Nous Sommes Tous Hollandaise

Weather has cooled down significantly. Dogs, sheep, people are happier. I drove into town today to get some groceries, and I didn’t even stop. The village was just too crowded with tourists . . . and it was a Monday, the day when most of the shops are shut. I will now avoid going to the village in the mornings until September.

It finally happened. For the past five years, the people who were fed up with the overcrowding of the Dordogne were quietly trickling into our departement. Then last year, a few well known travel magazines wrote about our idyllic area . . . and like the Eagles song says “call something Paradise, kiss it good-bye” . . . Voila! We’ve become the Dordogne.

There don’t seem to be many British tourists this year. Or maybe it just seems that way because their license plates are outnumbered by the hordes of Dutch and Belgians. Everyone I’ve spoken with has noticed the Flemish invasion this year.

When you ask a Dutch person why they come to France they invariably have the same reply: “Have you been to Holland recently? It’s too crowded. It’s one big city from Rotterdam to Amsterdam.”

Alas, that’s what the future portends for France. It will soon become one big city from Amsterdam to Toulouse.

Last night at dinner, I was lamenting how “foreigners” destroy what they desire. The Dutch love this part of France because it isn’t overcrowded, so they come down here and overcrowd it.

The British and Americans move here and go on renovation frenzies, and huge box stores spring up to accommodate their insatiable needs, and more parking lots, and bigger roads, and more semis, and more trash consume the countryside the invaders profess to adore.

I know it’s not psychologically healthy to be against progress; I’m trying to accept the fact that I can’t escape its relentless march.