Time flies when ...

The last blog post here dates back to the end of 2019. That was when we – a little brave, a little naïve – launched this website. We planned to write regularly about our adventure in France. An update appeared now and then, but true consistency? That never quite happened. Who doesn’t recognize that feeling? You start with the best intentions, and before you know it, years have gone by.

And what years they have been.

For nearly five years, we have been commuting every weekend from Antwerp to Saint-Denoeux. By now, the route feels as familiar as the street we live on. Still, getting out of Antwerp can be a minor ordeal – and on the way back, there’s the now-classic Kennedy Tunnel traffic jam to contend with. Even Sundays are no longer exempt. But once we leave the city behind, the pressure fades. That’s when the weekend truly begins.

La Maison de Quentovic has not stood still for a single second during those years. On the contrary: the house is alive. And that was exactly the intention. Not a second home left shuttered, not a backdrop for holiday snapshots, but a place that is used, worked on, lived in. Every single week.

In between projects, we made a remarkable discovery. In a beam in the living room, we found a carved date: 1822. Suddenly, the house had an exact year of birth. No more estimates, no vague “early nineteenth century,” but a precise moment in time. Two centuries of history under the same roof. That realization humbles you. You are only here briefly; the house existed long before you and will – hopefully – still be here long after you’re gone.

That does not mean everything runs smoothly. Quite the opposite. One of the most frustrating episodes began with something trivial: a clogged toilet. What first seemed like a minor inconvenience turned into a weeks-long investigation. Pumping, digging, pumping again. Until we discovered that an old ceramic pipe had cracked. There was literally no way through.

At that point, you face a choice: patch it up temporarily or address it properly. We chose the latter. The pipe was replaced, and then we realized the cesspit had also seen better days. So we decided to completely renew the septic system, correctly and thoroughly. All that remained was finding a skilled craftsman. That proved almost as challenging as the technical problem itself.

When we finally found an artisan, the entire front courtyard was dug up. Everything lay exposed. It looked dramatic for a while, but the result was worth it. And if you are going to do it, you might as well do it properly: a new bathroom in a restrained, old-French style that fits the house perfectly. Authentic, yet comfortable.

The roof could not be ignored either. At times, it seemed as though it had indeed been there since 1822. We requested quotes, compared prices and approaches, and eventually chose a local craftsman from a neighboring village. Unfortunately, the weather had other plans. Flooding, heavy rains, months of waiting for a dry spell. Patience becomes second nature when restoring an old house – and when you are dependent on nature.

But here too, the artisan delivered beautiful work. A new roof, fully insulated, yet respectful of the house’s original character. The upstairs windows were replaced at the same time. The savings account grew lighter, certainly. But what you receive in return is immeasurable.

Sunny weekends less than half an hour from the sea. L’heure de l’apéritif in the garden. Conversations with the neighbor over the hedge, solving both minor and major world issues. The cows to the left of the house loudly announcing in the morning that it is time to wake up. And otherwise: silence. Deep, genuine rest.

Is the work finished now? Of course not. The kitchen could use some refinement so the authentic stove harmonizes better with modern appliances. The front courtyard needs to be restored in a

historically appropriate way. The garden at the back requires constant attention – almost a daily task.

We also discovered limewash, a beautiful and affordable way to restore the exterior walls to their original appearance. It suits a house from 1822. It feels right.

And so we continue. It is a welcome counterbalance to life in the city. Fortunately, that city is Antwerp – still our favorite metropolis. The combination of its vibrant energy with the quiet of a small village like Saint-Denoeux makes it perfect for us.

Perhaps we will write more regularly from now on. Perhaps not. But one thing is certain: the house is alive. And we live along with it.