Hail Astoria!

If a hobby is an activity pursued for pleasure or relaxation then, clearly, I have a new hobby -- one spawned through the chance purchase of a household appliance.  Not just any appliance, but a magnificent iron  elegantly named Astoria fer à repasser.  (Note: Those of you less inclined toward OCD, should just do yourself a favor and skip the rest of this post.)

The Astoria is no humble iron, but the powerful, exquisitely designed answer to a domestic mystery.  If you've ever wandered through the antiques markets here, or stayed in a luxury chambre d'hote or hotel, then you've experienced the soft, smooth, snowy confections of sheets, pillow cases, tablecloths, handkerchiefs, nightgowns, often antique, always perfect, that French women routinely turn out.   And, like me, you may have wondered, how the heck do they do THAT?  How can anything be so perfectly smooth? Whither such perfection? The answer:  Astoria.

The purchase of this iron has done more than give me beautiful linens, it has provided a new past time.  Having ironed all the sheets and pillow cases in the house, I've now taken to ironing the tea towels from the kitchen.  Earlier this week, I caught myself ironing my underwear until I stopped and poured a Pastis to catch my breath.  There's just no denying the thrill of driving the Astoria across the ironing board, shifting effortlessly into steam, speeding across wrinkles and watching them disappear under the shiny chrome point.  This highly controlled hot steam is the answer to how French linens look so perfect.  Wrinkles just melt.  These are moments of instant gratification, repeated with each new tablecloth or napkin.  Supple, flawless, renewed.

This particular iron is like a middle age French woman, graceful, powerful and extremely good looking for its age.  I bought it in April at a vides grenier, one of those irresistible village-wide flea markets where you can find fabulous treasures for centimes on the euro.  This iron was in mint condition -- "nickel" as they say here about something in perfect shape -- in its original box with the purchase receipt from 1987. Then, it cost 100 euros.  Today, Astoria irons cost up to 300 euros ($425 U.S.).  I paid 20 euros ($28) and thought I noted a twinge of regret from the blonde, bourgeois housewife who sold it to me.

My Astoria has a large chrome tank for distilled water, set at an angle that reflects carefully considered ergonomic design.  The firm black hose hanging from a stem connects to the iron which sits between use on a spikey, non-slip silicon pad. A  caramel-colored cork handle protects your hand from the heat and is springy to the touch.  The iron itself weighs just a few ounces although the entire apparatus weighs as much as my Miata. On the front of the chrome tank are switches for heat and the steam, and a guage for the water pressure that reminds me of a Porsche dashboard.  (Or at least it does when shrouded in hot mist.)

Like any hobby, there are unanticipated expenses and many things to learn. My Astoria has highlighted the inadequacy of my ironing board so I must now find something broad, grand, and worthy.  And seeing my new iron, my French girlfriends have generously mentored this beginner in how to fold items in half to iron them more quickly, how to efficiently press borders and which products give finished linens the scent of a lavender field.   I really must stop at some point and go outside -- but first I have a few bath towels to iron.

Art on My Doorstep

This is such a pretty village that we regularly have artists sitting on the square painting the fountain, the plane trees, the remains of the medieval wall and more recent clock tower.  It is very peaceful, watching them sitting quietly, appreciating the beauty and recreating it.


But today, I stepped out my front door to find someone painting... well, my front door.  She was nice enough to let me take a picture of the pretty watercolor showing my living room window, breakfast table and door.  What a treat!

Breakfast, late July, Provence

No Artificial Coloring or Preservatives

Three peches jaunes from the farmer down the road to my outdoor breakfast table this morning.  Having missed the season for Stonewall peaches this year (sweeter, but not as pretty), I've been especially happy to see these coming in over the last three weeks. 

I shot this before I gobbled down two, but didn't post until after my second cup of coffee.

At Your Service/A Votre Service

Life in France is all about the details.  The same could be said for life anywhere, I suppose, but when I’m here I slow down enough to notice more. Noticing more is always worth the extra time.  It is easier to be alert in a new place that demands your attention in a way that familiar places don't. But it's also a question of pace.  Our ridiculous American pace, worship of competition, race to win makes it nearly impossible to pause and take note of small things. Life rushes by in one continuous, undifferentiated, swiftly flowing stream. Before I know it, the entire river has passed by without my seeing, or appreciating, any of it. 

In Austin, a trip to the gas pump is pure function and speed. I arrive, shove the card in the pump, fill the tank as fast as I can and drive away, barely knowing where I’ve been for those five minutes or so.  Which may be just as well.  The station where I pump gas is a wasteland of concrete with fume-spewing traffic just a few feet from where I’m standing. Everything seems coated in a patina of gray filth.

In Provence, the closest place to purchase gas is a Total Station, set back off the road about the length of a tennis court and surrounded on three sides by grape vines for as far as the eye can see.  Across the two-lane highway from the station is the large warehouse of a Cotes du Rhone wine distributor, landscaped with rose bushes just outside the black wrought iron fence. You can’t really see the wine warehouse once you’ve pulled into the pumps, because they’ve been placed thoughtfully behind the gas station building so that drivers are shielded from the road while filling their tanks.  The driveway from the highway to the pumps is planted with roses and zinnias of many colors and between the pumps and a new carwash (enthusiastically advertised on the road as “!!Nouveaux!! Lavage Automatique”) is another bed of purple flowers and silver shrubs that help block the wind blowing across the vines.

I’ve had a lot of time to study the surroundings because getting gas is not fast.  The old pumps have no place to put a credit card; that must be walked inside the station and handed to the wife of the station owner.  A lady in her 50s, with faded ash blonde hair, a beige T-shirt, a soft voice and a Zen calm, she chats briefly with the regulars, makes sure everything runs clean and smooth and always has a friendly “bonjour” when I come in.  This process is gentle and human, but it also means a wait for a pump – each of which has only one hose.  People line up and wait their turns patiently and instead of taking five minutes, it can easily take 10 but they are not unpleasant minutes and they offer a chance to study your environment and think.

Earlier this week, I was waiting at the pump with everyone else, lined up in our cars facing east.  In front of me, the elderly gentleman and his wife, both of whom had gone into the station together to pay for their gas, came strolling out to get in their car so I could take my turn at the pump.  Suddenly, out of nowhere, a beat up black Peugeot circled the line and pulled up to the pump going the opposite way.  A disheveled man with curly hair graying at the temples jumped out, snagged the pump and began filling his car.  I pulled up a couple of feet, turned off the engine and walked my credit card inside, grinning at his flagrant violation of pump protocol.  I smiled at the woman behind the counter and at her husband, who had witnessed the line jumper. 

There is a kind of stylish blue overall that workers wear in France and if you’ve seen one you know exactly what I’m talking about.  They communicate confidence, saying that the person inside the well-worn overalls has been doing his job for a long time and is good at it, understands the traditions behind his “métier” and respects them.  Someone wearing such overalls is disciplined, serious and honest.  Of course, they’re just blue cotton overalls, but they’ve never let me down yet.  Workers in France are among the most reliable and accomplished I’ve ever met – and this goes for electricians, plumbers, masons … and filling station owners.  The station owner was wearing such overalls, underneath which was a t-shirt that must have been red 25 years ago, but now had faded to a lovely dusty pink.   He smiled at me warmly and strolled casually to the pump where Mr. Black Peugeot was pumping away.

You could not hear what was said, he spoke very softly to his customer.  He was smiling and had the body language of someone correcting a naughty child who had snatched a playmate's toy.  The only reason I knew he was reprimanding the driver was Mr. Black Peugeot’s reaction, at once defensive and sheepish.  The station owner listened to him quietly, patted him gently on the shoulder and strolled back inside.  When the driver went inside to pay – by now I was finally getting my gas – the station owner’s wife wished him a fine afternoon.
 

I suspect that next time he stops for gas – whether at this station or somewhere else – he’ll be more inclined to wait in line.  He was reminded of the importance of good manners by someone who had them in spades.  And I was reminded of how different daily life is here and how even something as routine as filling your car can become a moment to notice and remember. 

p.s.  I went to get gas again yesterday and paused to shoot a few photos for this post.  As I was paying, the service station owner's wife noted that I'd been taking photos and asked me which one I'd photographed. I must have looked confused, because pointing to a red bucket and rag beside one of the pumps, she explained: "I was in the middle of cleaning the pumps today, but I have not had time to finish.  Please shoot the clean ones." I assured her I would.  And I had. They were all clean -- cleaner than my car, cleaner than the front steps of my house, heck, cleaner than my kitchen.  

Wheels

Second only to airfare -- which this year is far higher than at any time in recent memory -- is the cost of car rental for travelers in France.  I keep meaning to buy a car but somehow I just haven't managed to get around to it so I continue to rent for a month at a time every visit. Really, I will buy a car sometime this year, but in the meantime, I've assembled a short list for myself of places to rent that are an alternative to Hertz, Avis and Europcar.

Although I've had first-hand experience with a pretty wide array of rental companies, this list also comes from the readers of the marvelously entertaining and terribly useful French Word-a-Day blog, by author, mom, and popular blogger Kristen Espinasse. She asked her readers for suggestions, got quite a few and I've added my two cents from my own experience.

Keep in mind that, just as in the United States, all rental agencies place additional fees and surcharges on cars rented at airports and train stations.  If you can rent a car from centre ville, you can save some cash.  Also, don't forget that gasoline and diesel costs are far higher everywhere than in the U.S. so if you can drive a stick and do with a smaller car, you'll save both money and the environment.

BSP-Auto: This is my favorite and the place I rent from nearly all the time.  My friend Marie-Kristine suggested it and she's one of the two most knowledgeable, practical, wonderful French women I know.  It turns out that BSP contracts with the major car rent companies, like Hertz or Europcar, to rent their excess stock at a discount.  It is the same car you'd get from the big guys but often $200 to $400 less for a month of rental.  Mileage is limited, but the limit is set so high I've never exceeded it.  At airports and train stations throughout France, they tend to share office space with their partners so you'll be walking up to the same rental car counter you would if you were spending more money and dealing with the same agents. The Website is in French only.

Sixt.fr:  This is the second best option if cost is a principal driver. (Yes, I said driver.)  They're all over the country, have good rates and sometimes offer special discounts that make them a more attractive option than BSP-Auto.  They also seem to have their own fleet, rather than consolidating the vehicles of partner companies.  Another Website in French only.

Super-U:  This chain of French grocery stores also rents vehicles and they can be less expensive than other places.  However, you have to find a way to get from the train or plane to the nearest Super-U and I've found the clerks in the stores to be both ill-informed and ill-tempered.  They really want you to just buy a jar of mustard and leave. There's also a cap on mileage here and many Super-U's rent only small trucks and vans to be used for hauling, like U-Haul in the U.S.  I've never rented from the store, but for someone already in France and close enough to a Super-U to stop in, it might prove a good deal.

DriveTravel.com: This may not be the least expensive place to rent a car, but it is the only one with links to leasing motor homes, motorbikes, canal boats, luxury sports cars and classic cars, in addition to your garden-variety Twingo.

Auto Europe Discount Car:  Offers car rental throughout France and some tips on driving in Europe. You pay upfront and avoid currency exchange charges, but it is not especially inexpensive.  Word is that their customer service is quite good, but I've never used them and I'd guess that's more the luck of the draw.

I have heard time and again that for long-term rentals of one to six months it is possible to get better rates by leasing or doing a lease buy-back from Renault, Peugeot or Citroen.  I have never found this to be a good option. You must rent at least 21 days in advance, the paperwork is more complicated and the costs are higher.  You do get a brand new car, that's true, but the cars I've rented from the rental agencies are all one or two years and in new condition so I don't see that as much of an advantage.  It might be a better deal at the high end if you're renting a more luxurious vehicle, and is worth exploring in any case. Here are two places to begin:

Autofrance: For Peugeot and Citroen, Autofrance is located in most cities with airports or major train stations. You can pick up the car and return it in other parts of Western Europe, the price includes full insurance coverage, no service charges or other taxes and charges.  They arrange to meet you and get you the car on your schedule.  It also is possible to buy the car at the end of the lease. I've been told the program is available only to holders of non-European Union passports.

Renault:  I've heard that this is a good program and the online research seems to bear it out. Renault's leasing program offers prices comparable to Hertz, Avis, Europcar and Budget but allows you to select the car you want from their fleet.  Pick up and drop off are all 32 locations throughout Europe, including the major French destinations.  Leasing means unlimited mileage, a new car warranty, comprehensive insurance with no deductible, 24/7 multi-lingual roadside assistance and a broad network of service agents.  Renault also will lease to drivers as young as 18 years of age, whereas most of the others restrict rental and permission to drive to those 25 years of age or older.

Buckle up!

Good news for Owners of French Real Estate

The Fédération National de l'immobilier, the French estate agents' body, says average prices of all homes in France rose 6% in 2010 and property purchases exceeded 700,000 – a 15% rise on 2009. "Prices, after having fallen quite significantly – approximately 10% if we look at the end of 2009 – have regained a certain strength," says FNAIM president René Pallincourt.

The average price of a home in Burgundy is now €148,400 (£129,000), while in Languedoc the figure is €208,800 (£182,000) rising to €384,200 (£334,000) in Provence. The federation and lenders, such as Credit Agricole, predict rises of about 3% this year, with larger increases in cities.