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The Abbaye de Montmajour lies just on the outskirts of Arles, rising above the fields where Vincent Van Gogh loved to paint. Founded in the 10th century, the abbey has a long history of hardships. It has been blasted by wars, political manoeuvers and plagues. While briefly enjoying a period of success during the 13th century, when it housed sixty resident monks and sponsored parishes as far away as Grenoble, it fell into disarray while under the control of the Maurists monks in the 17th century, who were reportedly known more for their acts of greed than good. In 1786, the Cardinal Louis de Rohan, in keeping with the shoddy behavior that later ruined him during the scandalous “Affair of the Necklace” involving Marie Antoinette, stopped paying for the maintenance of the abbey. When the French Revolution arrived, only nine monks roamed its crumbling halls. The churches of the abbey were sold to local farmers and later turned into an armory by the German army during World War II. Fortunately Prosper Merimée had the insight to add Montmajor to his list of monuments to be preserved in France. Its slow restoration began and continues to this day. 

We see the abbey constantly in our comings and goings, the tower and filigreed remains a beacon that we are close to home. I don’t know what possessed Remi to turn onto the tiny dirt path that we had driven by so many times but it led to a wonderful perspective not only on the abbey but Vincent’s countryside as well. Despite the deceptive green in the fields, the day was bitterly cold and my skin drew tight across my cheeks, slightly frozen. Soon, even Ben was ready to head home to a spot in front of the fire. 

I usually do all that I can to keep the content on this blog my own but I really feel strongly about passing on this beautifully expressed post about the aftermath of the tsunami that was written by the prolific Dominique Browning on her wonderful blog Slow Love Life:

I spoke to my Mom this evening and we both had similar concerns as to the state of affairs in the world and wondering, as drastic as this may sound, if the end was sooner than we think. Our Earth seems to be so strained, so overburdened. How hard it is to be so far away from her and my sister with such thoughts racing though my head, despite my overwhelming love for Remi and the life that we have created here. I imagine that all expats have these feelings from time to time. 

I have been to the Ring of Fire, the area of unstable tectonic plates on which Japan is also situated. Remi and I were fortunate enough to do a story on the tiny island of Vanuatu, of which I will share more another time because it was so fascinating on several levels. One of the most incredible evenings was spent on the crater of Mount Yasur. It is the world’s most accessible active volcano and we both stared down deep into the inner churning of the earth until our guide had to lead us away. We all tend to forget that an unending push and pull is just below the surface of where we live and breathe until such a tragedy reminds us of otherwise. I think if more people had seen such power first hand, they would treat our planet with more respect, but enough of that. Tonight I am just wishing that the tide of fear, of terror, will pull away from Japan to let its people grieve and recover as they can.

Endings and beginnings. Remi and I have been asking so many questions about what is next. The real estate agent who showed us the house that I wrote about in my “Bones” post called to say that, in fact, the owners need to sell very quickly and are willing to consider a large enough price drop (30K) to make it very tempting. So much to consider at this time of year when creation is brimming just below the surface.

Oh my, I’m not talking about my own! Thank goodness, I have nothing to divulge on that subject for the moment. No, I am referring to the bones of a house. What lies beneath all of the torturous things we can put them through especially in a town such as Arles where there can be centuries upon centuries worth of layers. I saw an especially good example of that this morning.

Isabelle, one of the many, many real estate agents that we have come to know in Arles (and yet one of the few that hasn’t given up on us due to our winning combination of impossible pickyness and a restrained budget) rang us up. “I think I might have something for you,” she announced and then proceeded with a brief description of a large home dans son jus, literally translating to “in its juices”. Hmm, it was possibly within our budget and sounded appealing enough. Besides, there is nothing that I love more than going to visit these old homes here in Arles. You never know what you are going to find…

Well, beyond what was arguably one of the uglier kitchens that we have come across, we found something, that, in the right hands could be turned into something lovely. Can you see it? No? Well, perhaps you need to know the workings of how homes have been renovated here. After the Second World War, the gorgeous stone that all of these homes are made of was considered far too old fashioned–something for the peasants! And so it was covered up, either with cement and plaster (or even, gulp, stucco) or with sheetrock walls set inches away to let the stone breathe. The same shame treatment was given to the stone or terra cotta tile lined floors as well as the wooden beamed ceilings.

So, with that in mind, just take a look at this room. Now imagine ripping up that linoleum–with pleasure! From the sound of our footfall, we were fairly certain that there were tomettes, terra cotta tiles, underneath. If not, then a parquet could be installed, which would reflect nicely the sunlight traipsing in from that typically 18th century window. Next, strip down the hollow plaster walls to reveal the gorgeous blocks of cream colored stone from Fontvielle. Beside the built in armoire on the right is a hidden conduit for a huge firpeplace–add that to your mental picture. Finally, also remove the at least three feet thick fake ceiling, paint the beams underneath a pale cream and voila! Gorgeous! 

And that is just one room. After climbing up the final flight of the stone staircase (note the cement on the side wall–heart-breaking), we were rewarded with an open loft like space, much bigger than what my little camera can covey, something true of all the rooms actually. Here, if you look past the thick whitewash, you can get an idea of the stone walls but also look at the parfeuille tiles on the floor–centuries old and increasing rare. What could you do up here? Well, several things. Simply finish off the insulation for an extra room, or open up the ceiling to create a terrace complete with a summer kitchen. Or a combination of the above by building a patio on the roof off to the side above one of the bedrooms.

Is this the house for us? No, it isn’t. The work that needs to be done, even though I can imagine doing alot of it ourselves, puts it out of our budget. Nor did it make our hearts go thump, thump which is definitely called for on a project that requires living in dust for a year. But it is an interesting opportunity for someone. Let’s hope it falls into the right hands…