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Let’s begin : )

Aletheax

Canicules & history

Whoop! At last, the latest canicule (heatwave) is clearing. After nearly three weeks of relentless heat (37-41 degrees), it’s quite the relief for both humans and nature. The new aircon system here has absolutely proved its worth, and any lingering doubt about it being an unnecessary expense has been firmly parked.

The landscape has changed though. Autumnal colours and carpets of fallen leaves in mid-August feel bizarre. My neighbour, JJ, a lifelong farmer, noted he’d only ever seen this response in the trees once before. Over coffee, he’d kindly shared more about the area and this property, which had been in his family for generations. It was fascinating to learn more.

It turns out the ruin on the lower lawn, now a rustic style flowerbed, once housed the wine press. Grapes from the vines opposite were pressed there, and the barrels were stored in what is now the dining room.

There was also an escape tunnel! Yes, really. With tales of hidden priests and treasure, I definitely need to replay this part of the recording to get the details straight. Apparently, the tunnel extended from the main house up into the top meadow, probably 60 metres or so. Suddenly, those odd little openings in the old wall make sense. Whether it’s collapsed or not, some exploring is definitely in order!

JJ also painted a picture of how village life has changed over his 84 years. The commune’s population has shrunk from around 3,000 to just over 300, and busy livestock farmland has given way to more forest. He remembers when the village itself bustled with small businesses, with two restaurants, a tailor, shoemaker, sabotier (clog type shoes), forge, carpenter, wheelmaker, two epiceries and of course, the school. His stories were wonderful and I will write them up soon.

Happily, JJ is optimistic about the future and thinks more young people are returning to the countryside. The importance of our one village restaurant, Les Causses, can’t be overstated, and it’s encouraging to see the village bread-oven restored, as well as a thriving local business, La Frontiere Outils, opening a new atelier here.

Meanwhile, my mother has been visiting, so we’ve taken in a few super-early brocantes and vide greniers. My favourite being the 7am bread-baking lesson at La Fontade’s fete du pain where the baker showed us how he gauges the oven’s heat using little scraps of newspaper and their scorch marks. With the heat lifting, Mum has been able to turn her exceptional green fingers to the garden, which is always much appreciated.

A note: this edition is a little shorter than usual. A combination of heat, headaches, and sparse spare energy. Sourced and the Pensieve will be back in full force next edition : )

Making Summer 2026 plans?

In 2026 Domaine Les Plonges (in its entirety) will be available for a limited number of weeks for exclusive private vacation rental. 

If you’d be interested in staying and would like to be notified of this limited availability, please register your interest via the button below.

Let’s talk renovation #3 | Being duped

It’s not possible to encompass all the things I want to share about this renovation in one snapshot, hence this little series…!

November 2023: Every evening, after I’d finished work, and once the renovation team had left, I’d venture into the main house to check on progress. Mostly, it was a reassurance exercise to calm my rising anxiety about both the level of destruction and the snail’s pace of progress.

One of my favourite parts of any renovation process is when you have cleared the decks, removed that flimsy wall or dodgy ceiling, and you can finally see the future space clearly. Yet by mid-November, two months into the renovation, that thrill had evaporated. Demolition, which was due to finish by mid-October, dragged on endlessly. After the initial flurry, progress stalled. Yet, new invoices kept landing, all above and beyond the original devis.  

Uneasiness at the mounting cost, lack of progress and somewhat cavalier work approach meant my panicky thoughts were on a loop: “What have I done? This was a perfectly liveable house, now it’s a hollow shell. Why are they still in this phase? What did they even do today?”

On the second floor, a barely swept-up pile of demolition detritus and an empty rubble bin sitting close by blocked my path. Otherwise, I genuinely could not see any difference to the previous evening’s tour. No surprise really. The crew who had arrived all guns blazing now turned up for an hour or two, took a two-hour lunch, and disappeared shortly after. Most irritatingly, they’d text me hours later claming they were only just leaving. Ridiculous, as the dogs would always alert me to the sound of their van disappearing.

I was becoming tired of the lies, incompetence and the sense that I was being strung along. Between the maitre d’oeuvre’s ‘mais le probleme est’ and this loquacious but inept team, my gut was practically screaming: “They’re taking the mickey, get a grip, fire them”. My frustration was tipping into anger.

Back on the first floor, I checked to see if anything had happened there. A series of large wooden poles had been nailed all across the nonexistant bathroom wall. Why? With those in place, large double doors would be impossible. The whole contraption looked more Heath Robinson than structural. After days of nothing, the only progress I could see was completely wrong. Aargh. I retreated to the relative calm of La Petite Maison and the demands of the dogs.

Perhaps I was already worn down by the renovation process? Maybe those poles were temporary supports? Surely this could still be a proper wall? Maybe there was a rational explanation for the additional invoices? I needed a second opinion: was I being unreasonable, or was my gut right?

It turned out to be another lesson in trusting my gut. After seeking the opinion of a trusted friend (and artisan) and another charpentier, the consensus was loud, clear and unavoidable: not only were these people taking advantage, treating me and the project as a cash-cow, but their standard of work was appalling.

 “Mais, non, ces poutres sont absurdes. Pas necessaire. Incroyable” Not in awe in a good way.

Trying to reason with this team was a dead end. Apparently, I didn’t know what I was talking about whether it was the poles, the costs or the budget. Every time I raised questions about the discrepancies between devis and invoices, their erratic attendance (four of the past 14 workdays, holidays aside) or their vanishingly short hours, I got the same response: yet another promise of a ‘clear budget breakdown’. I’d been waiting weeks for this.

In the end, I pulled the plug. The dismissal via email and one excruciating kitchen table meeting where they presented a hastily scribbled summary justifying their inflated costs. I negotiated where possible but ultimately had no option but to pay the bulk of their increased invoices or face the prospect of the chantier being closed down indefinitely if there were to be any legal dispute. They knew this, so did I, and it was an unpleasant experience to be so obviously held over a barrel knowing their claims would not hold water.

With an enormous hole in the budget, a ton of uncleared debris and (a small but in my mind, telling thing) my triple-extension ladder swapped (accidentally, hum) for some rickety stand-in, the entire project schedule was blown to smithereens. I was left shaken, doubting my own judgement, feeling like a gullible idiot and quite frankly, miserable.

Rip-off merchants, tick. Fly-by-night cowboys, tick. Being easy-prey, tick.

By December, after finally parting ways with both this team and the incompetent maitre d’ouevre, I hit a low point in the renovation process. The chantier was at a standstill, the property was an unliveable wreck, and I felt like an idiot.

The hard truth was unavoidable: I’d made some major mistakes in trusting the wrong people. I’d taken bad advice, ignored my own internal alarm system, and let things carry on past the point when I knew they should have been stopped.

It was only with extreme fortune that I found a new, trustworthy, extremely competent, non-rip-off merchant maitre oeuvre. From that moment, everything shifted. Plans, budgets, devis, site-meetings and project management were all handled with laser-focus. New artisans were found, the mess left by the old team was cleared, the ridiculous bathroom poles were removed and a clean slate was prepared on which to move forward.  

Slowly, not only was faith being restored, but the upset and feelings of idiocy started to fade and were replaced by a settled gut feeling that at last, I had the right people and team by my side.

It took a long time to shake off the shame of idiocy at having been duped, and to let go of the anger at these cowboys (both this team and the original maitre d’oeuvre), at the people who’d recommended them, but most of all the anger at myself for not trusting my gut earlier.

The impact of these clown’s work echoed for months. Most visible, the financial hit. Not only the money I considered effectively stolen, but the added costs of putting their mistakes right and even in little things discovered months later down the line: doors that had been removed with doorframes discarded, hidden broken furniture, damage to pipes, zinc and beams. What should have been a nine month project was delayed to eighteen, in turn delaying the business side of Les P considerably.

Then there was the toll on life itself. Less visible, though not to family and friends (!), was the stress. I felt like a failure for having fallen for it and berated myself constantly “you’ve done renovations before, you should have spotted this earlier”. Though, hindsight is a wonderful thing, isn’t it!

Writing about this dirty chapter now is not to dwell. Rather, it’s to unpack and file away. I’d avoided sharing it for a long time but putting it into words feels cathartic. It’s a final act of letting go, and maybe also serves as a warning to others: trust that gut!

But now? Look 👀 

• That bathroom? It now looks like this: Before & after video.

• Those double doors worked just like I’d imagined: These old doors.

• There’s a wasp-free and spacious bathroom in that space: Romy & the hornet-man’s boots.

• I also know EXACTLY who and who not to recommend from the 102 artisans who’ve worked on this project (!): Team artisan. 

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

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 others and a little more context behind the images…

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 😄 

This segment will be back in the next edition : )

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