Why do I keep measuring up run-of-the-mill workmanship
to an idealized version of French artistry, the same that created such impressive
architectural heritage as grand châteaux to quaint, unpretentious maisons de village? What happened to the
legendary artisans of France, those of proud skills and strong amour propre? Let me propose an answer:
they’re gone, killed off by government regulation.
When rules tend to be over zealous and invade privacy
they fatally end up being silly. Dan and I asked every local carpenter to fix
our lovely old windows only to pound our heads against a Gallic wall of defiance.
How uncivil of us not to comply with eco-friendly double-glazing standards that
make a house wholly airtight – while at the same time learning that a kitchen
equipped with a gas stove must have
not one but two 4-5 inch-wide vents
on the wall, one to let cold air rush in and the other to let warm air flow out!
For eons the original wood stove in the kitchen has used
the same flu as the inglenook fireplace on the other side of the wall. Yet
keeping that configuration is now out of the question. No licensed installer
would venture to hook up our new cast-iron stove in the salon if the kitchen stove
continues to use the same flu. Various catastrophic scenarios, each leading to
a pile of ashes, were evoked. The installer would be liable and no insurance
company would ever pay the damages - that bugaboo of insurance again. No
alternative was offered. We could either have our lovely cast-iron stove in the
hearth, or the old-fashioned wood burning stove in the adjoining kitchen, not
both. Period.
Dealing with spaces under the sloping roof is also not
easy. One has to be willing to make compromises. Wider rooms means lower slopes.
A painful choice has to be made between stumbling around the bed and banging your
head on the slanting beams. Space must be use inventively in order to create
bathrooms and wardrobes whereby a sliding door, or a narrow one, can solve a
problem. But we were informed that a door in France cannot be narrower than seventy-three
centimeters (29”). Why seventy-three? Is that the width of a standard
stretcher? Or the waistline of the fattest person in the country? You are left
wondering what happens if you challenge the law.
Current legislation concerning electrical
installations offers interesting anthropological insights. Our crew quibbled
about an outlet that they had already installed, asking where we intended to
position our bathroom fixtures. “Oh, too close to the faucets,” they objected.
One meter away is the law, so they repositioned the outlet a full meter above
the sink on a sloping wall. We will almost have to climb to the ceiling to use
a hairdryer or electric razor.
Another spot in another bathroom was also suspect. The
electrician measured several times and shook his head. This time the lighting
fixture above the sink was not far enough from the shower enclosure. “What’s
the problem,” I asked belligerently, “what can happen?” He squirmed while
trying to think of a sensible example. “Someone might try to change the bulb
while taking a shower,” he finally offered. “Well,” I rebutted, “assuming that
a shower enclosure is the obvious place to store spare bulbs, if someone really
wants to screw in a new one while taking a shower, he or she deserves a Darwin
Award and selective extinction.” The man grimaced and mimicked that his hands
were being cuffed.
No comments:
Post a Comment