For the first time since coming to live in
There is a feeling of being in harmony with the earth. As opposed to the manic craziness of my old life in Ireland , Christmas day here just means a larger than usual family lunch. The 26th is not celebrated, so everyone is back to work.
January can be bleak and we sometimes get heavy snow in the hills, but, a few weeks on and bizarrely, in mid February we often have a week or two of high temperatures and blazing sunshine, when we find ourselves wearing light summer clothes and eating lunch on the balcony. Then, in comes March with its many weathers; the temperatures plummet and it’s entirely possible to be snowed in.
The snow ploughs can get up the track to our tiny hamlet, but as ever, the advice during heavy snowy weather is to venture out only if you absolutely must.
It is April now and the last weeks have been quite glorious; long days of sunshine and extremely high temperatures.
Outside tables and chairs have been uncovered and smartened up in anticipation of months of
Al Fresco dining. Hanging baskets, full of large green leaves for the moment, are up. These will, in time, turn into a riot of fabulous red as the tumbling geraniums, named the King of the Balcony, burst into flower next month.
So why, with all the above excellent things to recommend it, in a place with such fantastic scenery that people swoon when I tell them where I live, did I find the last six months went at a crawl? The reason is Paris . Yes, Paris , or rather, a serious lack of it.
Much as I adore living in Ariège Pyrénées, my heart and soul are so attached to that city that not seeing it regularly has an effect on me. My ideal life would be to have an apartment in
For most of my adult life, I have visited Paris several times each year. When I lived in Ireland I went regularly, getting to know it really well, discovering many of itssecrets. Now, living in the same country, I seem to see my favourite city less and less. In the past year, I have only seen the City of Light once, and then just for forty-eight hours. It wasn’t enough.
I know now and must admit, that as lovely as everything is here in the Grand Sud, and as much as I adore Toulouse, the rose city, I long for more of Paris and want, indeed I will say need, to be spend more time there, especially during those winter months.
In the meantime, my well thumbed, little black book of Paris sits on my desk, with its companion, The Fashion Book for easy reference… as I work on a master plan to find myself an apartment in the 7th