What happens when you chuck your old life into the air like confetti and start afresh? Do your wildest dreams turn into dazzling reality, or do they just leave you tangled in a mess of "be careful what you wish for"? Will your brilliant ideas actually work or will they spectacularly combust? And the million-euro/dollar question: can you pull this off on your own without losing your mind, your dignity, or the shirt off your back?

In my case, these questions are on a constant, high-speed loop, responsible for an alarming number of to-do lists, sleep-deprived existential crises, and a daily (occasionally, hourly) chorus of “oh my God, what have I done?”

This newsletter is part adventure log, part behind-the-scenes peek - a place to share the highs, the hiccups, and the outright disasters - with a side of self-soothing (!) as I set about transforming spaces, building a business and navigating life as (another) foreigner in France. Along the way, I’ll do my best to silence the ever-present “will I ever wear heels again?” gremlins and maybe, just maybe, inspire YOU to take your own leap - whether that’s a daring plunge or just a cautious toe dip.

Expect me to be flitting between ‘Madame’ (my temperamental old stone property) and the beautiful chaos of her orbit, building an ateliers business, some borderline obsessive sourcing habits and fabulous design finds, creative distractions, communications work (a.k.a. my “real job”), and life in all its messy, joyful, what-now glory.

I’m Alethea, currently at the beginning of a establishing a long-held dream (or some wonderfully unpredictable version of it) in the beautiful Périgord Noir, South-West France. More about me later, but for now welcome! Let’s begin…

Alethea x

This property did not match my wishlist. In fact, I declined the viewing, three times. Too far north, not remote enough, wrong architectural style, and definitely not my thing. But the agent was persistent, which is why, despite my objections, the five-month-old puppy and I found ourselves driving north from our pandemic escape rental near St. Antonin-Noble-Val.

The roses clambering over the old stone gates were the first heart-stopper, but nothing prepared me for the absolute gut-punch of home I felt the moment I stepped through the front door. My heart made the decision before my head could catch up. This was it. Meant to be. How I’d make it happen was almost irrelevant at this moment, simply that I would. Thankfully, my face mask concealed the ridiculous, uncontrollable grin spreading across my face. Within minutes, I was head over heels for the house and equally in admiration of its owner (more on that later).

The next day, I made my offer. The day after, it was accepted. And just ten days later, I found myself in the Notaire’s office, signing my way through sixty pages - one woman’s dream being carefully passed, signature by signature, to another.

A day later, I was driving back to the Netherlands in a far better mood than when I’d left a month earlier. Funny what a bit of impulsive house shopping can do for a girl. Yes, buying ‘Madame’, or any property, really, at this particular moment in my life was a snap, crazy, decision. I wasn’t technically ready with all the logistical elements, and there was quite some juggling of funds, not to mention a few hair-raising moments, between agreement and completion. But the dream itself? Not so much. For 12 years, I’d dipped in and out of looking, talking, scheming, and wistfully imagining this French escape. Family and friends were quick to remind me that, actually, I’d been toying with this for ages. Apparently, it was only a matter of time.

More Snapshots of the Domaine Les Plonges ‘journey’ every week.

Not a sentence I ever expected to write. It was an accident so absurd that even retracing my steps shed zero light on how it actually happened. And yet, the excruciating upshot is that I find myself back in Urgence at Gourdon Hospital with severe chest injuries EXACTLY three weeks to the day after my last emergency visit for… you guessed it… severe chest injuries. That time? A more pedestrian (literally) accident: an old-lady-style fall on some grass on a hill.*

Trying to explain, in French, how I came to be impaled by a wooden cat teepee, while in searing pain, to a team of bemused medical professionals was significantly more challenging than recounting a simple trip-and-fall. The confusion was palpable. How could a cat and a tent have injured me? Why was the dog involved? And, mon dieu, what was the tent doing in the dining room?!

I’m seen immediately and sent for scans, with swelling suggesting a punctured lung. Miraculously, I get away with just a fractured sternum and a severely bruised ribcage - mostly on the opposite side from last time, thus granting me the full, well-rounded ribcage pain experience.

Yes, the accident is embarrassingly ridiculous, but the pain and incapacitation? Dead serious. I had just started recovering from my old-lady fall, and now I was back at square one. I won’t lie, it was a blow, and morale has been pretty low.

At one point, I even considered naming this newsletter Impaled by a Wooden Cat Teepee because, well, if nothing else, my inability to do much of anything meant I finally sought refuge in this and determined I would indeed get the newsletter I have been toying with (for months!) out the door.

*Both accidents were, yet again, reminders of how incredibly fortunate I am to have landed in such a lovely community. Our kind friends and neighbours have been amazing, caring for me and Romy - Bisousxx.

Possibly you found your way here via Instagram? @domainelesplonges? If so, an extra Bienvenue! You’ll already know I love a good visual.* So here I’ll share a little more context behind the images, but to start… an introduction to some key characters in this adventure.

* Apparently, I take too many photos. My family tolerates it (mostly). My father calls them my “proof of life” moments. One brother grumbles about being sneakily snapped or coaxed into posing - yet, funnily enough, did find my archive invaluable when scrambling for a visa application.

Whether it’s discovering unique work by artists and designers from near and far or rummaging through vide greniers, brocantes, and hidden treasure troves, I’m always on the lookout! I’ll be sharing my favourite artists, designers and sourcing spots here 😄 But first - a tale of obsession, persistence, and the kindness of strangers, all for the love of a perfect mug - from Austria to the Netherlands to France!

This is my absolute favourite mug. It became my morning tea mug in August 2013 and has been a fixture of my routine ever since. I bought it from a stall at an open-air ceramics fair in Klagenfurt, Austria - frightfully specific, I know! While I’m often shockingly inept at retaining useful information, I seem to have a photographic memory for where and when I acquire things.

For the first year and a half after getting the keys to Les Plonges, I was still living in the Netherlands, frequently shuttling 1,000 km between the two countries, trying to figure out if a half-and-half life was feasible. Among the many logistical dilemmas, albeit the least significant one, was my morning mug. Clearly, it was an essential piece of kit for both locations, but would it survive the overstuffed car journeys? Probably not. The logical solution? Source a second, identical mug for France and avoid any ceramic calamities.

And so began my (perhaps, a little) fanatical pursuit…

First, I scoured the internet. I tried image-matching searches, translated descriptive mug phrases into German (a language I have absolutely no grasp of, despite some Dutch capability), and combed through endless lists of Austrian ceramic fairs. It turns out there are a LOT. All to no avail.

In a last-ditch act of mug desperation, I emailed the Austrian Tourist Board. Because, well, why not?! Attaching photos, I explained my unusual request, and asked, on the off chance, if they had a list of participants from the Klagenfurt ceramics fair of August 2013. As if they had nothing better to do. 🤷‍♀

Much to my surprise, a few days later, an email popped into my inbox from Hildegard at the Austrian Tourist Board:"What a beautiful mug! I completely understand why you’re keen to find more. I’m attending a ceramics fair this weekend. I’ll ask around."

What?! It was amazing to receive a response, let alone one so enthusiastic. Sure enough, Hildegard was as good as her word. By Monday morning, another email arrived: "I found her! The ceramicist who made your mug is called Birgit—I met her at the fair this weekend. Here are her contact details. She said you can order via email..."

Delighted, I got in contact with Birgit, who sent over a PDF catalogue. Additional mugs (and a butter dish, naturally) were duly ordered. As Summer drew to a close, I realised the order hadn’t been confirmed, so I sent a quick follow-up email - only to find that Birgit had already shipped the order, enclosing the invoice for payment once I received it. What an absolute star!

I still have my beloved, original, morning mug - and woe betide anyone else who tries to use it - but now, thanks to a lovely stranger named (Detective) Hildegard, I also have a few more of Birgit’s beautiful, tactile, dotty creations. Anyone else go to slightly extreme lengths to replace or source a favourite item?

I tend to be cautious with stock phrases like creating a dream life or following a journey. They can feel a little too Disney for something as complex as real life - and let’s face it, hackneyed.

For the sake of this newsletter, I’ve kept it simple: I’m trying to turn a particular dream into reality. But is it the dream? The whole dream? It’s certainly a huge life project, but not the only one - even if, right now, getting ‘Madame’ up and running consumes about 80% of my energy!

How do you describe your dream construction? I’d love to hear your thoughts - do send a comment or email, it would be lovely to connect. 🙃

Simply put, for two key reasons:

Whichever way you subscribe, I’m delighted to have you along for the adventure - thank you 💛

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