How to live in a castle...even if you're broke.

I’ve gotten a few emails asking how on earth I managed to find myself house sitting a castle in France for a month.   

Within the lines of the emails I’ve received, the subtext is clear.  “I know she is as broke as I am.  We’ve just gotten out of school, and I’m barely able to pay rent on my crappy apartment let alone take an international trip.  Is she selling drugs or what?”  I hear you, and trust me…I would have the same questions too. 

First, a bit of background. 

I’ve just finished up year one of graduate school.  Like most students, my education has come at a high price.  As a result, hundreds of dollars in loan payments go out each month.  Such payments are causing me to rethink whether or not finishing graduate school is even worth it…but I digress. 

About six months ago, I got it in my head that I was absolutely not going to finish school if I didn’t find a way to pay for it with scholarships.  I made the decision to take a semester off and apply for everything I was eligible for.  After one ridiculous Fulbright application (nope, that didn’t work out) and a handful of minor scholarships, I’ve come to realize that grad school funding is a hell of a lot harder to come by than undergrad funding.  Subsequently, I have found myself without money for school and five months of time on my hands. 

Instead of spending my time immediately filling out loan applications and running back to New Zealand to start classes, I decided to take the time to actually decide if this is the right decision for me, or if I was just doing what is expected of me by society.  Amidst all of my “what in the hell am I going to do with my life” inner turmoil, I let my mind wander to travel. 

Deep in a pinterest black hole one afternoon, I found a link to workaway.info.com.  I was surprised that I had never heard of it before but even more surprised at what I found.  A few thousand “hosts” had set up advertisements for an exchange: 5 hours of work Monday through Friday in exchange for accommodation and food.  Uh, come again?!  Accommodation is the single most expensive part of traveling, so I was intrigued.

After a few hours clicking from country to country, I realized that a person could realistically take an entire year off and only pay for transportation and miscellaneous travel expenses.  I admit, I was skeptical because the site charged a fee, but after a few days of researching I decided to pay the $40 it required. 

The process to apply for each workaway is straightforward.  First, you build a profile so you can essentially sell yourself, your skills, and your personality to the hosts.  After building a profile, you choose a set up you’re interested in and send a message to the host.  In two days, I sent out 31 emails.  I realize this is a bit excessive, but I was on a mission okay?  A few days passed, and nothing.  But then finally, like little beams of joy, the emails started coming in. 

In total, I received about 15 emails to my 31 sent.  Granted, I was applying for mostly European countries, which I assume, are some of the most popular.  One host sent over a two-page questionnaire that basically amounted to an email interview.  Another workaway just asked for possible dates.  After just two emails, a two-week time period was set and we were booked. 

While it does require a bit of effort to research, contact, and arrange a workaway, it is absolutely worth it.  What would have been a month long trip at best has now turned into almost five. 

While the workaways I chose have not provided all our meals, they have provided incredible accommodation as well as pocket money, a very nice vehicle, and access to bicycles. 

While working in the garden yesterday, a Canadian workawayer and her husband told me  “these experiences absolutely can’t be bought.”  They’re in their late fifties and can certainly afford to spend the nights in hotels.  Even so, they’re choosing to use this site to enhance their time away from home.  And you know what, I think they’re right.  The four hours I spend gardening in the morning here in Bormes les Mimosa are exceptional.  The air smells like orange blossoms, the spring sun is shining, and I’m delightfully tired at the end of every day.  Not to mention I can eat all the French bread and cheese I want without feeling guilty. 

Anyone who has spent large amounts of time parked in front of a computer can attest to the fact that there is almost nothing less satisfying than sending out emails day in and day out.  Here, there is a tangible result to every day of work as well as a sense of real satisfaction.  The only trouble with workaway – if makes you realize that you never really have to go back to the way you used to live, but that is a whole different conversation altogether.  

Bormes Les Mimosa

Have you ever been to a place that smells like honey and oranges?  I’m not talking a trip to the orange aisle of the grocery store here…I’m talking about a place where the air smells so sweet it almost tastes like sugar.  Bormes les Mimosa is such a place.  Tucked away in the south of France, it is picturesque and lovely.  Underneath the tiffany blue sky are terra cotta roofs and a deep blue ocean dotted with sailboats for miles.  Grape vines and orange trees frame the porch, which creates a symphony of color in every direction. 

We spent the morning gardening in a private garden that should seriously consider charging admission.  There are flowers for days here, and just about every kind of herb you can imagine.  The mint is a bushy wonder, just waiting to be harvested and turned into a mojito.  And did you know bay leaves grow to be the size of your head? 

We’re staying in a converted greenhouse for the next two weeks.  The walls are glass, but it’s been turned into a fully functional space.  We’ve got a bathroom complete with a composting toilet (Alex is not a fan), a double bed, a kitchen, and only a few garden worms to deal with inside.  

Steps from the greenhouse sits a garden…and we’re allowed to take snips of spinach, snap peas, potatoes, onions, tomatoes, eggplant…all to our heart’s content.  Just this afternoon I grabbed some fresh green lettuce for a sandwich.  Could this be Heaven?  Three kilometers from Bormes les Mimosa is Lavandou, a beach town that smells like salt, water, and moules frites.

I’m amazed that after having spent just one day here, it is my absolute favorite part of France.  That being said, I already miss the puppies Pushkin and Pavlova!!  While I contemplated stealing them, I decided that customs might prove to be problematic….

Have you ever been to the south of France?  If so, send over some tips – this is completely new to me!!  

Gathering Dinner in Meslay Du Maine

I love going to the grocery store in France.  Walking down the aisles is pure pleasure, so I always allow time to give things a good look. 

 A few days ago, I stumbled on Speculoos.  It tastes like ground up cookies in the form of peanut butter (upon further research, I’ve found it gets sold at Trader Joes…NOT GOOD!).  It’s been three days since I picked up this jar, and it’s more than half gone.  Apparently there are over 500 calories per 100 grams.  Gotta keep the energy up for working outside!

 The applesauce is unbelievable.  Most of it has no sugar, and it comes in flavors like vanilla and apricot (don’t get that, but I’m into it).  Even so, it’s fantastic. 

Now check out this pudding aisle.  That’s right, an entire refrigerator section devoted to nothing but pudding.  The other side, nothing but yogurt.  Seems excessive, no?  I mean seriously, how much pudding could one person eat?  Judging by the popularity of the aisle, the French love it. 

 If pudding isn’t your thing, why don’t you take a walk down one of the two long cheese aisles? 

 You like mustard?  There’s an ENTIRE aisle devoted to it. 

If you’re feeling like keeping it healthy, head to the veggie section.   In search of corn on the cob one afternoon, I noticed there was absolutely none to be had.  No frozen corn, no fresh corn, and certainly no canned corn.  I asked a friend here, what gives?  She explained to me that the French certainly would not eat something like corn. “It is for the animals you see, and the people of France are not animals.”  You know, she has a point…if it’s used to fatten up cows, maybe we shouldn’t be chowing down on it so often? 

Just down the street from the grocery store sits a gorgeous butcher and bakery.  The croissants are always beautiful, and the tartes are a feast for the eyes.  

The butcher has some interesting creatures inside, but if you like things a bit fresher just take a walk outside.  There is almost always a fruit and veggie market going on somewhere near (oftentimes out of a truck), but faint of heart beware. 

Those bunnies, they aren’t being sold as pets.  Neither are the chickens, ducks, geese, or little goats either.  

After the bunny I had been petting got snatched up by a particularly gruff woman buying him for dinner, I may have even gotten a bit weepy.  “There’s no crying at the market!” Alex informed me, so I sucked it up and decided to people watch instead of bunny watch.  After seeing a kid lick his lips and point to a handsome duck, I decided I had had enough (and decided not to eat meat for what ended up being two weeks). 

While it’s sad to snuggle bunnies about to be sold for dinner, it’s not all bad to have that sort of connection with the food you eat.  A large part of society has lost that connection, as well as true understanding of where the food eaten on a daily basis comes from.  In small town France however, young children look up at their parents and lick their lips as they choose a duck, rabbit, or even a goat for dinner.  And maybe that’s not the worst thing.