break was never being missed, and sometimes we repeated it again in the afternoon.

We ate lunch together on work days about 1pm. Paul prepared the food or asked a couple of group members to do it. Work would stop and everyone came to a table set for nine to include the group, Paul, Julien and Aymeric. There was always fresh bread from the Brossac baker, an assortment to French cheeses, pates, and ham to accompany quiche or pizza with sides of cassoulet or salads. Coffee and tea would follow the meal if people wanted it.

Breaks and lunches were always a relaxing time that never felt rushed or tied to a schedule. We sat at the table enjoying the time with coffee and tea and conversation in pockets of French and English.

Julien and Aymeric

Julien and Aymeric are in their early 20s and have worked with Paul doing restoration for six years. They seemed polite and always greeted me at La Giraudiere with the traditional French double-kiss. At first the greeting was awkward for me. The physical proximity between people would usually only be for close friends and loved ones in the states, but when I was introduced to the French, we always greeted one another with the double kiss. With time I welcomed the exchange and felt a unique connection for others where we greeted in this fashion. It is an elusive yet palpable feeling of warmth and care. I would guess that other people not accustomed to the greeting and then exposed to it, would understand this experience.

I looked forward to Julien and Aymeric being at La Giraudiere and wished to talk with them, but arrived at La Giraudiere without any French language skills. It reminded me that the last time I was in Europe, I told myself I would return only if I had some basic language skills in the country I planned to travel in. But I did it again,
Pouring StepsPouring StepsPouring Steps

Building cement steps in the main house being restored.
showed up without French conversation skills and was embarrassed about it.

Julien understood and spoke English, and one day I was talking with him after lunch while over a cup of coffee. He did not understand something I said and before I could repeat it he said, You speak French. His tone was that of a scolding parent. I felt my face heat up and I was speechless.

He continued, You in France, you speak French. When I am in your country, I speak English. I told him I did not know any French words, but he this did not matter. Julien went on to explain he did not know any English until he began working with Paul and then he learned.

While this was inspiring, I was pretty sure I would not be leaving France speaking French after three and a half weeks. It was the perfect time though to take that awkward first step in learning something new, which of course is putting whatever it is you have been studying into practice.

I pointed to the cup on the table and while looking at him said, In French, what is this? Tasse, he said.
JulienJulienJulien

Julien working in the main house
I repeated it back and he said it again. I repeated it back and he said it again. You know how this goes and when I was pretty close in my pronunciation, I pointed to the spoon and he said, cuillere. I practiced saying it, and so it went.

I had a few of these French vocabulary lessons with Julien and Aymeric, which were a mixture of humility and fun for me. I was excited to learn, particularly from native speakers, and this was also a way I could connect with them.

French Lessons

Paul coordinated French lessons with a local teacher named Celine. She had grown up in Brossac and now taught English to kids at a school nearby. Celine was always smiling and giggling and since she spoke English too, she interacted with our group quite a lot. She came to La Giraudiere on Thursday mornings for lessons and would stay for lunch. There were several different levels of French language skills among the group, and she took requests for what we wanted to learn.

One Sunday night she took Dony, Simon, Ryan and I to a neighboring village for a live Cajun Blues music performance, and another time some of us went to Aubettere-Sur-Don for an afternoon. Celine was kind and generous with her time and companionship and she became much more than the French teacher.



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