A Provence Diary

Brocanting in Provence

Come Sunday morning, and I won’t get out of bed before 7 for anything other than a vide grenier (the elegant French equivalent of a car-boot sale, which translates as 'empty the attic'). It is May Day, when Provençals bring luck in to their homes with a bunch of lily of valley (‘muguets’), but more importantly, it is the first vide grenier of the season.

So today is the first of many Sundays when my brocanting partner and I abandon our kids to bleary-eyed husbands and a short sharp coffee sets our noses twitching for a bargain.

But this is not browsing for chic brac-a-brac in upmarket Isle sur Sorgue, so favoured by interior decorators and travel magazines (and a tempting 15 minutes away), this is real people emptying out years of hoarding: bathsoap gift boxes, tragically ugly china, toasters and all-in-one ski suits so ancient they’re actually back in fashion, in a retro sort of way.

From the back of cars, on wobbly trestle tables, or simply laid out on the grass, families display their wares, and egged on by mums selling off bundles of baby clothes, sulky teenagers offer boxes of toys they’ve long grown out of, probably to fund something altogether less innocent.

As always, when I arrive home from these dawn raids, Husband is waiting bemused – waiting to see what discarded object I am hailing as an objet d’art. Today I have outdone myself: six iron coat hooks, two bizarre art-deco-ish wall lamps with bits missing, a wire mannequin, an iron last, and catch of the day: a tiny brass ashtray with Christian Dior stamped on the underside. It’s news to me that Monsieur Dior made ashtrays and I don’t even smoke, but at €2 quite frankly who cares?

Vide grenier at Maubec

Provence v. Tuscany

On my first visit to Tuscany I was seduced, like all English people, by the likeness to a mythical England in full summer; an England of guaranteed sunshine, populated by a handsome and charming people, an England where every café makes its own ice cream.

But just as my loyalty to Provence began to slip, came the long drive home - we left behind the ghostly greenhouses of the Italian border’s flower industry and crossed into France. The switch to playboy’s playground is immediate. Signs to Monte Carlo, St. Jean-Cap-Ferrat and Nice beckon, lush palm trees flank elegant facades, roads widen.

Two hours on and we approach the Luberon valley. She opens her arms and we are home; flanked by the Plateau du Vaucluse to the north and the Montagne du Luberon to the south: solid and ancient.

This land is a tapestry of vines and orchards, criss-cross lanes, salt & pepper roofs, towering walls of poplar. The vines show first thick foliage, acacia blows snowstorms of blossom and fields of winter wheat are thick with poppies.

I grant you, Italy is beautiful, but this corner of France? It can be sinister and melancholic, grand and cultured or just a simple, sunny delight. But early morning, or at dusk, when shadows slide across the mountain and the light is soft and peachy …… it is achingly beautiful.

Is Tuscany by contrast (and apologies to our good friends who are setting out on their own adventure), just a little too obvious?

Provence - plus subtile?

Frogs' legs

It’s the time of year when a girl’s thoughts turn with dread to the unavoidable unveiling of legs that have been slenderized under a pair of Wolford 60 deniers for much of winter. And thus, as part of my study into the effortless elegance of our French counterparts, I have news on French women, their legs and more.

Come April, the pharmacies are wall-to-wall with contour gels, evil massage devices, herbal appetite suppressors and tanning pills. Supermarchés dedicate acres of floor space to foot spas, pedicure sets, and above all epilators, for an epilator, my friend, is the way of the French. Effortless? I think not.

But you need the courage of Joan of Arc to use an epilator, so if you’d rather put yourself in the hands of a French beauty salon I include this quick guide. I include it because it’s a delicate matter, and you wouldn’t want to go in asking for hair removal of your ‘jambons’ (hams) and ‘armoirs’ (cupboards) as a certain English lady once did…

A beauty salon is an institut de beauté and waxing is épilation

Epilation aisselles = underarm wax

Epilation maillot simple = basic bikini wax – you can mime any advance on that

Epilation jambes entières = full leg wax

Epilation demi-jambes = half leg wax

Tu-tu

My memory of school French is of sitting in a wobbly grey pre-fab block placed thoughtfully where our netball court should have been, with a rather glamorous Mademoiselle. It was a severe all-girls school and she stood out by being the only one to wear heels and fluffy sweaters in bright colours.

And apart from having to take on a pseudo name just for use in French classes (the point of which still eludes me, and incidentally mine was Bernadette), the only actual lesson I remember was when Mademoiselle spent an entire afternoon with her lips puckered and her tongue rolled upwards against the back of her teeth, repeatedly saying ‘tea’.

The point is, that when you do this, you come out with the perfect ‘tu’

And you know, it works really well, except when your rusty mind is preoccupied with finding the word you need to follow ‘tu’ or if you’re really advanced, the one that will come after that one. Or perhaps you’re wondering whether you should be using ‘tu’ at all; maybe this is one of those intimidating ‘vous’ situations?

And in either case, pausing to pucker and roll and think ‘tea’ instead of ‘too’ really isn’t an option.

The accent of Provence

It’s pretty weird knowing your children are effortlessly mastering a language that you are still grappling with after some years of study. Weirder still; I am absolutely deaf to their developing accent – that of Provence. Is it to the Parisiens what a Geordie accent is to Londoners? Or a Texan accent to New Yorkers? Husband reckons it’s a sing-songy accent, influenced by the proximity to Italy.

What I can spot though is the classic ‘eng’ ending in Provence-speak.  Thus demeng mateng at the boulangerie I will buy some peng. If you get my drift.