Autumn in France newsletter

Bonjour,

I hope you and yours are well.

I’m sending you the newsletter from the south of France, I’m exploring Grasse, the perfume capital, tomorrow I’m off to the Cote d’Azur – seeking out hidden gems and picturesque villages, and next week I’ll head to Vaucluse in Provence to find out what’s new in Avignon, the city of the Popes, visit vineyards and enjoy up the fabulous colours of Fall. Come with me via Instagram where I’ll post photos and videos as I go.

Somehow, it’s Autumn in France already. I’m not sure how that happened, this year seems to have whizzed by. The harvest has almost finished, buzzards hover over the fields looking for fast food on the ground, and spiders seek warmer accommodation. At least that’s what my neighbour Jean-Claude says. I am not a spider fan, but I try to live and let live. We’ve had a spider living on our terrace for months and months, he’s got so big we call him George. We don’t generally get too many spiders in the house because the cats are rather partial to them. But last week Jean-Claude and his wife Bernadette came for drinks, and as we sat in the kitchen, Bernadette said, “He’s a big ‘un” and we all looked at the most enormous spider sitting on the dresser with the cups and saucers.

“You’ll have good luck tomorrow” said Bernadette, and Jean-Claude nodded in agreement. “Araignée du matin, chagrin; araignée du midi, souci; araignée du soir, espoir.”

(Spider in the morning, grief; spider at noon, worry; spider at night, hope).

French people are very superstitious – at least where I live they are.

“I think it might be George” said my husband Mark.

Jean-Claude looked at us with his eyes narrowed.

“You name your chickens, ducks and geese, you name the stray cats, the hedgehogs, and now you name the spiders and invite them in the house?”

“Anyway, bon chance (good luck)” said Bernadette and we all clinked our glasses together and stared into each other’s eyes – another French superstition, if you don’t stare, you could get seven years of bad luck.

When we turned back, George had disappeared. Jean-Claude who had been sitting closest, leaped up and started slapping his legs and dancing like a puppet on a string, flinging his arms wildly and slapping his head. “He jumped on me, I’m sure of it” he yelled.

We watched in astonishment as his wild movements caused him to hit his elbow on the edge of the table, hop about and bang his leg on a chair.

“George is up there, look” said Mark pointing to the shy creature who was now lurking in a corner of the ceiling.

Jean-Claude sat down with a bashful look on his face, nursing his elbow and knee, as Mark picked the spider up gently and took him outside.

So much for good luck!

Wishing you a happy autumn,
Bisous from France,
Janine
Editor

PS Top photo: Trompe l’oeil in Montpellier

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