Living in France is something I have had on my wish list for years, possibly decades. I've lived in 6 countries so far ... Zimbabwe, England, Kenya, Namibia, South Africa and the USA. I'm hoping that France will be my number 7.
Why France? Well here are a few of my reasons ....
* The country is huge and is littered with beautiful architecture and beautiful countryside.
* There is space to live. You don't have to battle traffic every morning on the way to work. Or battle for space on a train. Or battle to find a place to park the car and spend every 5 minutes checking the time so you don't get a parking ticket.
* You get more for your money when buying a house. £250, 000 will buy you a shoe box sized apartment in Surrey and a whole detached house in France.
*After the revolution France set up a law that every citizen must have access to affordable daily bread (and cake if they want!) Hence all the boulangeries in every village and the tradition of buying a fresh baguette every morning.
* It is also the law that you cannot work more than 35 hours a week! Hence Sundays really are a day of rest and everything shuts.
* The French take a 2 hour lunch break. Brilliant!
* The French understand good food and wine. They age their cheese & wine in caves! You can buy wine on tap.
Photo Credit Ann Street Studio - Click on photo above to see Jamie's website and lifestyle post for more thoughts on French cheese.
Photo Credit Ann Street Studio. Click on the photo above to see Jamie's website and lifestyle post for more thoughts on French wine.
* Red squirrels and not big fat grey ones.
* The French have grown up as a nation. Health and safety is not legalistically followed like it is in our 'Nanny state.' When was the last time you saw a French baker wearing a hair net and latex gloves to serve you bread? You can swim in a lake or climb up a tree without having to follow endless insurance rules, warning signs and safety barriers.
* There are church bells ringing every day at 7.30am to wake you up and declare that the day has started. Some find the sound of church bells annoying. I love the way that France rings out with church bells. I also love the fact you can't get away from Jesus, He shows up on a cross in every village and town. I know we protestants like to focus on Jesus being alive and not dead, hence we sanitise the cross, remove the body and make the cross into a fashion statement worn as a necklace or on a T shirt. But at least in France they don't shy away from the crucifixion.
* If you get bored of France you can drive over the border and within hours be in Spain or Italy or Switzerland or Germany or Belgium. That is 5 countries you can access!
Photo Credit Ann Street Studio
I could go on but I will save that for future posts.
So if I love France so much, why have I taken so long to actually move over there?
The answer is that I didn't want to do it on my own. And that has been the issue for years.
But then last year everything changed. My brother and family decided it was time to move from a pretty village in Sussex and find an even more rural location for their family. They started with a look at all the gorgeous villages and towns in the Cotswolds. Then decided it was too pricey and began looking around the Forest of Dean. All was going was well, they found a place they loved, put in an offer, went off on another summer holiday in France and came back wondering why on earth they were settling for British weather when they could live in France. Since my brother has a remote job and can work from home, he made the drastic decision to go for the dream. Forget England, why not buy a place in France?
And so it began .... with no time to spare, flights were booked, hire car paid for and a long weekend of driving round looking at properties was hastily planned. Even though I was not actually buying a house myself, I went along as the honorary eccentric Aunt, family advisor and extra pair of eyes and ears to keep an eye on the boys while Mum and Dad looked around.
There was a list of about 15 properties to view, an ambitious goal to see about 5 a day in the area of the River Lot, Tarn & Garonne and up into the Dordogne.
With 3 adults and 2 children in a rental car, we set off from Toulouse on our adventure, beginning the hunt for that idyllic French property. It was bright and sunny and we were already too hot and too highly strung to get very far without our first melt down.
Missing the first appointment due to an under estimation of how far everything actually was, we knocked that one off the list and moved on to house number two. Arriving early at our point of contact with the local estate agent we tumbled out of the car, dehydrated, highly emotional and in need of some fresh air. Taking a walk in the bright late summer sunshine we struck up a conversation with a happy Belgium lady who talked to us from her garden. Her enthusiasm for the area was catching. We were already imagining life in this bright spacious clean village.
The estate agent was so laid back she arrived late to the Marie (town /village hall) and then got lost taking us to the house. None of that mattered. We already loved the Belgium lady and the village school and the Marie. Everything looked so bright and spacious after the cramped living in England.
The house with the lilac shutters was very attractive. Lots of light, lots of land, beautiful countryside and according to the slightly vague but happy owner there used to be a dead body in the shed and there might still be one in the woods! Excellent.
We were too tired to care and drove off in a blaze of glory, apologising profusely after one of the children had an accident in the bathroom and left a sticky trail of devastation on the master bedroom window.
There followed a couple of days confusion. Seeing house after house after house. We had to think of names to distinguish them all from each other. There was the house near the busy road with the idyllic ancient pigeon tower. The Italian house with the designer shower and underfloor heating. The fairytale house with the huge crack in the wall and the chocolate sign where I showed up so tired my sweatshirt was on back to front! The remote house, the sad house and the converted barn.
The more we saw, the more confused we became. We arrived back at Toulouse airport shattered and tearful. No decisions were made. We were a mess.
A week later, after the dust had settled, we met for breakfast and drew up our list ... The boys had their say about the possibilities for football in each of the potential gardens. The dogs were consulted and their needs listed. The future chickens and their housing requirements were planned for. Septic tanks and heating systems were noted. Schools and running clubs and expat communities were all taken into account. The weather and lie of the land were discussed. French markets and French supermarches were investigated! Being a careful and concerned adult I was worried about the number of 'CASINOS' in the area and the negative impact this might have on everyone. (Until I was made aware that they were not gambling joints but supermarkets.)
All of the above was taken into consideration and we finally drew up our list of 3 possibilities. Votes were cast. The pros and cons of 3 properties debated. And from that we finally had it down to one, the first house we saw. The one with the dead body and the toilet incident. We were all smitten with the house with the lilac shutters.
I called this Part One because that was just the beginning of the process ... and I still need to tell you about the actual move from England to France in Part Two. That might possibly be next week's blog post or maybe later, there is so much to write about!
And finally this little anecdote illustrates why I love France ...
On our initial house hunt after a long hot day of looking at properties and meeting with estate agents, we drove off into the fading light of dusk. As we approached a little hamlet we saw a crowd gathered on the street corner with drinks in hand. Our immediate thought was that we were about to observe a fight. This would be the normal assumption for any gathering involving young adults and drinks in Britain! We drove hesitantly forward hoping not to get caught up in anything and found that this was no brawl ... it was the weekend and the locals were gathering to chat outside in the street and play a round of boules. How civilised.
