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There are plenty of “British” things to do in France but you may
have to be a little more imaginative as far as entertainment
goes. A nice meal with a good bottle of wine is quite
straightforward, but the stylish restaurant, even if there is
one near you, may not necessarily be the best. Try that neat
little local restaurant instead . You may be surprised to find
that the owner provides more than just a “plat de jour”. He is
often a magnificent, well-trained chef who can create great
dishes with fresh local produce; vegetables and herbs from his
own garden, fruit from his neighbour and mushrooms from the
field, He would love to win a Michelin star but his tiny
restaurant in an unfashionable locality will never be a
contender. Just as well - the last thing you want is an invasion
of tourists or gourmets who would change this simple ambiance
not to mention the price.
If you’re slightly more gregarious why not join a club. As the
population in some small towns and villages dwindles, the locals
are delighted for you to swell their numbers in the yoga class,
cycle runs or even the senior citizens club. Don’t be surprised
if you experience the “hard sell”. They are likely to ignore a
foreigner’s natural reticence, the language barrier, and, in the
case of senior citizens, protests that you are barely 50 years
of age. In fact, the only membership criteria seem to be that
you’ve given up work. The organisers of the old folks’ Christmas
party in our village, noting our reluctance to join, offered us
temporary membership for the festive season. Even though we
brought down the average age considerably, we were accepted with
celebrity-like status. Our fellow revellers wanted to know how
we managed to look so young. Our claim that we were in fact
“young” was met with cynical smiles and disbelieving shrugs. Not
much of a compliment I think!. However, as with most of these
“dos” the meal was superb. Countless courses of food prepared by
the local restaurateur were accompanied by fantastic wines to
suit each delicious dish. Five hours later we were treated to a
karaoke-style concert of songs from the past. Interesting,
entertaining and shamefully cheap.
In summer, a similar but faster repas can be had at the many
fetes. Each village seems to have its own version of a farmer’s
market, display of ancient and modern crafts and often, a
wonderfully British thing, the car boot sale. For two hours at
lunchtime though activities cease so that you may join the stall
holders and regulars for a fantastic mini banquet served to
hungry crowds on trestle tables. If you haven’t booked
beforehand, you may have to settle for beer and a sandwich in
the bar with other disappointed visitors.
Of course, there are other British things to do in France. Do
you remember week-ends in the UK? If you’re still addicted to
visits to the DIY store then nobody here will prevent you from
continuing, except that is, on Sunday, when all such shops are
closed, oh, and sometimes on a Monday too. However, you will be
pleased to read that more and more retail parks are springing up
everywhere and with them the number of B&Q look-alikes. If you
have satellite TV you can still watch the house makeover
programmes and then spend the rest of those lovely sunny days
painting your walls magnolia, sticking on paper borders or
laying a laminate wooden floor. Remember though, it will be
impossible to impress your French neighbours when their own
floors are solid wood parquet and the most fashionable décor is
still to paper walls, ceiling and even doors in the same
garishly patterned paper.
After the DIY you might fancy a day at the races. The legendary
courses are mostly around Paris but elsewhere you will probably
not be far from a hippodrome and a great day out. The French
love racing; it’s for all the family. Often, small rural courses
overlook a beautiful chateau or run alongside a picturesque
river, even though racing will probably take place on only two
or three occasions each year, always on a Sunday or public
holiday.
The action begins around midday for those who book a trestle
table meal. Later arrivals bring picnic tables, chairs and boxes
or baskets full of their own goodies and head for the shade of
the trees. Those arriving just before the first race, usually
about 2.30pm, go straight to the temporary bar for a liquid
lunch and then search out whatever shade is left in the quaint
little stand.
Placing a bet is easy. You don’t have to be rich either. There
are no bookies and the minimum amount is 2 euros. You place your
bet with the pari mutual (like the English tote), where a
temporary screen shows you how the odds are changing.
“Le cinq, deux euros gagnant, s’il vous plait”, will have you
betting two euros on horse number five to win. For some reason,
horse number one is l’as. I have problems saying this,
consequently I never bet on this horse, even if it’s a dead cert!
It’s just as easy to bet that your horse will not win- but it
must be placed -hence “place” instead of “gagnant” If you are a
really serious punter then there are more complicated, costly
and potentially lucrative bets to make. In any event, don’t be
surprised to find a horse owned by Sheik Mohammed or even the
Aga Khan running alongside horses from the local trainer.
After such a busy day you may be tempted by the local thé
dansant, (tea dance) or danse de diner, (dinner dance) at the
salle des fetes, (village hall). If the waltz or foxtrot is
beyond your capabilities then don’t worry. The French do a
wonderful dance most of the time, to apparently the same or
similar tune, which goes something like this: hold your partner
as you would to a waltz, shuffle a bit to the right, then
shuffle to the left. Turn your partner around, shuffle some more
in any direction you wish, then repeat the same , or different
shuffles again. It’s a bit like dog-gem cars on the dance floor
but everyone attempts to look professional and avoid doing each
other a serious injury. What’s more they thoroughly enjoy
themselves.
You may also find that your local bar owner employs a live band
from time to time for your entertainment. What luck for us to
find a nostalgia group had been booked to appear in town. It’s
great to hear the sounds of the sixties again even if it’s sung
with a French accent. The bar was packed; feet were tapping and
everyone was having a great time until suddenly tables and
chairs in front of the group were pushed to one side by
intruders to provide a makeshift dance floor. The golden skinned
medallion men strutted flamboyantly as they were joined by their
mini skirted “mrs” who shook and shimmied in front of the
bemused young musicians and the disbelieving audience. “Mon
Dieu” cried someone, “Is this the Costa del Sol?”
“Quick”, shouted someone else, “grab your coats, if we hurry,
we’ll just be in time for the last shuffle at the salle des
fete!”
Someone please prevent us from doing British things TO France.
Copyright 2005 B A Boyle. May be freely reproduced "as-is" for
private and commercial use.
About the author:
BA Boyle writes on PFS France (http://www.propertyf
orsalefrance.co.uk/) a website that helps French property
owners advertise and sell, and potential buyers find, some of
the finest and best cared for traditional French properties
available.
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