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Allemans, a Village in Aquitaine

	Do you recall that a few months ago the Skipper was longing for some "house mechanics" rather than boat mechanics? Therefore, we sold the barge and moved back to our home in Aquitaine. Always wanting to give the Skipper what he wants, I found a house. And from now on, the Skipper will be - affectionately - referred to as "Monsieur," because he currently commands ashore, rather than aboard. I thought we had had a conversation which ended with the plan of buying a village house, selling the country house, and ending up with some capital to reinvest in a boat (a small one). Monsieur does not remember that conversation.
		But we did go house hunting, after choosing the village in which we would most like to live: Allemans du Dropt, in Guyenne (kind of between St Emilion and the Dordogne). It is the "x" on the map. I bought the house at left in about 20 minutes. Monsieur points out that he has nothing to do with my flights of fancy. In fact, he has said more than once that every time I have a bright idea, it means work for him. Remember the barge. Nevertheless, he and all visitors agree that it was a good buy (even with no kitchen), and is a bodacious town house.
	Thus, I traded my 90-year-old barge for a 400-year-old house. Not so bad. I tend to love the funky and bohemian, so I was willing to move right in. Monsieur said no way, that there was a lot of work to do on the house and, besides, he wouldn't leave our present home . Well, that was decisive. What on earth were we going to do with this new house?
		We considered furnishing it for a holiday rental. It was already divided into separate flats - or a candle shop on the ground floor and a flat upstairs. But in the end I didn't want the hassle of renting, cleaning, renting, cleaning, and so on. So we decided to resell it, after Monsieur and I have put plenty of work, money, and perspiration into it. And that's where we are now. He is doing the transformation, and I am painting. In principle. I plan to start my part any day now.
	Allemans du Dropt is a medium-sized village on the Dropt river, in Lot-et-Garonne, near Duras, Eymet, and Miramont. If you look at a departmental map, it is in the little lump of Lot-et-Garonne which sticks up between Gironde and Dordogne. The village is called Allemans after the Germanic tribe, the Allemanni, which settled in this area in the third century AD and eventually melted into the population. It is a thriving little place with a football field, a river, a waterfall for the former water mill, and a large village square with the requisite umbrella of plane trees. It has a butcher, a baker, and, oops, we bought the candle maker's shop. It has a tourist office, a newspaper shop/stationer's, a pharmacy, and a post office. Also the town hall, (for both the mayor's offices and community activities) and a medieval church with 15th century frescoes.
		But most important, it has a hotel restaurant that serves traditional meals in the traditional way. The waitstaff wears black and white, and the tablecloth and napkins are of fabric, not paper. I will never forget one cold winter evening when we sat there in the dining room, with frost on the windows and New Year's decorations all around, dining on wild boar stew, perfumed with garlic. And people ask me why I spend so much time in france!
	Right outside the restaurant window is the boules (petanque) pitch. A very generous one and generously used. Today, I picked up a flyer for a country festival in Allemans, lasting four days and sounding like a lot of fun for the whole family. And Petanque every day.	I want a website like My-Paris-Page.com
		We went to the fair, watched some boules and shopped in the flea market. In French it's a vide greniers or attic emptier.) On the way home, we stopped at an open house at a farm. Bienvenue a la ferme!
	They were beef and wine producers on this farm, but they had booths personed by several neighbors and colleagues. So we bought fougasses for lunch from the organic bread people (It's like a pizza on bread). Then we bought melons and green beans (the narrow, "French" style) from the produce booth and goat cheese from the goat cheese booth, but I lost heart at the sweet-wine-and-armagnac booth. Then was the potted meat booth, then a giant barbeque for those who wanted to stay and picnic (on beef from the farm). The party was just warming up!
		We went back to the barn and looked up the local wine booth of the farm's owners. It seemed to be being watched by a 15-year-old, who gave us anything we wanted to try. When Monsieur said he'd take 24 bottles of 2004 red, the young man disappeared. Politely. Up came mother and sister (strong family resemblance), who took care of us well.
	That is how we ended up last evening having chicken salad with green beans and goat cheese (from epicurious.com - we don't have any secrets) with lovely, luscious melon after. Plus the 2004 red, of course. As you can almost see on the wine label, the family name, Carmelli, is Italian, and the vineyard was started in 1924. There was an influx in this little area of Italians between the wars. I don't know the reason, but I would guess that it was because of a need for field workers after the first war, as a whole generation of young Frenchmen was lost in that war. So now many local family names are Italian, although the families are firmly French.
	Allemans Views	In the same way, a friend swears that a local vintner named Charles Buggin must be descended from a Hundred Years War English Army soldier named Charlie Buggins, who stayed on in Aquitaine. In the end, you will recall, the French won the Hundred Years War, Agincourt notwithstanding. Now in the 21st century, the English are taking back "their" territory by means of immigration. According to a recent poll, 6% of Britons would like to live in France. What with the EU, they can live here as legally as in England. The flight costs about 20 pounds, and the weather, food, medical, are all superb. Not to mention the wine.
	English retirees started the movement, but now younger folks are coming to start businesses in Aquitaine to cater for the English community. It's a spiral - but is it going up or down? When we first came in 1986, no French people around here spoke English. Now you can pretty much get along in English. Sometimes that's a godsend, but often it's an irritant. And if it's an irritant to me, think how the French must feel. Although one Frenchman confided that without the English to start gentrifying the region, the villages would all be ghost towns and all the farmers would be geriatric or gone. All in all, as I said, I'll stay a while.
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