Real Life: Our own French Chateau

One thing Ellen Alpsten and husband Tobias always had in common was their passion for Provence and châteaux – and, after much hard work, they now have a baroque gem in Vaucluse…

Once upon a time, there was a young woman who moved from sunny Kenya, via Bavaria, to Paris. There was also a young man, who moved to Paris too, from snowy Stockholm. For five years they lived in the same arrondissements, went to the same exhibitions, used the same laundromat and hung out in the same cafés. But they never met. Until one foggy Sunday in November, while waiting to cross Avenue Bousquet, they began to chat.

This is where our love story and also the tale of our love for Provence – began. I was a student at a French Grande École – President Macron was studying a year below me – and Tobias had just secured his first job. Our first trip together was to Arles. It was love at first sight and we decided that one day, we wanted to own a château here, in Provence.

But good things take time we moved to London together. Britannia was cool, but also a tough and exacting mistress. Making dreams come true is backbreaking work. Tobias founded his health-tech company. I first worked in PR and television, pushing gruesome nightshifts as an anchor, before becoming an author of historical novels and a lifestyle journalist full time.

When we bought our first tiny attic apartment in Notting Hill, we could hardly believe our luck, and I cried when we moved in. Life went on, with successes, suffering, growth, shrinkage, three healthy sons and a fat and happy dog. Also, as we thought we’d never be able to buy anything bigger in London and its surroundings, we invested in a tiny maison de village in Cerbère on the beautiful Côte Vermeille, right on the Spanish border. The sea view was stunning, we loved our time there and made good friends, but a château it wasn’t.

However, the dream wouldn’t die. For years we had subscriptions to all the relevant websites: Belles Demeures, Sotheby’s and so on. We often sent each other advertisements for châteaux in the south of France, enjoying a bit of property porn in our lunch breaks. What do you think of this one? Or this? Or that? But somehow, the right house, in the right place – and, Tobias and Ellen in front of the Palais des Papes, Avignon crucially at the right price never came together. We slowly put together a ‘golden list’ of the perfect château for us: not too big, not too small, in the village, but surrounded by a park. It would be okay if it needed some renovation, but some DIY must be possible (we did have a budget, after all).

It was only a few years ago that we dared to visit. Near Toulouse was a beautiful little château: its chapel filled with piles and piles of old journals dating from 1898; frogs, mermaids and possibly Jaws living in the gooey green water in the swimming pool; and its dusty wine collection possibly an oenologist’s dream.
The price was good, and it lay a mere 18km away from Toulouse with its international airport, surrounded by huge fields of sunflowers. Perfect!

Err…no. We had just (finally!) bought a family home in London and were broke (when I say broke, I mean broke: for three months, we ate spaghetti every night). But time passes. Some years later, we visited another château, located smack bang on the Canal du Midi. Its owner was a gun-obsessed Brit. In his entrance hall stood a real guillotine, complete with a Madame Tussauds-style wax head in a basket in front of it, the severed neck smeared with dried ketchup. My youngest son hid in the car and cried. Again, it wasn’t right.

Then, just as George and Amal Clooney moved to Brignoles; and Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie were fighting over their vineyard, the neighbouring estate came up for sale. But it was a ruin, its delicate beauty driven to destruction as the heirs, a party of 13 people, couldn’t agree on anything. Their legal letters made raging pitbulls look like fluffy puppies. On top of that, the proposed budget to get the house – not including the 14ha now jungle-like park – up and running was several million euros. This meant it was way beyond the scope of DIY. Also, the notoriously difficult French banks said, “Non, Madame, nous sommes desolées”, to our request for a loan.

But persistence pays. We planned to return to Provence for our 25th wedding anniversary. Secretly, sneakily, before setting off, I continued searching the web. One day, I came across a small real estate website that looked more like eBay. It seemed to specialise in two-bedroom apartments. But suddenly I spotted something that made me sit bolt upright: “Château à vendre dans Vaucluse,” I read. The photos showed a unique buttercup-yellow baroque bijou of a château. Ravissant!

Two weeks later, we visited the Château du Jonquier for the first time. The mythical Mont Ventoux rose right behind it, vineyards framed the 5ha park, the medieval market town was welcoming and the day was soaked in golden Provençal light. Marseilles airport was an hour’s drive away, while highlights of the region such as Avignon, Gordes, and Isle-sur-la-Sorgue are less than 30 minutes distant.

Le coup du foudre – it was love at first sight. We visited it for a second time, to be sure. After a hard struggle and fierce negotiations – the château is baroque on the outside, but a 1970s babe on the inside – the moment had finally come: our offer was accepted! The last hurdle was the financing. We enlisted the help of a French mortgage courtier, Christophe Amiand. He phoned on the 19 December: the bank had agreed to our mortgage.

We had a castle for Christmas! But of course, this did not make me a princess – far from it. Before its new life as a beautiful château rental and destination wedding venue, it needed a lot of hard work. Everything had to be replaced and restored: floors, walls, bathrooms, kitchens, outbuildings, plumbing and electricity. For the latter, we had to earmark the biggest part of our meagre renovation budget. Châteaux and poor plumbing seem to go together like love and marriage, but not if you want to create a luxury venue. Each bedroom needed an ensuite bathroom and air-conditioning. Temperatures hit almost 40 degrees in this area in summer. So we rolled up our sleeves and got going.

But what were we aiming for? For our Château du Jonquier, I created an ‘after/before’ picture to help the dream become a reality. First, though, we needed to get to know the house. At least it wasn’t cold – because a fire-breathing dragon lived in the cellar of the château in the shape of a huge oil heater. The agent had turned up all the radiators, which made the house feel like a sauna. But this was all going to change – we were determined to make the château eco-friendly.

The first evening, we heated up a ready-made quiche for dinner in the old oven of the 1970s kitchen – a huge copper fan was its only redeeming feature. That night we all slept together in one room, piled up like puppies, scared of the blackness outside. An owl hooted in the dark: later, we named it Charles, as its fluffy grey head feathers look like the king’s hairdo. Once Charles had gone to sleep after a successful night’s hunt, the dawn chorus broke out – a myriad of birds greeting the day. They stop singing around St John’s Day, at the end of June, and the cicadas take over, an even crazier cacophony that blends well with the heat of the day. In the maze of canals, bullfrogs and ragondin (large semi-aquatic rodents) splash about.

Inside the château, having two staircases seemed to complicate any task that needed doing, and I’d have to work out the fastest way to accomplish it. I was also constantly forgetting where I’d put things, finding them later, by which time I’d forgotten why I wanted them.

I learnt to keep everything simple – all the bathrooms have the same beautiful marble and black cabochon floor and variations of marble tiles, as well as Grohe fittings in gold. All the is linked, meaning we only need one heat pump, which is hidden down the side of the château. We’re saving up for double-glazing on the second floor, but we’ve already sourced our supplier: quotes we got from French companies were about €120,000, the same windows from Poland cost just €30,000 – which is a shocking difference.

The oil heating had to go, as did the electric water heater. After much haggling, we got a good price to create the solar field in the park and install photovoltaic energy. Finding the right spot was tricky sunny, yet hidden, and without sacrificing any of the fruit trees (we have pomegranate, quince, prunes, cherries and apples). Converting the château to green energy took a weekend and many thousands of euros, but will be worth it in the end.

There were so many new discoveries and fabulous experiences to enjoy. Our three sons were complete troopers: pressure-cleaning the pool, mowing acres of lawn and weeding out kilometres of canals. We loved our togetherness. Here, the outside world retreats into the wings, leaving pastoral peace to take centre stage. Even if the château is part of a medieval market town you can cycle to the baker and get your fill of soft, buttery croissants – the house and its huge, historic 5ha park are an island of beauty and bliss. Here, life continues at its own pace. It offers the best of all worlds. I have never swum in a nicer pool – 12x6m of energetic splashing – and the interiors are stunning, a blend of Provençal meubles, modern classics and inherited antiques.

Also, sitting on the vast patio terrace, straight outside, the marble and copper cuisine with its gorgeous handmade grey-green cupboards is divine. The 300-year-old gentle giants, our plane trees, shade the most delicious lunches – despite climate change – and the Ventoux Rosé is always crisp and cool. Should you wish to withdraw and spend your days relaxing and refreshing yourself, there is no better place in Provence, with plenty of the area’s delights on your doorstep. You can pop to Avignon for lunch – I recommend Le Gout du Jour near the Palais des Papes.

We recruited and fired our first team of builders (we all have our stories!), but then struck gold, which was a good job because suddenly, we had a deadline. A bride-to-be from San Diego, USA, contacted me about hiring the château as a venue, and while we normally do not accept these requests on Airbnb, we made an exception. And so the end of June saw our first, very intimate, wedding at Château du Jonquier. We had to be ready, top to bottom, from cuisine to the Chapelle de St-Andiol, which the Archbishop of Avignon consecrated in 1834.

In less than three months, the fabulous Antony Girardin turned the site around. His assistant, Jean Luc, had incredible knowledge of working with patrimoine and treated every single tomette tile by hand, cleaning, colouring and waxing them.

In the last four days before the wedding, there were still rooms of dusty furniture, broken plastic chairs and an old WC standing in the middle of the Garden Gallery. Two of the builders stayed late, helping us hang mirrors and curtains and painting walls. I had gone wild on eBay, sourcing silks from Sanderson, Colefax & Fowler, Pierre Frey and Lelièvre. One trio of 4.5m-long curtains came from a film set.

On a sunny Saturday afternoon, the last bucket stashed in a storage room, we stood waiting for the bridal party’s arrival, gracious and smiling, at the grande porte, which we had reinstated as the château’s main entrance. I can’t wait to see their official photos – the first glimpse on social media was heart-stoppingly beautiful. Well done, Michelle and Madi. Perhaps you will visit us next? Soyez les bienvenus welcome to our paradise in the heart of Provence.

Find out more at chateaudujonquier.com.

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