Finally Covid

 Two weeks ago, I started having cold symptoms -- scratchy throat and coughing overnight. I tested at home. Negative for Covid. I tested a few more times throughout the week and continued to be negative as my voice took on a deep throaty sound. 

While I lay about in bed, spring finally arrived here in the South of France. 

Some friends suspected it was allergies, others diagnosed me with a cold. 

On Wednesday, I was feeling bad enough that I told Earl he could go to a checkup doctor appointment without me. 

On Sunday we were scheduled to go to a ski resort with some friends. I decided to test one more time on Saturday. Surprise! I had Covid. I don't know at what point I went from cold or allergies to Covid, but I had tested negative throughout, until I didn't anymore.

Some people say those at home tests don't work, but when I tested for Covid, the line for positive appeared within seconds. There was no need to wait 10 or 15 minutes. I walked down to the pharmacy for an official test and they confirmed that I had Covid. In France, if you have a medical card (Carte Vitale), the test is free if you have symptoms or have been in contact with someone who had Covid. The pharmacy test result included a code that I could scan to the Covid app, and it would notify people who had come in contact with me. 

I cancelled our hotel reservations and isolated in our bedroom suite -- bedroom, office with terrace and bathroom. (It sounds more plush than it is, at least until the bathroom gets redone in June.) I didn't feel horrible: just a headache, fever and tired. For three days, I stayed upstairs, sleeping frequently, requesting a pitcher of water so I could refill at my leisure. Earl made me meals and ran to the store for things we needed. Until he tested positive on Tuesday. 

Then we figured we could just have a Covid house instead of a Covid suite of rooms. 

Once I was allowed to roam the house, I made a big pot of chicken noodle soup. 

After five days of resting, I tested negative in a home test. The next day I went to the pharmacy and they confirmed that I was negative. Friends, of course, were so helpful, going to the store to pick up groceries and offering lots of help while we were both sick. 

Now we're on day 8. Earl, who previously didn't believe the at-home tests worked, is continuing to test positive. The tests cost 1.95 euros per test at the grocery. Since Earl is still positive, but I feel I have a golden pass for a couple of months, I've gone out to meet with friends for coffee or walks, but I am getting a bit anxious to resume our busy social life. 

So far, none of our friends have said they caught it from us. That is one thing I worried about. 

Thank goodness for the vaccine which made my case of Covid so mild. I know people who still struggle with breathing difficulties two years after their initial case of Covid. 

The illness was worse than a cold but definitely not as bad as the flu, for me. But perhaps the healing process was helped by being forced to isolate so I had days to just rest so I could get better. 

Yay, For My Legs!

If you were ever to ask me, what part of your body would you want to change, I would, without hesitation, say my legs. My legs are short and I have strong calves and chunky thighs. I'm kind of used to them, it started happening around 5th grade as I hit puberty. I always envy those people with sculpted legs;when they put their legs together, there are three perfect triangles between their ankles and calves, calves and knees, and thighs. That's not and is never going to be me. But today, I'm feeling very thankful for the strength of my legs. So thank you legs, for not letting me down. 

Sunday morning, we took our friends' dogs for a walk and snapped a beautiful photo of the clouds in the mountains. Thanks, legs, for being strong. 

Then we rode our bike 12 miles to a market and had coffee and pastries with our friends Sue and Steve. Again, my legs came through, pedaling hard, even when we had to go up a steep bit to check on another friends' house.

Saturday, I ran 7 miles! It wasn't fast but I didn't stop to walk, just kept moving, my legs churning and churning, out 3.5 miles and back 3.5 miles. (That's 11.2 kilometers total). It's probably been over a year since I've had a string of good runs, so I have been determined to get back on track, following a training schedule. I can't tell you the last time I ran 7 miles, but I owe it all to those sturdy legs (well, the lungs and heart helped too). 

Legs still climbing

Just a few weeks ago we climbed Mount Bugarach, again I owe a huge thanks to my legs, partially my arms too on those very rocky parts. 

The next time you think to complain about how a body part looks or how you wish it looked a different way, just think about what an amazing job it does. 

Beach Birthday Celebrations

 Last week, my friend Sue had her first French birthday. This fell right before her first French wedding anniversary and her official Franciversary, the day she moved to France. 

We all wanted to celebrate so we took a day at the beach. 

The beach reminded me of my days in Corsica.

Our friends have a puppy, so we had to look for a beach where dogs were allowed. We ended up going to La Franqui and walking to a part of the beach where there weren't any "No Dog" signs. 

But first, we had lunch along the waterfront. 

A lake, or etang, stretched inland between the sand and the sea

Although it looks beautiful and had lots of birds in it, it was a little stinky.

Sue and I toasting her birthday. I had sangria. 

Earl and Steve in matching blues

After lunch, we began the long walk out across the sand. But the sand was soft and not too hot. We took the dog off the leash and he ran like a crazy hound into the etang trying to scare off the seagulls. We kept walking farther and farther down the beach trying to avoid the "No dog" signs. Finally, I suggested we just play dumb if anyone approached us about the dog. There were other dogs, so we set up our beach blanket and the dog rolled on it immediately, sprinkling it with sand.

The pup in the foreground. Earl striding into the Mediterranean

This was a pretty perfect beach. The sand was soft. The entrance into the Med was not precipitously steep as it had been at some beaches. We could walk a long way out without it getting too deep, as a matter of fact, a sandbar allowed us to stand in knee-deep water and let the waves break around us. 

Paddling around in the sea when it's a gorgeous blue is glorious. 

Afterward, we tried to rest on the beach, but the dog had other plans. 

He immediately began digging, covering our blanket with sand. We tried shaking it out a few times but he went right back to digging. 

Earl spread a towel away from the blanket to see if the dog was after us specifically or just the blanket. At one point, the pup was just pummeling me with sand and I had to go back in the sea to rinse off all the sand. I still found a bunch caked around my ears in the shower that night. 

Sue and Steve thought it was hilarious, until the dog turned his digging super powers on them. 

Digging to Australia.

Ice cream on the boardwalk

After rinsing off, we headed back to the boardwalk for beers and ice cream. Mine was a Mama Mia with salted caramel ice cream and sauce. The addition of the Haribo candies did nothing for me. 

This was a terrific beach and we'll definitely visit again. As September stretches in front of us, we know our beach adventures are coming to an end soon. 

Reveling in Revel

 My new-found weekend freedom led us to Revel on Saturday.

The center of town has a covered market and a bell tower on top.

If we'd known, they give tours from atop the bell tower on Saturday mornings. Next time!

Revel is about an hour and half away from us and we got a late start so didn't arrive until 11 a.m. If you've been to French markets, you know that the market will soon be closing down around noon or shortly after. It is a Bastide town, which means it was originally fortified by walls against marauders. 

The Medieval buildings in the background, the arcades or covered passageways behind the vendors.

Revel is a charming town with Medieval roots, as is obvious from the timbered buildings, including some that are being shored up at the front so they can be rebuilt at the back. It reminds me of Mirepoix, but the square and the historical center are more substantial than Mirepoix. 

The facades will remain

If you're looking for bras, socks or summer dresses, this is not the market for you. It's hard core food and from the region. And even though this is the first weekend after the Rentrée, when everyone goes back to school or work, it was crowded. Every seat was taken at every café as we walked around the outer part of the market -- twice. We decided we'd skip coffee and just eat lunch in awhile, so we wound around the inner part of the market.  

The beams that hold up the 14th century roof over the marketplace

More beams and plenty of tomatoes

Then Earl glanced across the way, saw some empty chairs and made a beeline for a plastic table. We sat, waiting a bit for coffee, but the view was nice and the people watching was excellent. 

Delicious coffee and relaxing

I'm amazed by the Medieval architecture, but I'm really drawn more
to the metal railings on the building on the left. 

This building is obviously not Medieval, but it is pretty 

After leaving the market with bananas (not locally grown) two lavender plants and some tomatoes, we walked back toward the car. Ahead, we saw a food truck with crepes. We walked toward it, wondering where we could eat. We're American enough to eat in the car, but we've been in France long enough not to. Plus, it's illegal to eat or drink as you are driving in France. 

Across from the crepe stand was a Mexican street food truck. Mexican food is not often found in France. 

The back side of the truck

We stood in line and ordered, similar to a Chipotles kind of plan, burrito or salad. What meat? Chicken for me. What fixings -- salad (lettuce), corn, rice, black beans, creme fraiche (sour cream-ish), then what sauce? Chipotle for me. The French aren't big fans of spicy food, so I thought the medium sauce would be ok. It was, but a bit spicier than I had anticipated.

Definitely street food

 We found a bench under a tree and ate our burritos. I do miss Mexican food. 

But, back in the States, I would miss Medieval villages like Revel. 

Birthday Cat

Today is Louis Catorze’s 1st birthday. 

I’m officially no longer allowed to call him kitten, according to my husband. 

He has been the object of much laughter and swearing since he arrived in May of last year. 

He likes scritches on his cheeks and drinking the water out of the soaking oatmeal pan. 

If you come to our house, we have a “hands-above-the-table rule.” You have been warned. But wear jeans because he might decide to climb up your leg. 

His purr is as therapeutic as a hot water bottle. 

He curls up behind my bent legs at night, but if Earl gets up to use the bathroom, he immediately takes over his side of the bed. 

For a month now, he’s been an indoor/outdoor cat, and, remarkably, he’s still alive.

He hasn’t made any cat friends, in spite of his efforts to make himself subservient, but the students who walk past stop to pet him. One made the mistake of picking him up. 

Our French neighbor Alain said, “il est libre!” With an expansive gesture. He is free. “C’est naturel.”

Happy birthday, Louis Catorze. We hope you grow in cat common sense in the next year. 

The Days Pass Quickly in France

When last I blogged, Earl and I were in Paris for a long weekend. Who doesn't love Paris?

A view of the Seine as the sun rises while I was on a run. 

 When we returned home, it was back to real life. Living in France isn't a vacation. I work most days and we have a routine, just like when we lived in Ohio, but very different from when we lived in Ohio.

We just recently agreed on a paint color for the doors and shutters. 

The biggest change, of course, is that Earl doesn't have to go to work. Although he does work on the house, it's nowhere near the same as a full-time job.

And I don't go to work early either. Sometimes on the weekends I'll teach classes at 7 a.m., but most days I wake up around 7:30 and linger in bed until after 8 before I get up to go for a run. Back in Ohio, I would be out the door at 5:30 so I could run, shower and get to 8 a.m. classes. 

Many mornings, we'll meet friends for coffee at a local cafe, or we might bike to a town 7 miles away and have a coffee there. Of course, a coffee at a cafe isn't complete without the addition of a pastry. Wherever we go for coffee, there's a bakery nearby to grab pastries. When I first moved here, my favorite pastry was chausson framboise, similar to a chausson pomme, a kind of apple turnover, but this one has raspberry in it. Now, I've kind of evolved to prefer a pain au raisin, something I've heard called an escargot because it's curled around like a snail, or like Paris!

A pain au rains and cafe creme

I usually work from 12-3 teaching Chinese kids and I have to work on my university classes. I've been lucky this year to teach classes back to back, and with the renovation of the house and an unimaginable tax bill (from the U.S), we have needed the extra money. Most of the time, I can organize my schedule the way I want it. 

On Monday evenings, my friend Theresa and I are doing a pilates class. She doesn't need the exercise (I do) but we both hope that we will improve our French by being surrounded by French women exercising. 

On Tuesday evenings, Earl and I are taking a tango class. There are only five couples in the class and we wear masks, but they're all people we enjoy socializing with and it's an excuse to get dressed up and even forced to wear some low heels. Apparently the tango is all about the line of the leg with heels -- for the woman. 

A tango demonstration by our instructors. We don't look like that yet.  

Sometimes we go for a drink or have people over after tango class. Then, at 3 a.m., I have to get up and teach a live class for my university class. It only lasts about an hour. I tried teach the class earlier, but my boss told me I would get more students to attend if I held it at night, after students are home and finished working. So I get up at 3 a.m. teach and fall back into bed, usually not able to fall asleep for an hour or so. That's probably not something most people will have to deal with, but that's an issue with working in a different time zone. 

On Wednesday mornings, we have our market here in Quillan. It's always fun to wander around, to see people, to buy vegetables and stop in the butcher's before we stop for coffee and chat with more people who wander past. 

Wednesday night is belly dancing night. I told Spencer that I had belly dancing class and he said he didn't even want to know what that was about. It made me laugh. I don't know if he pictured me in a skimpy outfit dancing for other people, but it's just a lot of women in exercise size clothes or harem pants or dresses with jingly belts tied around our hips. We've been taking class since June, when confinement lifted, and I don't think I've gotten any better, but I always have fun. 

Thursday and Friday are just regular work days or coffee days. Maybe dinner with friends.

Drinks in a Quillan square with Louis on Earl's lap and Derrick (in his own chair) joining us.

Saturday is another market day here and usually a bit larger than Wednesday. We repeat our schedule of wandering around the vendors, buying some gouda cheese, some eggs, fruits and vegetables, maybe even a new dress for me before we find the sunshine and sit down for coffee. 

On Sunday, we try to go to Esperaza market. I've written about it before. It's a very big market and has a lot of local handmade crafts and clothes. It also has more people with dreadlocks than you will find anywhere else in France, I feel confident saying that. 

Winter coat and flip flops. Yep. At the cheese and sausage vendor. 

A protest against the mask mandate

Dreadlock and a cornucopia hat -- you bet. Next to a Harley Davidson coat. 

Some of the beautiful handcrafts on display. 

This is a normal week for us in France. It doesn't include special occasions or new friends or going away parties for old friends. Adventures to the castles around here or forays to the dentist in Spain. Trips to the beach or wanderings around Carcassonne. 

How can we do so much, you may wonder as I list our activities? Well, first, we aren't working as many hours. While I work, Earl will do laundry or cook meals. Also, TV. We don't watch nearly as much TV as we used to back in the States. But I understand. When you're worn out, it's easy to turn on the TV and veg out. For me, the sacrifice has been worth it. 

I may not have described what you would imagine is life in France, but it's pretty nice, in spite of Coronavirus. 

France Dreams Coming True

I don't know how many times I've started this blog post, but it keeps drifting off. I think that happens with things that I'm emotional about.
Here goes another effort:
A few weeks ago, after a morning of teaching, I looked at the screen of my phone and saw that I'd missed a call from my husband. He knew I was teaching, I thought. Why is he calling me?
But he'd sent a text too.
"Dispatch is being sold. Call me when you can."
And that's how, one morning in June, that we both learned the company that has supported our household for 17 years might be coming to an end.
That's a scary scenario when you're in your 50s like we are and learn that the primary family income is in jeopardy.
My husband's newspaper company has been fairly stable in spite of the bad economy seven years ago. There'd been some lay offs and some shake ups, but Earl flowed from assistant editor to copy editor to reporter.
Suddenly, it seemed very likely that Earl might lose his job. Because while he left editing behind, the company left his pay the same each timer.
Meetings the next few days, meant to soothe worries, left us in a bit of a panic.
No one would lose their jobs for 90 days, the new management assured the editorial staff.
90 days! Holy crap!
I created a budget that showed we could survive on my salaries if we needed to, and if we didn't pay for college. Our boys are both still going to school.
We talked about possibilities in the car, sitting at the dining room table, lying in bed in the morning if we both happened to be awake.
"Well, there's the house," one of us said, I'm not sure which, but the house we bought seven years ago has gone up in price enough to leave us with a tidy profit if we sell it.
We looked at different neighborhoods close by and discussed where we could move. I talked with Earl about job possibilities and he started sending out feelers.
Our long-term plan has always been to retire to France. We love to vacation there, the lifestyle, the food, the scenery, the language.

So Earl began to question whether that could happen.
I've always insisted that we need to have a home in the U.S. If we bought a new home in Ohio, we couldn't afford a place in France.
A note from my Aunt Esther helped change my mind. (I wrote about it a few weeks ago here.) She wrote to thank me for my book Trail Mix and for the opportunity to go on the adventure. She had always wanted to hike the Appalachian Trail and is unable to now.  "My other dream was to walk the Grand Canyon. But the Old Mother Nature's Clock just went too fast," she wrote.
And it struck me, we aren't that far away from where she is. How fast will those years ago and how many regrets will we have?
If we buy a house in France, we could always sell it to buy a place in Ohio if we wanted to come back.
And so, I said to Earl, "We can move to France."
He looked at me.
"If you lose your job, we can sell the house and move to France," I repeated. "I know it's what we've wanted."

I've applied for jobs teaching English at French universities. I imagine my odds will increase if I'm actually living in France. I could even teach online courses for my current universities in the U.S. Teaching online would allow me to live anywhere that has an internet connection.
We could get a three-bedroom house and rent out rooms through Air B&B to make extra money.
And we've always dreamed of creating a writer's retreat B&B. We could redo outbuildings like garages or barns to be rooms and cozy writing nooks.
We're about 30 days into the guaranteed 90 days of job that Earl was promised.
We've done very few chores to prepare the house for sale, but we've made plans in our head and we've shared the news with some friends.
"Oh, I hope Earl loses his job," my friend Tracie said. "Can I hope that?"
I know what she means.
The status quo is so comfortable, but maybe it's time to take a few chances on adventure.
Within the year, within six months, I could be writing this blog from somewhere in France.
Squeee!
Maybe this farmhouse for sale with a view of the Pyrenees.

Maybe this farmhouse with an old barn in Limousin.

We're about to set off on an exciting new episode. 

I hope you'll all come along. 

Dreaming of France -- Where in France Would You Live?

Please join this weekly meme. Grab a copy of the photo above and link back to An Accidental Blog. Share with the rest of us your passion for France. Did you read a good book set in France? See a movie? Take a photo in France? Have an adventure? Eat a fabulous meal or even just a pastry? Or if you're in France now, go ahead and lord it over the rest of us. We can take it.
For some people, Paris is the penultimate place to live. We love Paris, but when we imagine settling in France some day, we don't picture our lives in Paris. We think about a little village.
For the longest time, we imagined that Provence would be our home some day, but Provence has become so popular that the price to live there has become extravagant.
We've begun looking at other areas and think that Languedoc-Roussillon might be a good match.
The climate looks to be very similar to Provence and I hadn't realized that we have actually visited a part of Languedoc-Roussillon.
It was when we took our great bike trip in the south of France. We left Avignon and headed out of Provence and into Languedoc-Roussillon to cross the Pont du Gard and end that day in Nimes.

Of course, before we decide, we'll need to visit a few more times to explore. Sometimes, the exploration can be the best part.
Thanks for joining in with Dreaming of France. Please visit each other's blogs to enjoy other snippets of France.