The next day we packed up our little car and headed further south to our next destination, Antibes. As you scootched yourself closer to the Côte D’Azur, housing prices jumped along with the throngs of crowds, all vying for a piece of the French luxury they had scrolled through on their Instagrams throughout the winter. This was the part of the trip where we had the fewest homes to see, only two, which were both conveniently located in the same town, Fayence.
We spent our evening in Antibes, wandering around the old, narrow streets and finally claiming the last free portion of the beach, surrounded by locals with their colorful beach blankets and coolers of beer. Some sat and played music, others brought pizzas to share amongst their growing number of friends. It felt like one of those moments of true authenticity that you don’t always get to feel when you are a stranger in someone else’s country. Sitting with our feet buried deep in the sand, cups of gelato and a deck of cards, we played Rummy until we couldn’t see the suit’s in our hands anymore. Reluctantly, we packed up, allowing the still remaining crowds of people to enjoy the soft glowing moonlight and good conversation. Fayence seemed to be the perfect distance from everything you thought you wanted to be close to. All of the famous beach towns were no more than an hour and a half away, allowing you to feel close to the action, without being swarmed by it on a daily basis. As we drove to the listings, the landscape changed to forests and, then, suddenly we were riding along a beautiful lake filled with hundreds of paddle boats and kayaks gently bobbing in the bright, blue water. Saint-Cassien lake rests at the bottom of Fayence, just a short thirty minute car ride. As most of the listings we were viewing did not have a pool, having a lake so close seemed like a perfect solution. When we finally arrived at Fayence, we were surprised to find that it was market day, but that the town wasn’t swelling with people despite the event. As we walked to the agency, it seemed like mostly local people walking the streets, completing their daily tasks, which we both mentally took note of, liking the quietness of our walk. The agency sat in the middle of town, tucked a little off of the street behind a few shady Plane trees. Opening its thin glass doors, we were greeted by three tall, blond women dressed in chic, well fitting, summer dresses. The three threw out a customary “Bonjour” in unison before our agent, expecting us, switching to English. “Please, have a seat,” she said, motioning us away from the door and to the large table in the corner of the room. Uh oh, I thought, the last thing I want to do is talk about the listing we had already been ogling over for the past 3 months. As we sat down she opened up her computer. “So, we have a little bit of a problem,” she started, “the owner of the home had to leave suddenly to take care of a problem out of town and so we can’t go and see the property today,” she said, folding her hands and resting them on the laptop’s keyboard. “We don’t mind going without him,” I said, hoping that would reignite some movement on the viewing. “Well, he has the keys,” she said, a little defeated, “but, I am going to show you some other properties we have that may interest you.” Andy and I looked at each other with a little shrug. What else could we exactly do, other than indulge her. We began to go over our wants and deal breakers and then discuss the price before she realized that she had nothing in this region close to our price range, and, if I was being honest, even the one she was showing us today was just over what we felt comfortable with paying. After reading up on etiquette when home buying in France, we knew that it wasn’t a faux pas to offer a little less. This gave us the comfort to book the viewings, knowing we had a little wiggle room. The agent frowned, not sure what exactly to do now that all of her options had been exhausted. Feeling a little awkward and unsure of protocall, I slinked back in my chair, hesitant on how to announce we had spent all of our allotted time here and now must go to our next listing. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the desk. “We appreciate your help,” I started, deciding just to go for it, “but we actually need to be going. We have another showing in a few moments and don’t want to be late.” She nodded, pushing her seat away from the table to escort us to the door. We exchanged the customary thank you’s and goodbyes and exited into the warm provançal sun. That was easier than I thought! The next real estate agency was located across the street and a few doors down. A petit, brown-haired woman in a slim-fitting skirt held a dossier of materials next to an office window lined with homes for sale or rent. Assuming she was glancing around, looking for us, we gently waved in her direction as we crossed the street and started our descent down to her. When we were close enough, she asked, “Rachel and Andy?” We nodded, smiling from ear-to-ear, excited at the prospect of seeing any home today. “Shall we be off?” she said, feeding off of our enthusiasm and excitedly starting down the street, then veering off of the main road and down a flight of old stone stairs. At the bottom she paused, allowing us to take in the beautiful foliage and antique fountain. “It’s so quiet here,” Andy said, looking around the small courtyard. “Yes, the house is close to everything, but set back in a quiet corner of the town. You will see, you even have one of these in front of your house,” she pointed to the fountain and all of the greenery. “Come, it’s not far from here,” she said, leading us down another small set of stairs and past a few village homes, stopping in front of a small cul de sac with 4 homes encircling a small, lush sitting area with a fountain in the middle. “The house is here,” she said, pointing up to the first house on the corner. My eyes rose up and up and past the rooftop terrace, rising a little more. “It is massive!” I said, my gaze still resting on the final level of the home. “Yes,” she agreed, “it’s a lot of house!” She went to work, unlocking the thick, wooden door, opening it with a low creek, then, stood in front of it, using her body weight to hold it in place as we entered. “Directly to your left is the kitchen,” she said, pointing in that direction. We passed through the entryway and into the kitchen and she followed closely behind us, allowing the door to swing shut with a large thud. The kitchen was one of the rooms featured in the few photos provided on the listing and one of the main reasons I booked the tour. I just hadn’t, at that moment, realized that the kitchen was located on the bottom floor. It made me immediately think of the television show Downton Abbey, whose basement was the staff’s domain with a large kitchen at its center. Looking around at the home’s modest interior, however, I didn't think this particular home’s inhabitants ever had a service staff, catering to their whims and needs. In the photo on the listing, the kitchen was a large room with bright red, classic terracotta tiles and a large, worn butcher block countertop that wrapped its way around the space, encasing large, black cupboards with intricate, antique hardware. The centerpiece of the room, however, was the massive antique black stove that was only highlighted further by its beautiful gold accents. The photo oozed rustic, country French appeal and I could immediately see myself hovered over the stove, whisking away at the continents in a bubbling copper pot. Looking around now, however, the image was a bit harder to envision. To say the kitchen looked lived in was an understatement. Looking around the room, it seemed as though the owner had thrown a large dinner party and didn’t clean up before heading out of town for a week. Moldy, rotten fruit sat in a basket on the counter. Every surface looked as though someone broke off a piece of baguette over it, leaving flour dust and crumbs trailing about. The sink was piled high with unrinsed dishes, and flies swarmed over the mess. Grease stains and splattered food coated the fridge and stove. “It looks like a bomb went off in here,” Andy said, unable to hold back. “Yes, well, the owner is still living here at the moment,” the agent said, trying to justify the state of the kitchen. Instead of justifying it, though, it made me even more confused. People were actually living in this? It made me wonder if the woman was much older and perhaps couldn’t care for a house of this size anymore? Or maybe it came down to the laissez-faire attitude of the inhabitants of the South. No matter the situation, the go to attitude for this region seemed to be I’ll get to it tomorrow. Or perhaps the woman was being unapologetically herself. In the few weeks we had been here traversing the South, the people we have met have been warm and welcoming, but also accompanied by an undertone of, this is me, take it or leave it. The agent walked over to the far end of the kitchen and opened a small door. “This is a storage room. Maybe like a basement in the U.S.?” She flicked on a light. Down a few steps sat what resembled a wine seller that was easily the size of both my dining room and living room at home. “This is a great sized space,” Andy remarked, looking from side-to-side at the big, almost empty room. The agent flicked off the light and led us out of the kitchen and back to the front foyer. “On the first floor, you have a bedroom and a bathroom,” she said, starting her climb up to the next level.They layout was something I had never seen before, as doors would just appear as you wound your way up the stone, spiral staircase. The first door led to a bedroom that mirrored the same titiness as the kitchen. The closet door was open and a mountain shoes stumbled out of it to the foot of the bed. The curtains were drawn tightly, allowing the smallest sliver of light to peek through where they met and illuminate the room gently. Unable to maneuver around the belongings strewn about, we stayed in the doorway. “Up a few stairs is the bathroom,” she said, continuing on until a doorway appeared and she stepped through. We followed behind her, stepping into the less cluttered bathroom. The room was large, but dated, with a heavy, white porcelain tub lining one full wall of the space. Andy rested his hand on its lip. “This would take an hour to fill up!” He said, turning back to the agent with a smile. “I’m sure you love this!” He said, knowing my obsession with large soaking tubs and the hours spent while reading and unwinding. I smiled. “The size of the bathroom is great. It has everything we need in one room and so much storage. I think it would all just need a little updating,” I said, looking at Andy. He nodded, agreeing that the space had good bones. We all filed out the door and continued climbing further up the staircase. The next door that appeared let you off in a large, almost empty room. The floors and walls were done in wood, giving it a warm and cozy feeling. As we went deeper into the room, though, we saw a small black card table off to the side. On it was a cutting board and more rotting fruit. I turned to Andy, “I was wondering what that smell was!” I said, wrinkling my nose. It seemed so odd to me that someone would not want to make sure their home looked its absolute best for a viewing. Was it a cultural thing? The agent, not wanting to dwell on the negative, walked deeper into the space, past the card table and into the next room. While the first room looked as though it could be used as a dining room, the second room seemed as though its original purpose was a living room. The space was also done up in wood, but had a small staircase off to the side that led you onto a balcony, overlooking the living space below. All the curtains were pulled and the room’s only light was being pulled from the previous room. An empty bookshelf sat in the corner and a leather recliner remained in the open position in the center of the room. I turned around in the large space, taking it all in. Being two people more on the smaller side, I wasn’t sure we needed even half of the space the house provided. “There is a small kitchenette off of the dining room,” the agent pointed towards the small doorway that sat next to the winding, main staircase. I snapped back into house tour mode, perking up at the prospect of not having to go to the dungeonous kitchen for food. “That is really convenient,” I said, hurriedly walking through each of the rooms and into the small door at the other end. Once inside, I struggled to fully turn around in the small, closet-like space. I think I was so excited to hear that there was any semblance of a kitchen so close to the dining space that it didn’t register that she said kitchen-ette until I was standing inside the “room.” A microwave sat tucked into the corner of the counter, surrounded by stale baguettes and more rotted fruit. Under the counter, a mini fridge took up most of the space that side of the room had to offer. Clearly, there was no real cooking happening in this room. I backed out slowly, as if by doing so, I could pretend I was never there. Andy walked over and looked at me with a “how is it in there” look. My eyes got wide as I silently shook my head, indicating that he shouldn’t go in and he nodded his understanding, walking towards the stairs to continue the tour, ignoring the space completely. Also noticing my reaction, the agent remained silent, immediately following Andy up the stairs. A little ways up there was a door leading to a small, outdoor terrasse. The space was completely bare with the exception of a layer of faux grass partially lining the ground. I walked over to the edge of the space looking out at the beautiful landscape around the village and beyond. Rolling hills of forests cascaded down the mountain, leaving a blanket of green as far as the eye could see. My mind drifted back to the view from the Vaison balcony; the ancient architecture, the softly rippling river below, the muffled sound of French tourists discussing the bridge’s history. My mind fluttered further back to the conversation that led us here to this exact moment, the discussion of not being wilderness people and not finding comfort in being surrounded by complete nothingness sank in. Even cleaned up with a handful of remodeling projects, this was not our house. “It’s quite a view, no?” the agent said, resting her arms next to mine on the banister. I nodded with a smile, then turned to look up at the house. There appeared to be still another layer to the never ending home, but I was already feeling quite tired from the climb up the stairs we’ve already done. “Are there even more rooms in the house to see,” I said, pointing upward. “Yes, one more space. The owner’s daughter used to live there, it’s a little apartment.” This piqued my interest. I’ve always wanted a rental property, but never wanted something that shared the same exit or entrance with our living space. If the rental property had its own private entrance, that would be fine, but overall a rental in a separate location would be ideal, giving us passive income and privacy. Andy and I followed her as she climbed the remaining steps. The higher we climbed, the narrower the staircase became. At the top sat a small door that was slightly ajar. The agent pushed it open further, allowing us access to the small living room, kitchenette combo. “Eh, voilà!” she said, turning around to see reactions. Andy pulled at his shirt, trying to fan himself from the intense heat of the refinished, but not properly ventilated attic space. “Yes, well, with the windows open and a fan, it’s much more comfortable up here,” she said. She walked deeper into the space, edging herself closer to the small bedroom and bathroom that sat at the back of the space. We didn’t move with her. Together, unconsciously, I think we had decided at that moment that we had had enough, the tour was over. Or perhaps Andy felt as though if he went any further, he may melt. Either way, the agent, being good at reading body language, understood, making her way back over towards the entrance. “I have a couple who saw the property today before you arrived. They seemed to really like it and discussed a potential offer,” she said in a last ditch effort to apply pressure. “Ok,” I said, looking back at Andy. “We have a lot to talk about and if we think of any questions, we can reach back out and inquire.” She nodded softly, looking a little defeated. I can’t say I blame her, the last thing I would want to do is climb a hundred plus stairs twice in sweltering heat. She shrugged, clearly not thrilled with the answer we had provided. We descended the staircase in silence, glancing into each of the rooms that reappeared as we continued our journey down. Without stopping at the bottom of the staircase for the typical debrief, the agent opened up the door and ushered us back outside, into the blazing sun. “Bon, well, if you find that you have any questions, you have my email. It was nice meeting you both. Good luck with the rest of your trip,” she said, nodding her head forward then taking her leave. We decided to take the long way, wandering through the market stalls and weaving our way through the back streets of the town. We were almost to the end of the stalls when Andy turned around to face me. “ Did you know Vaison’s market was started in 1483?” We had just left a house showing but it seemed as though Vaison was on both of our minds. “I didn’t,” I started, “but aren’t you wondering what exactly is ‘art’ to these people? We could buy the house and come back with no doors or windows attached.” “Maybe this was a lost in translation moment?” Andy said, more optimistic than he normally was. “I can see myself on that balcony,” he added. “Hmm, we leave for Nice tomorrow. Should we message Olivier? Are you completely over the Chic house?” The lack of time left made it so I felt more of a sense of urgency. As the days went on, we’d find ourselves further and further from the house, leaving Nice for Italy and then Italy for Paris to catch our flight home. We pulled off to the side under a sprawling, shady tree. “I think I’m nervous about the Chic house. I love it. It has a cool history and it doesn’t need any work. It’s also on the lower end of our budget,” he started. I sensed a but coming. “But…” I prompted. “But, if we want to rent it, I don’t think we’d get any guests. If it was between that space and the luxury hotel that isn’t expensive just around the corner, I’d choose the hotel handsdown.” I nodded, agreeing that I would do the same. He continued, “also, if we needed to sell it in a pinch, I’m not sure if we could, which makes me nervous.” He had some really solid points. “For Vaison, you know how important walkability is for me. That house sits just at the base of two towns that have a lot going on and if we didn’t want to drive, we could easily go into town to shop or go to restaurants,” he finished. I paused, making sure that his thoughts were finished before jumping in with my own. “Well, if we wanted to make the grownup choice and pick the one we could rent if we needed to, the one we could sell if times get tough, then it seems like one choice is clearly smarter. We talked about the ability for the home to pay for itself if it needed to. It would be very stupid of us to buy a home knowing it didn’t have that potential,” I added. “We also wanted to be in a nice sized village that had basic amenities and a house that provides you with a usable outdoor space that is easy to manage when not here. One house clearly checks all of these boxes.” Our mental pros and cons lists were stacking up and one place was clearly the winner. All we had to do was decide if we were really serious about taking that jump, or if this had all but a fun trip with an excuse to indulge our guilty pleasure of real estate browsing. The next few days would be telling.
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**Above is our journey from the Spanish boarder through the whole south and all the stops in between. You may notice Vaison is not marked, it was a totally by chance we ended up there!
AuthorBonjour, Ciao, Salut! I'm Rachel and this is my story documenting our experience buying a home in France. If you are looking for advice on home buying, feel free to e-mail me or check the bottom of the home page for a link to a basic guide. Archives
July 2023
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