Finding our dream home in France

Finding her lovely new home in France was a catalogue of disasters and near misses, says Teresa Wellesley…

We spent 13 very happy, hectic and eventful years in the tiny village of Labretonie in Lot-et-Garonne, but the time had come to up sticks and leave. Living the good life in southwest France is not all châteaux, vineyards and eau de vie, you know. In between, there’s the expense, frustration and unremitting hard work to contend with, unless you are living off a trust fund! However, we had loved every bit of it, even if now it was time to go.

To recap, in 2008 we bought a dilapidated former hunting lodge, some of which dated back to the 16th century. Its heating, sanitation, plumbing and drainage were primitive and all required attention. As did every door and window, while the land – designed as a two-acre park around the house – had turned into a desert at one end and a swamp at the other. On the plus side, the place reeked of the history of Aquitaine; its magic, romance and charm against which we were powerless.

So, without a second thought, we bought the place and set about transforming it. Thirteen years down the line, and with further expense and renovation hard to justify, the inevitable ‘å vendre’ sign was starting to flash. But we had no real plan to move and anyway, doesn’t everything take an eternity in France? Well not this time, because out of the blue we received a very handsome offer.

It would have been madness to refuse, so we accepted and in summer 2021, our lives were set to change forever.

Over the ensuing few months, we must have scoured most of Lot-et-Garonne and the Dordogne in search of a property to move to, all to no avail. Anything we liked was either already sold, under offer or otherwise spoken for. This was just after Covid, when country properties in France must have seemed like the promised land to newly released city dwellers. The competition was fierce.

Meantime, we had to live somewhere, our three cats had to be provided for, and our furniture needed storing. Packing and storage presented no problems, but us and the cats did. Some gites will take pets, most won’t. Finally, we struck lucky and, after spending three glorious stress-free weeks in the hotel at Allemans-du-Dropt, we secured a long-term let on a magnificent gîte complex in the Dordogne. Le Roudier, Razac d’Eymet, is set in 30 lush acres of Périgord countryside, offers four holiday gîtes, two swimming pools, a tennis court-and pets are welcome. Hallelujah! So at the end of September 2021, we joined a household of seven cats, three dogs and a snake. Bliss!

After the first few weeks of indulgence at Le Roudier, it was getting hard to remember that we had nowhere to live; all our worldly goods were still in storage and winter beckoned. So we set to and resumed our house search.

Roughly speaking, what we viewed could be divided into three categories: disasters; familles ‘en division’ (multiple owners of the same family in perpetual disagreement); and near misses. All were memorable, none was suitable.

Disasters: First up was a neglected old ruin in a rubbishy field set back from a country lane. It had been described as a ‘family home in need of renovation’. Renovation? It needed the kiss of life nothing worked inside or out and the entire place reeked of death. No thanks. Second on the list was equally hopeless. A grand frontage led inside to the premises of a former restaurant complete with huge and ugly counters, a serving bar and very little else apart from the ‘agent immobilier’ slumped in a dark corner looking like a . No thanks.

Next up was a pretty house in the country, which we visited one hot afternoon. Inside was even more stifling, bursting at the seams with people, furnishings, clothes, animals and every conceivable knick-knack. Outside, it was even hotter, with even more people and even less space. Then there was a house in Monflanquin that was too small, another in Ledat that was too modern and lots of others that were just wrong.

Family feuds: Two smashing properties vied for first place in this category. If you dream of a secluded country idyll with private lane leading onto a perfectly finished house perched on top of a hill and surrounded by 13 acres of your own land-plus a handsome swimming pool – this place hit the spot. But oh no!
Its owners, Monsieur and Madame Miserable, were clearly at war with each other and their children over the sale of the house. Their offspring were equally charmless. Instead of being presented with a smiling farmer ready to agree terms for cultivating the land, we were informed that he was the only farmer in France who was ‘uncontactable’. Really? And the pool would not come equipped with a new liner as promised. Instead, we were presented with an estimate for €9,000 to buy it ourselves.

At our notaire’s office to discuss the compromis de vente, Les Miserables were out in force on Zoom. One lot had hired a notaire to represent their interests and the other lot had hired a third notaire to act for them. A trio of grumpy notaires navigated this conference from hell, which ended with the inevitable. We walked out.

Property two ‘en division’ didn’t fare much better, but this time the agent held centre stage. I can’t remember his name but I called him The Big Bopper. He was large, rumbustious, unable to stand still and spoke in an endless patter of sales jargon that invited no response. But the property was quite lovely and worth all the background noise.

It was old, charming, perched high on a hill off a quiet country lane and approached by a circular carriage drive with a fountain at the centre. What could possibly go wrong? Well, the owners for a start. Madame had accepted our offer the night before only to accept another offer, which came in at €5,000 more. The Bopper was furious and demanding explanations, but all she could offer was “so what everybody’s doing it”.

I thought I’d try with some hardcore insults: “You are a liar and a cheat!” This time, there was a reaction, but not from Madame it came from ‘do as you’re told’ Monsieur. He broke off from gardening to inform us that he was 72, as if that explained his wife’s treachery, We left them to it, with the Bopper chasing after Madame, trying to get his mandate fee.

Near misses: Still homeless and having exhausted all possibilities in Lot-et-Garonne, we moved our search to the Dordogne. The first viewing was in a village about 10 minutes from ever-popular Eymet and, at first, things seemed promising. The house was grand, with plenty of room to house our giant furniture and yet… something about it was just off. Was it the stonking great telegraph pole in the front garden-or all the rocks and stones and general bric-a-brac lying around the back? Could it have been the field next door with a CU (permission to build) on it? We decided to move on.

The second Dordogne property was a different matter altogether; we thought we had found ‘the one’. We drove three hours to bustling Thiviers in northern Dordogne to find this gem – a maison de maître, with five bedrooms, two acres, underground parking, glorious views and a commanding position. It had the lot, so off we rushed to secure the deal.

Guess what? In the office, the owner revealed that he had entered into a personal agreement with someone who had to sell his property and get a mortgage to buy the one we wanted. Unmoved by the fact that we were cash buyers, the owner refused to budge.

Safely back in Le Roudier, we had more or less given up the search when, casually looking at a local agent’s site online, I came across the following entry: “Lovely country house for sale in Lavergne.”

What? Lavergne is a village roughly 15-20 minutes from where we first lived. The house did indeed look lovely and was even more so on the first and second visits. We made our offer and this time it stuck. The house was ours.

So, after all the wild goose chases, escapades to nowhere and general wastes of time, what did we learn? Well, for us, the experience was all a necessary means to an end. We found exactly what we wanted, at a price that suited us, in a place we liked and that. could accommodate us and the furniture, pictures, books and cats as though it had been made to measure. And it had been on our doorstep all the time! Regrets? Absolutely none – it had been hilarious and neither Peter nor I would change a single moment. In fact, these are the moments and memories we shall treasure for ever.