Extincteur

Extincteur(Fr. )/ extinguisher (Eng.) noun: a metal cylinder which contains water or chemicals at high pressure which can put out fires.

A few weeks ago, my friend's Bed and Breakfast (which is called a "gite" in French) caught fire. The cause? An old toaster oven turned itself on and the electrical wire set off sparks that wreaked total havoc and destroyed her kitchen and living room with fire damage.

(Photo by Thierry Drosson)

Not only do (did) I have a toaster oven at La Bonne Etape, but I also have two fireplaces that I know nothing about. It put the fear of fire in me, and therefore sent me straight to the BHV to but fire extinguishers. My intention was to buy one for every floor in my house, and maybe an extra one to hang in the bathroom as modern art, just like Patrick did in his Brussels penthouse.

There were so many options-- extincteurs for gas, grease, cars, etc. I decided I should buy the ones that covers ALL bases. It was 51 euros (!) so I only bought one.

I thought that I was finished with this adult errand until I turned the corner and saw that the options continued-- and because this is France after all, they were aesthetic options.

Yes, those are fire extincteurs that look like magnums of wine. But of course! How perfect for my house in the Burgundy wine country, non? They cost 101 euros. Sigh. Because I am an adult, I must prioritize that money towards Farrow & Ball paint.

And then, gasp, I came across these sexy little numbers. Have you ever seen anything so cheesy in your life? The shocking part was that there was a cluster of folks gathered around these little honies picking out their purchases. ("Ooh la la, rouge! Non, non. non, rose!") God, the French aren't nearly as stylish and discreet as they make themselves out to be.

I debated purchasing this for the boys. How could I resist an extincteur with a pug in a Blues Brother disguise? Again, 101 euros-- I passed. The boys can thank me later.

I made my way directly to the Caisse (register) before any other distractions took a piece of my bank account. And what do you think they put in my bag (besides the warranty paperwork for my extincteur)? You guessed it, ANOTHER breathalyzer test. 

Really?

What is going on? Why is it that every time I make a purchase at the hardware store, I am given a breathalyzer test? Is it me? Are they trying to tell me something? Or is this a real fear across Paris-- people doing at home DIY projects drunk? Dare I try and extinguish a fire after too many drinks. Yet, something tells me that is precisely when I may need to extinguish a fire.

Oh, France.

Une maison en Bourgogne

After more than a year of house hunting in France, I am proud to say that I bought a house. 

A house with two barns. 

A house with two barns, in Burgundy.

Who do I think I am? And how in the hell is this going to work? These are just two, of thousands, of questions that I have surrounding this event.

However, I really want this to be an easy birth. Therefore I am choosing to lean into it vs. resisting and contracting. I am trying to manage a balance between considering the facts and fantasizing about a large, candlelit, atumn party, in the attached barn. I think this may also have something to do with this inexplicable urge to watch Hope Floats.

For now I am focusing on the next few steps:

1. Arrange for internet and phone. (It can take up to six months I’ve been told)
2. Make sure that the Notaire and bank are communicating and meeting their deadlines.
3. Go check out the house (the current owners are away on vacation and have given me access between now and the final signing) and assess the immediate needs for habitation (things like bedding, cookware, towels, lights, etc.). Also check to see what the owners might be taking/leaving when the sale is official.
4. Finish setting up my Paris apartment. I can't turn my back on my main squeeze, Paris.
5. Blog about this process so I have a digital record of how excited, inspired, confused, clear, nervous, and happy I am.
   

Medieval introduction

My mom came to visit and I introduced her to Bourgogne.  Before seeing it with her own eyes, she used to think it was bizarre that I was so drawn to a medieval village in the middle of the French (wine) country. Because I was always a "city/beach girl".

"Oh, I get it now, it's not as strange as it sounds.  I can see why you spend so much time here, it really is magical."- Mom

L'Abbaye de Fontenay church. This is where her photo-taking got out of control.

L'Abbaye de Fontenay's monks dormitory. It was designed to look like the upside down hull of a ship.

The boys were out of town, but were generous enough to share their house with us. Here is the view from the bedroom she stayed in at the boys' house. 

One of my favorite places on earth, the boys' wine cave.

Les Cave Bailly Lapierre, where you drive your car into the cave and can taste/purchase a variety of Bially Lapierre cremants. I stocked up plenty, as can be expected.

We also did some house hunting around the village. The house attached to the left of the village's back arch was one I had considered buying last year, alas did not--overpriced, with moisture issues.

La Porte Peinte center for arts, in the heart of the village. Always an inspired afternoon escape.

Mom had to take the requisite photo in the rapeseed fields of flowers.

It's not everyday that your friends parents are all in the same place at the same, time (Argentina, US, and England). Especially on Mother's day. So Carla, Julian and I threw our moms a surprise three-way Mother's Day brunch that ended in bouquets for the moms, and dancing. Pure magic.