How do you buy a house in France? Now I often get asked that question.
I had a price range in mind and I knew the area I wanted to be in – the Pyrenees Atlantiques. The other options were Adelaide, Granada, Brighton. These were discounted as too far, too hot, too expensive.
So for five days I drove up and down between St Jean Pied de Port and Salies de Bearn getting a feel for the spot. I visited 11 estate agents, saw about 15 properties and looked at around 50 on paper. But it was the estate agency that I fell in love with, not the house I bought. That's developing. Of the 11 highly professional agencies, one stood out and I kept going back.
In the medieval square Bayaa in Salies is a place where the coffee pot is always on, the sofas are so comfy, the telephones never stop ringing, and the people traffic is pure entertainment. One minute it’s the woman who helps look after Jean Claude’s mother. Mother lives with Loic and Jean Claude (see Post 1). She gives Loic an update on mother’s dementia-driven mood which sometimes is excellent, sometimes difficult. Then it’s Francoise’s daughter – a national horse riding champion – who pops in and sends Francoise off into a barrage of French expletives. Then in comes Jean Claude, he designed the Immobilier, and his flamboyant arm waving could land a jet. People come and go with news of someone or another.
And when it comes to customer care, it’s exemplary. Having decided to buy the house in Oraas, Loic and Francoise sorted everything and even got the price knocked down by 15,000 euros without my even asking. Loic came to the solicitor with me, he made sure I understood every document, he gave me a tissue when I burst into tears with joy at signing, he negotiated Monsieur Cazemajour’s cows to go onto the field to help me with lawn mowing and the farmer with free cow food.
The philosophy at Bearn Immobilier is – this is not just a house, barn or farm, clients are in the market to be friends and should be treated as such. Don't you love the flags waving in cyber breeze?
http://www.bearnimmobilier.com/ I got invited to Loic and Jean Claude’s PACS – but that’s another story.
Time to start fixing the place up. There’s a central beamed corridor in the house 15m long and 3.5m wide. That’s sounds like a bit of a feature. I could stick a balcony on the back as it’s south facing and in the distance is Pic d’Anie (2504m) in the French Pyrenees. Mind you with substantial fog in winter and steaming haze in summer – it’s like a rainbow when it appears, a transient party moment.
So now it’s time to get a devis. That’s the estimate for works. I’ve got a plan as to where bedrooms and such would look good. I decided to skip a utilities room in favour of a bigger kitchen. I can’t get building permission for the moment because the Mayor of Oraas never seems to be anywhere except in ‘reunions’ which sounds like an excuse for all hours chatting.
Monsieur Larressat is the builder extraordinaire – 24 years in the renovation trade and Monsieur Gain is the equivalent for electricity and plumbing. So having fully briefed the local artisans who grin madly at my plans and raise eyebrows to each other in that French manner so loved by English people and captured by Sacha Distel and that bloke off Eurotrash which basically means – ‘I think we’ve got one here’ – Guillhaume has been instructed to put the devis together.
The only trouble is that Guillhaume plays pelote all the time, and it’s the height of the pelote season. He’s doesn’t just play pelote with a wicker scoop – he goes for the full business of ‘main nue’ which is the real handball performance. Makes Federer at Wimbledon look like a right sissy with his carbon racquet and international branding. As a result of this, Guillhaume’s right hand is twice its normal size and purple from internal bleeding due to ball impact. But no complaints from him and by golly he has the girls swooning.
So the devis will have to wait until Guillhaume gets his season done. For more about pelote go to:
http://www.touradour.com/towns/pelote.htm
Buying a house in France can lead to trouble when it's winter and the fog is thicker than the smoke filled air of a political meeting in St Petersburg. I thought I was buying a house. But Loic, gay shepherd turned estate agent, via shepherding in Australia, Ireland and Scotland, a man of great gentility and sense of irony quietly seduced me into an immediate purchase.
The fog lifted a few days later, promis d'achat signed, and it revealed a house, a cow shed, a pig shed, two barns, one outhouse, 9 maize containers, a granary and two fields, oh, and a bit of a river bank - in total 8000 sq metres. And, bless him, such a bargain.
Still, it's a challenge.
What do I bring to the occasion? I speak French - that's a definite plus. I've lived in big cities all my life - Hong Kong, Rio, London, Brussels, Houston. I've never done any gardening. I've only once put up a shelf with an electric drill - just to prove a girl can (it was in the 1980s).
So, just christened OAP - this is my new life. This is all about learning to be a french farm owner and I'm off to a cracking start. I already have cows - three fibre glass ones from a recent Cow Parade. That's shown Monsieur Cazemajour who owns 28 beautiful Aquitaine Blonds which now live on my of my fields - still keeps the grass down and the flies up.
And honest - it's in Oraas, next to Caresse..... now that's gay shepherd irony....
Mum's Blog excitment takes another turn. With moments left before she goes live on the world wide web...
