France is closed, come back in April

St Sébastien

January can be an odd month here. In November we found that some places were closed, in December more were closed and now in January it seems that everywhere we go doors are closed, the shutters are down and a handwritten sign on the door proclaims the 'fermeture annuelle'.

The annual closure can last from two weeks to three or four months apparently. Some restaurants are closed from November until February, others just for January. Shops are the same. One noted restaurant here is open from Easter until the end of October and some only open for July and August.

That's all very well for the vacanciers - but what about us residents, do we not merit the same options all year round? Well not if you are trying to make a living, it appears. Which makes us wonder what these people do all winter? Do they jet off and spend winter in Australia or the Bahamas? Do they have another business in a ski resort somewhere? Perhaps they are really there behind their closed shutters, sitting there by a fireside in the dark waiting for the warmer weather to appear. Perhaps they have a radar alarm that goes off when the first tourist appears, probably along with the first cuckoo and when the first cricket sings.

This morning we rather fancied a Sunday lunch out for a change. Not having had the foresight to book we headed out early for a well-known touristy village where we know locals go when they fancy a tacky trip out - some of the restaurants there are a cut above the usual touristy menu.

It was a beautiful sunny day here in our little valley and we headed north to admire some views before turning west. As we passed through a delightful little village that we had never driven through before (must remember that one), we saw Gourdon in the distance. The twin towers of the church of St Pierre were clearly visible but below the town was in total fog as if a huge cloud had settled itself into the valley. We were tempted to turn around and head south or east but we carried on hoping to pass through the cloud which we eventually did. Up and down hills we drove and in and out of foggy clouds. Arriving at our hilltop destination we parked and walked to the normally bustling square.

Yes, you've guessed it, the whole village was closed for the fermeture annuelle. Even spookier, the fog that was beginning to lift by climbing the hill and beyond made the village seem more like a ghost town. We could hear people talking somewhere but couldn't see a soul.

Feeling rather let down we came home. Having been unusually prepared for this eventuality, I splashed a leg of lamb with garlic oil, sprinkled it with rosemary and threw it in the oven. We may not have had a nice lunch out in the sunshine, but at least we still managed to eat well.