T is for Texture: the patina of age

 

We head for the hardware store with much haste as soon as there is any sign of ageing in our homes.

Yet here in France, it is this very purposeful 'neglected' state that creates a unique charm and beauty.

N is for Nice: swimming in the Mediterranean Sea

Nice putting on her best face.

A sweltering summer afternoon in Nice, a perfect excuse to head to the Med for a swim after our morning of wool shopping.

We booked ourselves into one of the private beaches, found a shady spot and settled in, swimming, people watching and following all the sporting activities out to sea.

Afternoon ' a la plage', Nice.
That's me, far right, wondering how I was going to navigate the pebbles!

Nice seems resilient post the terror attack of the 14th July. But the two faces that we saw today are not easy to reconcile, the lightness of tourists along the lovely pedestrianised streets or the swimming and sunbathing crowds along the beaches versus the mementoes reflecting the outpouring of grief along the Promenade des Anglais.

Fred feeling the impact of the horror of the attack in Nice.

Serene view of palms and the iconic Le Negresco along the Promenade des Anglais.

K is for Knitting: shopping at la Droguerie in Nice

La Droguerie, a quite magnificent shopping experience in Nice.

The pleasure of looking through the knitting catalogues, finding patterns that inspire me to knit, choosing the colour palette, finding the perfect little buttons, made for a shopping experience to treasure.

Knitters from all over the world descend on this famous French knitting store and potter for hours, I was so excited to venture in and even managed to get Fred involved in choosing colours from the skeins of glorious wool and he did the button selection.

We left with two knitting projects for Baby Hadfield, I could have kept going but the Med was calling.

V is for Vines: a transformer in the vineyards

Ancient town walls and perfect vineyards.

The chateaux of Saint-Emilion with their manicured vineyards.

A transformer!

The vineyards we have been seeing are precision shaped. Immaculate except for the rambling roses along the verges, placed as early warning system for diseases.

Bruce was explaining the mechanisation behind these perfectly manicured vineyards when this giant of a tractor came into view.

Otherworldly, droll, and straight from the movies, I expected it to rise up, take arms, hold us to ransom and conquer the road we were on.

S is for Stars: a kitchen with a couple of Michelin stars

Views across Saint-Emilion from the restaurant patio

Experiencing a two star Michelin kitchen.
A birthday treat from Bruce and Cathy.
Hostellerie de Plaisance, Saint-Emilion

S is for Saint-Emilion: my unbirthday

Celebrating my dawning new decade over lunch in Saint-Emilion

A very merry

Unbirthday to you,

To you, A very merry

Unbirthday to you,

To you,

It's great to

Drink to someone,

And I guess that

You will do,

A very merry

Unbirthday to you!

Statistics prove that you've

One birthday

One birthday every year

But there are 364 un birthdays

That is why we are all gathered here

A very merry unbirthday to all

To all

A very merry unbirthday to all

To all

That's how we sing the day away

A very merry unbirthday

To all

My wonderful unbirthday companions gathered in Saint-Emilion.
 Fred, Cathy and Bruce thank you for this special day.

F is for Foodies: fine fare in Bergerac

With Cathy, enjoying Bruce's choice of wine!

Eating well, L'Imparfait in Bergerac

Bruce, Cathy and Fred taking in Bergerac after lunch.

That famous nose, Cyrano de Bergerac statue of the square

Cousins having fun - with Bruce at Eymet en route to Bergerac

F is for Family: finding my Wedderburn cousin

The Bloemfontein Wedderburn's. Nanny Ina and Grandpa Percy with their 3 sons, Uncle Ralph, my Dad John and Bruce's father, their oldest son, Uncle Bobby (Alexander)

Our grandparents, Percy and Ina Wedderburn

These last few years I have discovered my roots. It is almost as if a light was switched on in a long forgotten and dusty room. Memories like cobwebs and long forgotten stories.

I have spent many hours dipping into my mother's Wedderburn Book, getting to grips with the history of my family. 

These are a set of photos from the book, it is the Christmas of 1957, taken at Kalkwal, the family farm on the Modder River north of Bloemfontein. We would all gather and these family holidays at the farm would define both my and Bruce's childhood memories. These were happy days as the Wedderburn brothers got together with their parents and their growing families. 

Life then took its course and the family dispersed, caught up in their own lives and busyness.

Bruce and I lost touch as young adults. He moved to the UK, established his life with Cathy. I met Fred, we lived in France for a few years before returning to South Africa. We focussed on careers, businesses and raising our children.

The wonder of the internet and social media reconnected Bruce and me, and here I am, some 40 years later sitting around a table at their home in France, meeting his wife Cathy, sharing a glass of wine, reconnecting and bridging these 4 decades. Cathy and I looked at each other and wondered why we waited so long to meet.

The Wedderburn family in 1957.
Bruce and I are the little ones in the front row and we almost the same age.

L is for Les Cardot: a home on a hill in Aquitaine

Les Cardot

Even though a card game kept us up to 2am last night, I was up early for a swim, a good coffee and taking in this beautiful place that Bruce and Cathy have created here in the south west of France. The old homestead with its finely hewn stone walls glows in the morning light and has a 360 view across gently rolling hills.

Food for the soul.

An early morning scene.

Glowing in the late afternoon sun

R is for Rural France: road tripping on the French backroads

We said farewell to Joan and Boris our B&B hosts in Juillac and started to make our way across to Aquitaine to visit with my cousins Bruce and Cathy Wedderburn.

We had thought of a quick visit to Lascaux to view the recreation of the famous cave paintings that date back 20000 years, but the summer crowds defeated us and no afternoon tours were available. Another time.

There is something quite special about rural France on a fine, hot summer's day. And hot it was, 'la chaleur', a heat wave across the country! We were close to 40 degrees as we pottered along the backroads.

Hay bales, vineyards, apple orchards, buttery yellow sunflower fields, rows of huge walnut trees all among patches of forest and charming farmsteads.

You turn a corner and a chateau, set on a hill, floats above the bucolic setting.

Rural France.

Hautefort Chateau.

S is for Sarlat-la-Caneda: the appeal of old facades

Beautiful details, the old walls of Sarlat

Sarlat-la-Caneda, southwest France in the Dordogne.
An evening strolling around this lovely village.
With temperature hovering around 36 degrees it was a good place to be, the narrow cobbled streets seemed cooler, the old honey-coloured buildings leaned in, secret squares with restaurants, quaint shops selling the local speciality - foie gras.

Well preserved, lived in and very livable too.

Honey-coloured stone, reflecting the light of a late evening.

All about Foie Gras here in Sarlat.

J is for Juillac: a peaceful stopover

A morning walk around Juillac

Who am I kidding!
So peaceful I was stressed, nothing open on a Monday and the Boulangerie closes for a long lunch break, so no coffee or lunch....a shock to my system after Paris.
Eventually Fred found a village en route to Hautefort, bought us a hunk of delicious local cheese, a baguette, a bottle of milk and we had an alfresco lunch in a farmer's field.
A good strong coffee soon after, by now it was 6pm!
The coffee kicked in and I was then ready to start our afternoon venture to Sarlat-en-Caneda.

P is for Paris: an evening along the Seine

Saturday evening in Paris. Strolling along the Seine. Alexander III bridge 

Detail of the lights on the bridge.

Watching the sunset and the light changing on the Eiffel Tower.

11pm and it is now dark.

Pride of a nation.
Tribute to the horror of Nice.