View from the Foothills of France

Some personal views on living, working,
bringing up family and making the dream happen in the most beautiful region of France. View from the Foothills of France also includes some personal and professional thoughts and tips on finding and buying the perfect property in the Ariège and Haute Garonne regions.

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Blood out of a stone

First find your property!

I sometimes wonder how anyone manages to buy a house in this region without using a property finder. I live and work here, I know all the agents and still the whole process of finding and getting to see the right property is sometimes a bit like trying to get blood out of a stone.

Firstly, despite the fact that I visit every agent most weeks to remind them exactly what my current clients are looking for, still there is hardly a single agent who gets in touch when they take on a new property meeting my client’s brief exactly (barring the odd exceptions who work very hard on my behalf.)

Secondly, not all agents are as keen as I am to head out and view potential properties. Yesterday I went in to see an agent because I had noticed that he was advertising a new property which looked very interesting for one of my current clients (there is no point just telephoning – everything works better face-to-face here.) The property – a mountain barn – appeared to fit my brief but the most important thing that I wanted to find out was where it was situated – location as we all know being the vital element, especially for mountain properties. The agent told me in which valley it was located (one of my favourite) and then suggested I could go and take a look and pointed a finger at a map as a vague illustration as to where I might find it.

I have fallen for this ploy before – and then spent a few frustrating hours trying to work out exactly which isolated barn I am supposed to be looking at and whether I am actually supposed to trespass and break in to get a proper look. So I suggested that maybe he could even take me to see the property and perhaps take along a key so I could look inside. I could see that this was now all getting a bit much for him for one day and he was finding me a bit demanding so I suggested that I could make an appointment for a viewing the next day. With much sighing and sucking of teeth, he took his feet off the desk and opened his diary to check just how busy he was the next day. The page was completely blank! So I said I could be there at 9am at which point he really put his foot down and said that he might manage 2pm (nothing happens before lunch here!) But at least we had a date.

Or that’s what I thought. So the next day, there I was at 2pm outside the locked offices with not a soul in sight. By 2.15 I was starting to get fed up and about to leave when the agent arrived looking slightly non-plussed as to what I was doing there. I reminded him and we spent the next 30 minutes looking for a key and directions to said property while he tried to persuade me that it really wasn’t worth the trip. By 3pm we were finally in the car but 20 kilometres later the agent then started fumbling around in his pockets and admitted that he seemed to have misplaced the key. So back we went to the office where we discovered he had dropped it on the road. It was now 3.30pm and the agent looked at his watch and said that it was now too late for him to go with me to see the property as he had an appointment at 4.30 and wouldn’t be back in time if he did.

Which was how I found myself yesterday up on a lovely mountain plateau, exploring various paths that may or may not lead to a perfect mountain barn. Luckily I had seen a photo and had a good idea of the location but, when I did find what I thought must be the right place, I was slightly apprehensive that I might be trying to unlock the door to the wrong house entirely, perhaps with the bemused owner watching me from the kitchen window. Luckily however, that wasn’t the case and this particular property turned out to be very much worth the trip – two well-looked after barns, one of which had been renovated completely, in a great plot of land with lovely views and very peaceful. There was even vehicle access which is certainly not a given for many of these mountain properties.

Two perfect mountain barns – definitely worth a viewing

Of course many properties I visit do turn out to be not worth the effort – I usually see at least 10 properties that transpire to be no good for every one that makes it to a property report and possibly the short-list. Usually I will view up to 50 – 80 properties during one search, only 6-10 of which are likely to reach the short-list. But this property might just prove to be ‘the one’ which is why – in my opinion anyway – every property that sounds on paper that it fits the brief, is worth a visit.

This agent is the perfect illustration as to why the English property invasion is yet to arrive in the Ariège – and why I knew there was a need here for a property finder on the spot, working for the buyer not the seller and trying to change the attitude of the ‘old-school’ estate agents here. Whether the agent will then have deserved his commission if this does turn out to be ‘the one’ – well that’s another debate.

Divided Loyalties in the Six Nations

Come on England – Come on France!

I am sitting here watching (well half watching!) England play France in the Six Nations along with the very excited men in my life – even the three year old is jumping up and down cheering as if he knows exactly what is going on. If he does, he is doing much better than me!

What strikes me as odd about this situation is that all of the children have now lived in France longer than they did in England – indeed the youngest was born here. They go to French schools, have French friends, play for French sports clubs – they even like to drink their hot chocolate from a bowl. And yet, they are more patriotic and proud to be English than just about anyone I know. And, from talking to other expats, it appears that this is a common tendency among expat children – there is something about living away from your home country (however happy you are to be abroad) that makes us suddenly become fiercely loyal to Britain; huge fans of the royal family, marmite, warm beer and Bruce Forsyth. Well maybe not the last but you get the drift. Memories of England are suddenly rose-tinted and we are back living in the ‘great days’ of the Empire. Thus here we are in a very French part of France, in our very French house, living our very French lives and yet cheering on ‘our boys’ in white (with the pretty red rose) back in grey and rainy Twickenham. It does all seem rather surreal!
Here in this part of south-west France, rugby is THE sport and French fans are fanatical about their local teams. Rugby is one of the most popular sports played in France, with more than 200,000 registered players playing at its 1,700 clubs and the level of interest in the support at club level is very high. Unlike England, where rugby is strongly associated with the middle classes and public schools, French rugby possesses no elements of elitism. In France, the game has solid foundations among the farmers and labourers of the southwest; even if the Parisian clubs have a reputation for attracting playboys and city-slickers. Matches attract significantly higher crowds than in the UK and unlike in England, Scotland and Ireland rugby has an equal following to football. In France it is rugby that is the beautiful game.
One of the most successful clubs in the history of French rugby is our local(ish) team in Toulouse, Stade Toulousain who have won the French Championship 16 times. They have won the European Cup on three occasions, making them the most successful European rugby side of all time: www.stadetoulousain.fr
Personally, I am not really sure who I want to win; if the English win, I will have very elated children and miserable neighbours, but if the French win, I will have happy neighbours and dejected children. I guess the most I can hope is that, whatever the result, there is a sense on both sides of what the French call ‘le fair play.’

All in a day’s work

Fresh snow at Guzet

Woke up this morning to sunshine, blue skies and a fresh blanket of snow on the mountains. So my husband and I did what any sane person would and decided to play hooky! Computer off, a quick drive up to our nearest ski resort, Guzet Neige and skis on – all in the name of research of course. By 9.30 we were standing at the top of our first run of the day, just about the only people on the slopes. A bit over five centimetres of new snow had fallen overnight – hardly worth a mention in Vail or Salt Lake but still enough to provide that fabulous sensation of being the first person to carve tracks through fresh, untouched snow.

By the time we were enjoying our first coffee, the sun was warm on the terrace and a few other skiers were beginning to venture out. I would like to say that we then tackled a few black runs, a steep mogul field and some serious off-piste before lunch – but I would be lying! However, we had a fantastic pootle around the pistes followed by a late lunch in what I am convinced is one of the best on-piste restaurants you will find anywhere. Chalet Beauregard is on top of the world – or so it feels – with a big sunny terrace and views over to Spain and, what’s more, you will be served delicious local mountain specialities from some of the friendliest waiters you have ever met. This is my idea of skiing!

Chalet Beauregard

We got back at 5pm and crept into the school playground to pick up the children hoping that nobody would spot our salopettes and glowing faces (everybody did!) I am not sure I will ever get used to the idea of being able to take off for a day’s skiing on fresh snow and still be back in time to pick up the children from school but days like these are why we live in the foothills of the Pyrenees.

Fellow workers on the piste!

Car Trouble in France

I don’t normally write about cars but my trusty 20 year old estate car finally gave up the fight last week and I found myself stuck on the side of the road going nowhere when I should have been en route to a packed day of viewings and appointments.

Always a stressful occurrence, I was expecting a similar experience to the last time I broke down which happened to be on the A303 in England. That time, I had a baby in the back but I also had AA breakdown rescue insurance so I telephoned the emergency number and was told that I would be a priority and a rescue vehicle would be with me as soon as possible.

As soon as possible turned out to be three hours later, when a man and a van finally turned up. He fiddled under the bonnet for half an hour before telling me he couldn’t fix the problem and would have to call a tow truck. That was another hour and a half arriving and by the time we finally got home, both me and baby were stressed, hungry and fed up as well as no nearer to having fixed the problem of a broken-down car.

So when I called the break-down number which comes as part of the French car insurance (the number is always fixed to the inside of the windscreen), I was expecting to spend most of the rest of the day waiting for help to arrive. As luck would have it, I had managed to break down just yards away from a café so, having made my call, I decided to wait for the rescue van in the warm over a coffee, where I then planned to start telephoning around to cancel all my viewings and appointments. However, I had barely got to the bottom of my espresso before the waiter pointed out that there was a breakdown truck outside the door and sure enough, he was looking for me (having made the assumption presumably that I would obviously be waiting for him in the nearest café!) I showed him the car which he immediately hoisted by winch onto the back of his lorry and then asked me to which garage he should deliver us both.

Ten minutes later me and car were on the forecourt of our local ‘garagiste’. I simply signed a form and the breakdown service was complete. At which point, Patrice, the garage owner, suggested that I take his car for the day so that I could go to work and he would take a look at mine before I came back that evening.

So I whizzed off and managed to make all my pre-arranged viewings and appointments and what could have been a stressful and frustratingly wasted day turned into a very positive experience. There are many things that the Brits and French do differently but, when it comes to breakdown rescue and helpful mechanics, the French win hands down – in my limited experience anyway.