French

On March 29, Taix as we know it closes forever. The iconic French restaurant originally opened downtown in 1927 and relocated to its current chalet on Sunset Boulevard in 1962. It’s a grim reminder of L.A.’s insatiable appetite to destroy its own heritage and especially devastating to a certain milieu of writers and artists, myself very much included. Since it announced its closure, I’ve been visiting as often as I can to say farewell, not only to the charmingly shabby faux-1920s interiors, but to the many lives I’ve lived at its tables. First as a young guitarist when a bandmate worked the bar’s soundboard, next with the Chinatown artist scene, then with Semiotext(e)’s avant-garde lit circle, later through firecracker romances and heartbreaks during the art party Social Club, recently floating through the louche carnival of Gay Guy Night and now with the circus of beatniks from my reading series Casual Encountersz.

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It’s difficult to explain why this cavernous and windowless restaurant means so much, so I’ve tried to list everything I love about Taix.

I love that they don’t play music. I love the 1960s bathrooms. I love the bottomless tureens of soup. I love the complimentary crudité from the pre-pandemic era. I love the cold pats of butter. I love that you can always get a table, no matter how many people roll in. I love the free refills on Diet Cokes. I love the 80-year-old couples on dates. I love how the dim lighting makes everyone seem chic. I love the frayed carpeting. I love the fake votive candles. I love the icy martinis. I love the corner booth beside the fireplace. I love the smoked mirrors and tin-plate ceilings in the elegant back dining rooms. I love the small fortune I’ve spent there picking up the check for many strippers, poets and bohemians. I love its rundown glamour, which miraculously evokes Old Hollywood, Belle Époque and trashy Americana all at once. I unironically love the food, which isn’t spectacular, but is very comforting. I love how a waitress once ran off with a friend of mine and slept on my couch for a week. I love how my wife generally hates eating at restaurants but loves eating at Taix. I love how every L.A. artist I know has their own singular version of this list.

The only thing I don’t love about Taix is that its owners are tearing it down to erect soulless condos. I know the city needs housing, but not like this. I hope we’ll all find a new place to call home again soon.

Taix shaped me as a writer and artist, along with so many others, which is why before the new owners demolish this cultural institution, I asked other creatives what the Echo Park landmark means to them.

Chris Kraus.

(Ariana Drehsler / For The Times)

Chris Kraus, writer, artist and co-editor of the independent press Semiotext(e): When I moved to L.A. in 1995, Taix was the go-to place, with its deep banquettes, cuisine bonne-femme and its nightly prix-fixe specials. Mostly it was police officers and their wives who went there. Sylvère Lotringer and I went often, for him it was a little reprieve from the non-Frenchness of L.A. He could order in French and exchange pleasantries with an elderly French waiter who seemed to live there. Years later, when Sylvère moved to Ensenada and was less active with Semiotext(e), Taix was the site of our “Annual General Meetings” — Hedi El Kholti, Sylvère and I would have dinner together and Hedi would catch Sylvère up on all the forthcoming publications and projects. Taix was a place to run into people unexpectedly. About a decade ago, when the bar was refreshed, it changed again and I kind of lost track of it.

Rachel Kushner, novelist: I dined at Taix probably once per week for 23 years. It hurts so much that it is closing. I simply stopped going, so that I could begin to grieve, and also to avoid every last random tourist standing by the host station, on their phone, and the glum possibility of being seated in the second dining room, a.k.a “the Morgue” as my friend Benjamin Weissman put it. I want to protect my memories of the special occasions I enjoyed in this perennial special occasion establishment … I want to remember Bernard, a cheerful Basque from Biarritz who worked there 60 years, got progressively trashed over the course of his shift, went to Bakersfield on Sundays to party with his sheep-herding countrymen, came back Wednesdays sunburned and happy. The old valets who were let go during the pandemic. I used to give them a Christmas bonus every year, as a thanks for letting me park my classic out front. Look, I was born in Taix. I mean, in a way. I nursed my newborn in Taix. He grew up there. People who criticize the food are losers, and will never understand. The steak frites are great. The panna cotta, discontinued after the pandemic, was my favorite. The Louis Martini Cabernet was reliable. (Bernard told me the wine cellar downstairs took up the entire footprint of the main restaurant. Don’t know if that’s true.) Meanwhile, I can’t put my arm around a memory. All the smart girls know why. It doesn’t mean I didn’t try.

Cord Jefferson, writer and director: When I started going to Taix, in 2004, you could still gamble at the bar. They sold keno slips and lottery tickets, and whenever Powerball got over $100 million, I’d buy a ticket with my pint. Where else can you do all that while simultaneously watching a game and eating a tourte de volaille? Taix was where I watched the heroic Zinedine Zidane headbutt the gutless Marco Materazzi in the saddest World Cup final ever. When France lost that afternoon, my favorite server, Phillipe, cried. Phillipe’s teeth were often as wine-stained as his customers’. He’d bum me cigarettes in the parking lot and speak abusively about the ways the neighborhood was changing. I’m happy Phillipe is not around to see the digital renderings of what they plan to erect once they demolish the Taix chateau: another condo building with all the charm of a college dorm. It’s a damn shame what’s happening to Taix. I wish I had more money so I could buy it and keep it around, but I never won the Powerball.

John Tottenham, novelist and poet: It’s a shame that Taix is closing, not only because other plans will now have to be made for my funeral reception, but because it was the last civilized watering hole in the neighborhood. There isn’t anywhere else that one can walk into and immediately satisfy the social instinct among a convivial and refreshingly diverse clientele in what is becoming an increasingly homogenized locality. It has been the nexus of my social life for over 20 years, and is simply irreplaceable.

Jade Chang.

(Ariana Drehsler / For The Times)

Jade Chang, novelist: I’d only known Taix as a raucous bardo of a French restaurant, then there was a memorial service for Alex Maslansky, my beloved friend Max’s brother, owner of Echo Park’s best bookstore, Stories. Alex was a beautiful and beleaguered soul, born worried, born romantic, difficult and hopeful and apparently a shockingly good poker player. The room was packed with music people and book people, sober friends and poker friends, packed with the gorgeous girls who’d always loved him, our collective sorrow potent and sweet enough to pull the walls in around us tight as we said goodbye and goodbye.

Alexis Okeowo, New Yorker staff writer: I was a late discoverer of Taix, stumbling upon it when I moved to a bungalow just above Sunset during the pandemic from New York. I seemed to only see writer friends there. I met up with a journalist for drinks and then ran into a new writer friend at the bar. I later had a big, spontaneous dinner with TV writer friends and then a birthday celebration in the dining rooms that ended in two friends escorting me home, sick and happy off a mostly-martini meal and the selfies I took in the bathroom with the iconic pink and gold wallpaper. Every time, there was talk about ideas and gossip and so, so much laughter.

Alberto Cuadros, writer/curator and co-founder of the Social Club: About 10 years ago, Max Martin and I started Social Club as a weekly social salon at Taix. We thought of it as a kind of Beuysian social sculpture, it was a weekly ritual, and over time it became something of an institution in the L.A. art world. Everyone knew where to go in L.A. on a Wednesday if they wanted to meet interesting people or find friends. I even met my wife there who was visiting from Montreal.

Siena Foster-Soltis, playwright: Taix felt like one of the few remnants of the L.A. I grew up in and love so dearly.

Ruby Zuckerman.

(Ariana Drehsler/For The Times)

Ruby Zuckerman, writer and co-founder of the reading series This Friday: Taix is the only restaurant in L.A. that doesn’t lose its mind if new friends drop in halfway through dinner or if you stay at your table for hours after you stopped ordering. That kind of flexibility leads to spontaneous nights where what started off as an intimate hang expands into an all-out party. As a writer, that flexibility has allowed me to meet editors, collaborators and readers, drawn together by pure fun rather than networking. One of my favorite nights involved getting in a physical altercation with novelist John Tottenham after he stole my phone to send prank texts to my boyfriend. I’ll miss taking selfies in the bathroom.

Blaine O’Neill, DJ and events organizer: I always say Taix is the “People’s Country Club.” It is exceptional because of the staff who understand the importance of hospitality, and the scale of the space is humane. You’re able to evade feeling pinched by the noose of transactional cosmopolitanism.

Tif Sigfrids, gallerist and publisher Umm…: Taix was a cultural nexus. A space with broad range. It went from being the dark bar I read books and day-drank at in my 20s to the place where I rented a private room to host my son’s first birthday party. It’s where I watched Barack Obama get elected twice, the Lakers win back-to-back championships, and where I indulged in countless night caps and an unreasonable amount of all-you-can-eat split pea soup. You never knew what kind of hot jock, wasted poet or other type of intrigue you might run into there. You can’t make a place like Taix up. It’s a place that just miraculously happens.

Kate Wolf, writer and editor: Though I have been going to Taix for nearly 20 years, embarrassingly, it was only in the last year that I realized the building wasn’t from the 1920s. Those smoke-stained mirrors, that tin ceiling, the drapery and light fixtures are in fact set-dressed — ersatz! Which of course only makes me love the place more. Taix’s history, and its spot in the city’s cultural firmament, cannot be denied. But what really makes it so special are the people who work there and the clientele, not its past. This point is perhaps my only hope in losing what is my favorite restaurant in Los Angeles. That by some divine grace, we will all find each other again in another spot, designed to a different decade than the horror-filled present, and fill it with the same warmth, the same bottomless soup bowl, the same cheer.

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Hedi El Kholti, the co-editor of Semiotext(e).   (Ariana Drehsler/For The Times)

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Writers Lily Lady and Siena Soltis-Foster.  (Ariana Drehsler/For The Times)

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Poet Meat Stevens (Steven Lesser).   (Ariana Drehsler/For The Times)

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Sammy Loren, writer and curator of Casual Encountersz.  (Ariana Drehsler/For The Times)

Hedi El Kholti, artist and co-editor Semiotext(e): Taix is where we would end up after every reading since 2004 when I started working at Semiotext(e). I have memories of being there with Kevin Killian, Dodie Bellamy, Gary Indiana, Michael Silverblatt, Colm Tóibín, Rachel Kushner and Constance Debré among others … Taix has that particular anachronistic vibe that made L.A. so charming when I moved here in 1992, one of these places that time forgot. It was odd when it became really hip in the last 10 years. It made me think of what Warhol wrote about Schrafft’s restaurant when it had been redesigned to keep up with the fashion of the moment and had consequently lost its appeal. “If they could have kept their same look and style, and held on through the lean years when they weren’t in style, today they’d be the best thing around.”

Loren is the founding editor of the art and literary conceptual “tabloid” On the Rag and curator of the reading series Casual Encountersz.

Gerald Barry is today’s rare opera composer with a draught-dry wit. Is there such a thing as a soaking wet wit, the opposite of the parched variety, because he has that, too. He is Irish. He has some Beckett in him. And a helping of Oscar Wilde.

At the behest of British composer Thomas Adès, the Los Angeles Philharmonic has given, over the past 20 years, the U.S. or world premieres of four Barry operas in its Green Umbrella new music series, all conducted by Adès. The first, “The Triumph of Beauty and Deceit,” seemed to take zaniness to outlandish operatic extremes, which led to the orchestra commissioning the next three. “The Importance of Being Ernest” and “Alice’s Adventures Underground,” in 2011 and 2016 respectively, proved each funnier and more outrageous musical spectacle than the last.

On Tuesday night, the L.A. Phil New Music Group and a cast of extraordinary singers gave the U.S. premiere of “Salome” at Walt Disney Concert Hall. Here we go again.

The description by the composer (who is also his librettist) can hardly be bettered. He has cut Wilde’s play by about half. And, in that half, explored another less knowable side of the moon represented by Richard Strauss’ well-known “Salome,” which helped usher in 20th-century operatic modernism. Barry says his “Salome” is “an opera of voyeurism, the moon, French, God, punishment of sin, misunderstanding, sex, the metronome, suicide, hysteria, hunger, blood, typing, speaking correctly, sterility, ‘The Blue Danube,’ fever, art, Wilde, dreaming, beheading, Frankenstein, kissing.”

No nudity, though, and no dance. Salome is a typist. Her dance of the seven veils is sexy typing.

Barry begins where Wilde begins and Strauss (who follows the original play closely) with a pair of soldiers in Herod’s court peering at the moon, one moonstruck by the beauty of Herod’s daughter Salome. Salome has other ideas. She’s taken, perversely, with John the Baptist, imprisoned in a cistern and prophesying doom for the decadent, Godless heathens, Salome in particular. All of this readily registers on Barry’s Dada-absurdity meter.

Even so, Barry has an oracular outlook. He goes in for proclamatory melody, each note an event, when punched out by brass and lower string like hammering spikes in the ground. Harmonies can be raw. There is a Stravinskyan quality, but nothing is ever predictable.

The orchestral introduction to “Salome” is like that. But it gets screwy fast. Other than Salome, the characters are not named, rather treated as types. John the Baptist is The Prisoner. Herod and Herodias are The King and The Queen. All have some Alice in a different wonderland about them.

The Prisoner could be straight out of a Godard film. He speaks only French (Wilde’s play was first published in French in 1893). He speaks more than he sings and finds outrage everywhere he looks. The surtitles intentionally refrain from translating much of what he says, leaving the audience to rely on his loony spoken tone and loony tunes to carry meaning. His way of impatiently rebuffing Salome’s inappropriate advances is to give her singing lessons.

That’s the last thing she needs. Her part, like that of Alice in Barry’s previous opera, is enlivened by delightfully squeaky high notes in unexpected places. She’s Barbie with exceptional smarts and grotesque sexual fantasies. Soprano Alison Scherzer, who has starred in Barry’s other operas and in Adès’ “Powder Her Face,” is spectacular.

Everyone is odd. The half-crazed King, magnificently sung by the ever-disruptive Timur, lusts after Salome by speaking and singing at different speeds he selects on a metronome, as he entices her to type for him. When she first refuses, the King has everyone sing “The Blue Danube,” because that’s what you do when Salome won’t sexy type for you.

Sara Hershkowitz’s wildly contemptuous Queen adds further soprano glory. The baritone, Vincent Casagrande, a marvelously cantankerous Prisoner, tells us only sick people dream, and of course everyone on stage automatically enters a dream state.

The shock of Wilde’s play, amplified in Strauss’ opera, is the sheer horror of Salome demanding as a reward for her striptease the decapitated head of the prophet, whose bloody lips she desires to kiss. In this case, her typing, which is accompanied by the two soldiers (Justin Hopkins and Karl Huml) on their own typewriters, leads to a dismemberment Frankenstein-style. The ghoulish ending is not unhappy.

Barry’s score remains as uncanny as his sense of drama. He plays with our senses of normality. He frequently uses the instrumentalists in the chamber orchestra like theatrical characters. The ensemble contradicts the singers but also eggs them on. Adès, who has his own unpredictably whimsical side, conducts as though he had written the score himself and shares his pleasure with every delightful effect.

The premiere of “Salome,” intended for 2021 in Disney, was disrupted by the pandemic. The first performance, then, became a staging in Magdeburg, Germany, last year. Barry said Tuesday in the pre-concert Upbeat Live that he is often happier with concert performances, like at this Green Umbrella. He has good reason.

The magic of this “Salome” is its transcendence of silliness into acceptance. When presented without theatrical aspect but as a private process of the imagination, it becomes a lavishly lovable antidote to our too often accepting the world’s absurdity only as dooms-scrollable tragedy.

French far-right leader Marine Le Pen said on Wednesday that the US has “clearly made a mistake” in attacking Iran, Anadolu reports.

“What I see is that the United States clearly made a mistake, thinking the Iranian regime would fall within a few days. It has not fallen. The Iranian regime is extremely strong,” Le Pen, head of the National Rally (RN), told France Inter radio.

She said Trump’s war goals are “erratic” and questioned the ultimate objective of the conflict, adding that “no one knows” what he seeks to achieve.

Le Pen underscored that the war has affected several Gulf countries and caused a heavy imbalance in energy supplies.

READ: French president says US-Israel attacks on Iran ‘outside the framework of international law’

“Russia is Hungary’s energy supplier,” and “Ukraine hinders Russia’s oil supply to Hungary,” she added.

The National Rally leader described Hungary’s Prime Minister Viktor Orban as a “symbol of resistance” to the European Commission.

“It is perfectly natural that I come to support our allies during electoral situations,” she said, stressing that she does not interfere in Hungary’s internal affairs.

Regional escalation has continued to flare since the US and Israel launched a joint offensive on Iran on Feb. 28, killing so far over 1,300 people, including then-Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei.

Iran has retaliated with drone and missile strikes targeting Israel, along with Jordan, Iraq, and Gulf countries hosting US military assets, causing casualties and damage to infrastructure while disrupting global markets and aviation.

READ: Iran calls for urgent UN Human Rights Council meeting over school bombing

Reality star Loana Petrucciani, who shot to fame after having sex in the pool while appearing on the French edition of Big Brother, has been found dead at her home

A TV star who became known for having sex in the Big Brother pool has been found dead. Loana Petrucciani, who won the first series of Loft Story France 1, was just 48-years-old.

It’s reported that the reality star, simply known as Loana, was found dead at her home in Nice. Prosecutor Damien Martinelli stated that an investigation has since been opened to “find the causes of death”, before stating the TV star had been dead for “several days”.

Loana gained fame in 2001 when she entered the Loft Story house, living with strangers for ten weeks under constant surveillance from cameras, mirroring the Big Brother format. In the wake of her death, TV network M6 said: “An iconic figure of the first season of ‘Loft Story’, she will forever remain a personality who profoundly marked an entire generation of viewers,” before praising her for “her pontaneity, sensitivity and authenticity.”

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Alexia Laroche-Joubert, CEO of Loft Story’s production company Banijay France, said: “It is with immense emotion that I learned of Loana’s passing. Our paths crossed 25 years ago, and I am honoured to have shared so many memories with her. I witnessed her successes and her struggles.

“My thoughts are, of course, with her mother, Violette, her daughter, her brother, and the other housemates who were part of this adventure. Let us never forget that behind her public image was a sensitive and extremely intelligent woman.” Benjamin Castaldi, presenter of Loft Story said: “There are some faces we never forget. And hers, Loana’s, is part of our collective history.

“Thought we would watch a show. In fact, we were witnessing a revolution. The first one. The truth. The one that changed television forever… and maybe also our view on humans. Loana was not a character. She was a woman. A real one. With its cracks, its sweetness, its fragility in the open sky. And that’s precisely why we loved it.

“But that’s also why we dropped her. We applauded his light… not protecting his shadow. His authenticity has been consumed… without measuring the price she would pay. We’ve watched her live, love, fall… without ever really wondering who would pick her up after. The truth is, we’re all a little responsible. Because we all watched. Cuz we all commented Because we’ve all, at one point, looked away when it got too hard.

“She embodied raw innocence in a world that didn’t forgive anything. And we couldn’t match what she gave us. Today, there’s only a television memory. There’s still an emotion. Embarrassment. A regret. The one of not being human enough to someone who deeply was. So yeah… We lived a revolution together. But maybe we forgot, along the way, the important thing: Behind the phenomenon… There was a woman.”

It was on Lost Story that Loana became known for sleeping with co-star Jean-Edouard Lipa, sparking outrage across the country. Despite the scandal, she walked out of the house as the champion and was welcomed as she paraded down the Champs-Élysées.

With her newfound fame came magazine deals, gracing the cover of Elle, photographed by Jean-Baptiste Mondino and her deeply personal memoir several months later.

In her memoir, the Cannes-born star opened up about the highs and lows of her career in the spotlight, as well as previous suicide attempts. Speaking about entering Loft Story, she said previously: “I went there feeling very insecure. I was worried. The casting director said to me, ‘Aren’t you ashamed to come dressed like that?’ I took it very badly, especially since he was asking everyone that question.”

She added: “He asked me to flirt with the camera: I don’t know how to do that, it’s impossible. I blushed, I stammered. Then they asked me to dance and sing. I left and thought to myself, ‘I didn’t show them anything.'” She said of her fame: “There are two women inside me. The public loved both. Before, we saw a lot of the extroverted Loana who danced on the catwalks, but we didn’t see the other side, because she was too shy to express herself. But, in Loft Story, we saw that there was another side to her.”

In the early 2010s, Loana attempted to take her own life, which left her in a coma. Her family and friends later discovered that she had made several attempts on her life prior to this.

If you’re struggling and need to talk, the Samaritans operate a free helpline open 24/7 on 116 123. Alternatively, you can email jo@samaritans.org or visit their site to find your local branch

If you have been affected by this story, Cruse Bereavement Support offers free help to make sense of how you are feeling. Click here for their website or call 0808 808 1677.

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IN 2000 film Chocolat, starring Juliette Binoche and Johnny Depp, the fairytale tone is set straight away by the sleepy medieval French village of the opening scenes.  

And especially the beautiful, cobbled street leading up from the river.  

Now my family and I are walking the same road in Beynac-et-Cazenac, in the dreamy Dordogne region, amazed by the views of the water below and the 13th- century chateau perched proudly on the hill above. 

The Dordogne might sound fancy — all turreted castles, foie gras and ancient villages — but it’s actually a great-value family holiday spot.  

The choice of child and teen-friendly activities seems endless. Castles, caves and canoeing all got the nod from our 12 and 15-year-olds. 

First up we got our bearings with a trip on a gabare — a flat-bottomed river boat which is used to carry timber, wine and other goods. 

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Now, they carry tourists up and down the Dordogne river (adults £8.50, children £4.50, gabarre-beynac.com). On the glassy-still water, we passed churches and castles, and waved to swimmers taking a dip.  

Next stop was Bergerac. The big-nosed, swashbuckling hero Cyrano de Bergerac, played by Gerard Depardieu in the 1990 film based on the real-life novelist, wasn’t from here . . . but the town has embraced him nonetheless. 

Check out the Cyrano de Bergerac immersive experience. There, a virtual actor took us backstage of a pretend production, where we tried on a fake nose and had a go on various interactive exhibits (adults £8.50, kids £3, quai-cyrano.com). 

Weather isn’t guaranteed in the Dordogne, but on drizzly days you can head for the Maxange Caves, which date back 60million years but were only discovered by accident by a quarry worker in 2000.  

He uncovered an incredible cave complex, which is now open to the public (adults £10, kids £8, maxange.com). 

Our guide pointed out huge stalactites and stalagmites as well as crystallizations in weird and wonderful shapes, marvellously called “eccentrics”.  

Many of the activities and experiences are good value. Driving through pretty villages, we would stumble across markets, free evening concerts and chateau visits that were all good value for money. 

The tiny medieval village of Cadouin is centred around its 12th-century abbey, where Richard the Lionheart is said to have once called by.  

Pop your head in to check out the fancy Gothic cloisters. We timed our visit to coincide with the Wednesday market in the main square, surrounded by honey-coloured cottages, art galleries, cafes and bars.  

Bigger and buzzier is Monpazier, which might be the cutest and best- preserved French village you have never heard of.  

Founded by England’s King Edward I, it’s a medieval time capsule. Where knights once walked, tourists now shop, sip beer and create Insta-stories round every corner — no filter needed.  

By now, the kids were desperate for some more adrenalin-based adventure so we decided to check out the canoeing. 

Gliding down the Vezere River is like floating past a live-action postcard — of ancient cliffs, prehistoric caves and stunning stone villages.  

We chose a gentle three-hour route from Thonac to Tursac, in a couple of two-person canoes. It is downstream so the paddling didn’t take much effort — just enough to feel adventurous without breaking into a sweat.  

Once we got the hang of it, we even pulled into little river beaches and went swimming. You can stand up most of the way, and the river was sparkling-clean. 

Energy fully exerted, we checked in to the converted 17th-century Chateau Les Merles, which has its own tennis court, swimming pools and a great view of the Dordogne valley.  

It is also a great base from which to explore. 

On the riverbank in the nearby village of Creysse, we then ate like locals in the great-value restaurant D’Aujourd’hui.  

It is run by a husband-and-wife team, and the name of the fisherman, who caught the fish we ate that day, was written on a sign on the wall. What a lovely touch.  

The vintage plates come from local flea markets, adding to the authentic vibe. 

A perfect corner of France — and a bon voyage that won’t break the bank. 

FOR some, upping sticks and moving to another country is just a pipe dream – for others, it becomes a reality.

In 2023, Rob and Lisa took the plunge and swapped life in the UK for one in south- western France – they got their new home for a bargain price and say it still feels like a holiday.

Rob and Lisa have starred in the latest episode of A Place in the Sun: What Happened Next? which showed their progress 10-months after moving to France.

But talking to Sun Travel, Rob revealed he and his family have been living there now for two and a half years after ditching their life in Hastings.

They now live in a rural hamlet in a three-bedroom barn conversion with two-acres of land.

Rob explained: “We bought our house in France for £137,000 – but back in the south of England, for a property this size, you’d be pushing north of £2million.

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“Our life now is completely different to the one we left behind – everyday feels like a holiday.”

The retired couple live in the French region of Charente with their two young children Robbie, 11, and Evangeline, 4.

Not to mention all their pets; three ponies, chickens, a dog and a cat.

One major difference that the family found when starting their new life is that the culture is very different, and it’s not a bad thing.

Rob said: “The French work to live rather than live to work.

“I found that they take two hour lunch breaks very seriously. You have to be careful if you go to the shops because they will be closed for a few hours from midday.”

Lisa added: “Everything moves a little slower and things take longer to go through than they do in the UK, but you need to embrace the lifestyle.”

Rob continued: “We’ve been having the time of our lives since we moved here, it still feels like a holiday – and we never set an alarm.

“You can be spoiled very quickly in France, and you can get used to life here – but I don’t want to get used to it.”

Lots of Brits move to find better weather than the UK offers, and Charente is generally much milder.

Summers can see highs of 30C, but can get even hotter – Rob said that the day the family moved in it was a scorching 39C.

In the winter, it rarely gets into the negatives but it does take a while to warm up the house when it’s chilly as there’s no central heating – their home has a log burner instead.

As for other costs, the couple said that the cost of living in Charente is cheaper than in the UK.

Rob said: “Our equivalent of council tax in France is called Taxe Foncière and I pay €1,500 (£1,296.07) a year.

“Whereas in the UK I’d be paying north of £2,000 – utilities are little cheaper too.”

When it comes to food, it’s generally like for like – unless as Rob says “you want to live off a diet of beer and whisky.”

But one upside is that you can pick up a quality bottle of wine for a couple of euros.

Rob revealed you can buy a bottle of J.P. Chenet for as little as €5 (£4.32).

While there aren’t necessarily bars in the surrounding French villages, there are plenty of local restaurants.

Rob said: “You can’t go wrong with French food, they don’t know how to do a bad meal.

“Everything is so exquisite and with real passion.”

The language barrier hasn’t been a problem either.

Rob said: “Well, I’m four years into Duolingo. I can go into a shop or a hairdressers and hold my own. My French isn’t perfect, but I can get by.”

“Our children speak the language, and they have such a great accent that even the French can’t believe they’re English.”

Speaking of the English, there’s a large expat community in the region with around 16,000 Brits living there.

Although in the hamlet where the family live they say their neighbours are split with around half being English, and half French.

The region is generally quiet off-season, but when summer arrives, it gets much busier with visiting British tourists.

Rob confessed that when that time arrives, he tries to avoid the holidaymakers.

He said: “If they hear my English accent in a shop they’ll come over and ask questions, so Lisa and I start speaking French to each other to avoid that.

“It’s sad as well, sometimes local restaurants can seem more like Wetherspoons because it’s full of loud English people.

“I think when tourists come over, they need to try and blend in more with the locals – the French are much more quiet, but very friendly.”

Thanks to their new life in France still feeling like a holiday, the family haven’t taken an official break yet, but plan on visiting Disneyland Paris later in the year.

The country’s capital and the theme park is a five hour drive north of Charente.

Or, if they fancy the beach, La Rochelle is less than two-hours away by car and the city of Limoges can be reached in an hour and a half.

As for leaving life in the UK firmly behind them, Rob and Lisa confess there’s nothing they miss, apart from family members.

But one-way flights to where they are in France can be very cheap, with the closest airport being in Limoges.

In May, you can get one-way tickets from London Stansted to Limoges for as little as £13 with Ryanair.

A Place in the Sun: What Happened Next? airs weekdays from March 16, 2026 on Channel 4.

You can catch up on Rob and Lisa’s episode on Channel4.com.

And if you want to keep up with Rob and Lisa’s home renovation and hear more about taking on the move from the UK to France, check out their YouTube channel Escape to France – Charente.

For more on A Place in the Sun success stories, one woman bought her dream home in Spain for £45k.

And here is a beautiful Spanish city that ‘has it all’ with cheap flights and is loved by A Place in the Sun presenters.

‘It’s not France, it’s not Italy, it’s Menton.” The seaside town on the French-Italian border has changed identities many times in its history. It was the only town in France completely annexed by the Italians during the second world war, but has also belonged to the Grimaldis of Monaco, was part of the kingdom of Sardinia, and only became French after a public vote in 1860. Today, ignoring the colours of Il Tricolore and Le Tricolore, almost everything is painted in various shades of yellow, a celebration of the town’s reliance on its beloved lemon.

Mauro Colagreco, the chef at the spectacular Mirazur restaurant, a few steps from the border, takes me up into the hills to visit one of his lemon and citrus fruit suppliers. “You can eat the peel of a Menton lemon; it has a thick, sweet rind. You can eat the whole thing; it’s totally organic and very juicy.” Menton’s microclimate, its warm winters, terraced hills and sandy soil make it perfect for growing citrus fruit. “What’s particular to the Menton lemon is that it has a smile, a small curvy fold at one end,” says Colagreco, who uses them in his restaurant alongside exploring the possibilities of Star Ruby grapefruits, yuzu confit and kumquats.

This time of the year, late February and March, is called “yellow time”, owing to the lemons, daffodils and the mimosa on the hillside. It’s also the time of the Fête du Citron, a two-week festival with parades, giant floats and, this year, huge models of a whale, 12-metre-high parrots and entwined storks – all covered in citrus fruit. It was the 92nd iteration of the festival, but the Menton lemon is too expensive and rare to use, so all 123 tonnes of oranges and lemons now come from Spain (mostly) and Portugal.

In a perfect location to appreciate Menton’s two personalities is Luciano Fondrieschi, who runs R Bike Menton, a cycling shop on the promenade between the old town and the Italian border. He believes there’s a lot of lively competition between Italy and France in the town. Fondrieschi was a successful runner and triathlete in Italy and his shop is always full of French and Italians, looking over the racks of shoes, pedals and bikes and asking for advice.

“Menton is a French town with an Italian regard,” he tells me. “All the boats in the harbour are Italian.” However, looking around, most of the cars are French. Fondrieschi switches languages seamlessly in his repair shop. While we are chatting, a British couple come in, breathless but exuberant in their Lycra, having just completed a 36-mile (58km) round trip to Sanremo. They are followed by an Italian pensioner who had cycled up to Dolceacqua, 13 miles away, for a pizza lunch, and a couple from Luxembourg who want a puncture repaired before they set off for Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat. “French people really just like speaking in French, but we [Italians] speak with our hands, so can talk to anyone!” says Fondrieschi. His in-store cafe offers a mix of brioches, rústico caprese, Italian aromatic cordials and café au lait.

Like every town in France, Menton’s streets are named after the country’s authors, politicians and war heroes. But in Menton, for every avenue Pasteur, Victor Hugo and Général de Gaulle, there’s an avenue Cernuschi and Laurenti, a rue Pietra Scritta, Isola, Urbana, Pieta and Mattoni. There’s also a Square Victoria (the British queen stayed in Menton in 1882), avenue Blasco Ibáñez (the Spanish writer lived in a huge villa here in the 1920s) and avenue Katherine Mansfield (who stayed in the villa Isola Bella) – the last two linked by the rue Webb-Ellis.

William Webb Ellis, the schoolboy who supposedly invented the game of rugby when he picked up the ball in a school football match in 1823, became an Anglican vicar and moved to Menton in the 1860s, spending the last years of his life there. He is buried in the hilltop Vieux Château cemetery, a steep walk up from the old town, where his grave overlooks the sea, forever covered in rugby balls and club ties.

The grave of the English illustrator Aubrey Beardsley is even higher up the hill, in Trabuquet cemetery. He died aged 25 and is buried alongside many other young artists, writers and aristocrats who flocked to Menton at the end of the 19th century to cure their respiratory disorders and lose themselves in the town’s many botanical gardens.

Half a century later, France’s own master of pen and ink, Jean Cocteau, also turned up in Menton. In 1955, the mayor asked him to decorate the interior of the Salle des Mariages – a depiction of the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice with centaurs and a Menton marriage. A key is available at the town hall for visitors.

A hundred metres away is Allo Robert, a warehouse-emporium of French and Italian bric-a-brac, the kind of things couples had on their wedding lists 100 years ago. I found a light-up Tabac sign, cabinets packed with 1930s soda siphons, candlesticks and champagne buckets, Italian crockery and blue chairs from Nice’s promenade. It’s a dusty snapshot of Menton from the early 20th century – as it says on the sign outside: “de curiosités … et tutti quanti” (“curiosities … and so on”).

Stay at the seafront Hôtel Napoléon, which has a solar-heated pool; doubles from €106, napoleon-menton.com. Eat pizzas, vitello tonnato and flavoured burrata at Mauro Colagreco’s La Pecoranegra, pecoranegra.fr

A drone attack on a joint French-Kurdish base in northern Iraq has killed one French soldier and wounded several others. Iran-aligned armed groups have been carrying out attacks against US and coalition forces in the region.