Well, we looked at the idyllic, looked at our bank account, jiggled the budget, flexed the bank account, lowered our expectations, looked at tiny houses rather than grand, then at barns, then at derelict barns. And finally bought a field. We designed what we needed: main house with four beds, workshops, gite/annexe. Gulped at the cost. Jiggled the budget, flexed the bank account and then predictably (it's 2008) failed to sell our house in the UK and had just the outer shell of a single story two bed, two study house built in 2009. Literally a shell. Open the front door, step down onto the sub floor and enjoy the vista of the entire space from wall to wall to roof tile, with just the odd pipe poking out of the floor for the plumbing. The rest would be down to us. And the budget.
We finally arrived for good in January 2010. It was cold. Well, it would be. There was no insulation and only external walls, albeit built from efficient thermic blocks. And we are in the foothills of the mountains. Two years after moving in we finally achieved an electricity grid connection. Thank goodness for solar panels (bought) and the salvaged inverters and batteries that gave us light, TV and power tools over those two years. And two generators bought for peanuts because they didn't work. Hardly surprising as they are both older than us.
Why build a shell? Money. Or rather, no money. Self-building was the cheap option. And fundamentally, would result in a house which was also much more economical to run. And with a smaller carbon footprint. The house is not overly pretty, has masses of insulation, way more than the next standard requires and is oriented with big windows to catch all the sun from the south and not leak too much on the cold, north side. Our heating is a stere or two of timber per winter and our first electricity bill came in at under €130 for everything. For a year. I lust over a classic farm or village house to renovate but know we just couldn't afford to run it. It may be mad to give up work and come to France but I am not so mad as to risk it failing because of a money pit of an old building!
The garden, which has to feed us, was nothing but an inch or two of very poor topsoil over clay with boulders, most of which had been scraped off during the build. Four years on and some areas are yet to be colonised and remain as barren ground. Add to that, a south facing slope out of which a flat platform had been cut for the house to sit on, rain storms that can deposit 40mm of rain in thirty minutes and we are in a whole World of erosion, bank collapse (not the fiscal kind) and run-off pain.
So this will be a blog about frugal living. Doing without stuff. Not shopping for pleasure just for need, which can be a pleasure in itself. Make do and mend. If we can't grow it we don't eat it. Well, sort of. Life when a single square of chocolate, once a week, is a treat.
How tedious, you might be thinking. Well yes, but I spent the last day of the ski season off-piste in deep, fresh powder, followed up by a simple dinner back home, but eaten outside on the terrace. In the first week of April. We both ride motorbikes and although have to ration ourselves on fuel still get to ride in magnificent landscapes on roads most bikers can only dream of. We have two hairpin bends just to get out of this valley. Walking and cycling are mostly free. And so is sitting looking out of the window at the mountain view. What would you rather do on a Monday morning?
I'll be writing about skiing and biking, gardening and eating, walking, reading and my own writing: The ups and downs of the simple life in France. Being happy with less!
Frugal living in the Pyrenees.
Great!
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