Ça commence

I am writing this post from the sofa of a very cheap apartment in Carcassonne; new town (one cannot of course afford La Cité on a budget (nor would that be particularly wise, I suppose)). It was so cheap that it doesn’t have wifi.  We have, between H and me, no idea whose fault that was on booking so we are, respectively, keeping quiet about it. Even worse there are no kitchen knives, not even a bread knife!

We resorted to chopping with the only knives available, those from the cutlery drawer, which are mercifully those serrated short steak knives.

Anyhow, here we are on the first proper house viewing trip.

Our house in the UK is sold and, subject to completion, we need to get our French house hunting and business-starting heads on.

EEK.

As a relative newcomer to the French house viewings and general agent schtick processes the last couple of days have been both deeply interesting and tiring.

Three houses yesterday and three today was probably just quite enough thank you, and of course at least three of those viewed were desperately unsuitable, despite H explaining to the agents beforehand and at length, the type of bien that would suit our needs. That said at least one was our fault for not listening when the agent said it was close to the motorway. He really wasn’t joking with the property being adjacent and the traffic noise outside insufferable. This house also had the most dead flies on the floor of one room I have ever seen; just one of a litany of reasons why it was an instant no.

In any case, we have learned a lot, not least that being spoken to in varying levels of French all day is quite a tiring experience when you are not used to it (pity our poor English addled-brains).

However, despite our very first agent besmirching the good name of agents the south of France over, it turns out that the agents we have met were all very helpful. A very swift learning point after our first viewing was to tell agent two at house two speak more slowly.

Thus it was my pleasure on being asked if I spoke French at house two, by Msr Bourbon, to comply. At this point it was assumed that H spoke perfect French as she had already charmed him on the phone; so I was firmly in the firing line. I mustered myself fully upright to reply “Oui un peu, mais seulement si vous parlez doucement”.  At which point he raised a delightful grin, swiftly reciprocated by me - it would be his pleasure, bien sur; and off we went.

And with that we were away. Being regaled of stories of his chairpersonship of the local association of entrepeneurs, his four motorbikes, including those for off-road use on the fabulous local terrain, as well as his historical lineage of King Charles spaniels, after hearing of our dogs at home. We also got a lunch recommendation, as well as some more serious and very helpful general advice.

The house, well rather the mansion, that we were being shown around was great. Though probably slightly out of our budget once the necessary work to renovate was included.

These viewing days can be characterised as mainly about triangulation. Seeing different types of property, in different areas. One just south of Carcassonne, one near Limoux, one up in the hills of the Minervois in the Hérault, then three in the Tarn, nr Saint Sulpice La Pointe, Salvagnac and one in Gaillac that was a drive past only (on inspection it was sandwiched between two very busy roads and part of the roof had recently fallen down!).

It’s too soon to make any commitment for us, but nonetheless an enlightening, if tiring experience.  We also managed to fit in a lovely lunch in Gaillac before a drive back over the Montagne Noire to Carcassonne.

Onwards. 

View towards the foothills from the rear of a property near Limoux