The next day we made our way to Bedarieux. We arrived early, so stopped at a bar for a cup of coffee. I noticed that as well as a couple of elderly men knocking back pastis, there seemed to be quite a number of young teenagers in the bar playing pinball. The only thing I thought was unusual about this was, it was still only 8:30am.
We then made our way to the agent’s office, Where we then had to wait a further hour, while he dealt with another English couple, who had bought a ‘ruin’ and were discussing a renovation project with him.
Eventually he turned his attention to us. He explained that he only had one property in our price range and that we would go straight away to see it. He seemed quite cool towards us, probably on account of our casual holiday dress. I got the distinct impression he had summed us up as tyre kicking dreamers, who were wasting his time.
We walked with him to our car, which was a nearly new black Ford Granada. He immediately seemed to get more friendly. I suspected that had we been driving an old banger, our time with him would have been very short.
We drove along a valley which was quite reminiscent of some of the coal mining areas of Wales. Of course Wales is a beautiful place, but I had not come to the South of France, to buy a house in an area, which closely resembled one which was much closer to home. Eventually we turned left off the main road and made our way up the mountain side on a very minor road. Actually it was more like a track with tarmac on it. The road terminated in a tiny hamlet high up on a mountain side.
The views were delightful. From this vantage point other hamlets were visible, one of the larger ones having a prominent church. I began to modify my first impressions.
The small stone built end of terrace house he showed us was OK. Quite a lot of work had been done on it, but more was required. We descended to the cellar level. This cellar had a wonderful stone vaulted ceiling. Because the front of the house was higher up the mountain than the rear, the cellar had a rear door which opened onto the sloping back garden.
Behind the garden were fields, which disappeared from view, at a point some distance away, where the gradient of the mountain became steeper. Our agent explained that we would need to install a septic tank, because at that time any effluent was discharged untreated, into a farmers field further down the mountain side.
Assurances that we would have no problem persuading the unknown owner of the barn next door, to sell it to us, for use as a garage and that nobody used the public footpath running through the back garden, raised a few doubts in our minds. Admittedly in this remote location, the volume of public using the foot path was going to be negligible.
So far, of all the properties we had seen in our price range, this one looked like being the most suitable. Jane agreed and we decided that if we saw nothing more appealing over the next couple of days, we would return and make an offer for this one.
As we drove the agent back to Bedarieux, we expressed some of our concerns, which is always a good negotiating ploy. He looked thoughtful and said ‘Actually there is one other property I would like you to take a look at, this afternoon. If you don’t mind, I will need to leave you for a while to set up the appointment.’
He suggested we should drive to nearby Lamalou les Bains to have lunch. He told us that Lamalou was a charming town.
As it turned out, Lamalou was a neat, well maintained Spa town. The main street was very tidy and there was an abundance of carefully tended flowering shrubs. Strangely though I felt uncomfortable there. This was almost certainly because a large number of the people we came across has something visibly wrong with them. Being a Spa town, people with all kinds of ailments, came from all over Europe seeking a cure. Many were in wheel chairs, and some where bandaged up like a mummy or the invisible man.
This observation may seem somewhat unsympathetic, but I was overcome with the same feeling I get when visiting someone in a Hospital ward. I even thought I could smell the disinfectant. We all know that one day we may be in the same situation, but for me it is one of those things I don’t want to think about until I have to.
We returned to Bedarieux and this time were met on time by the agent. We headed South onto the Northern edge of the Languedoc plain. The fields of grass and vegetable crops were replaced by fields full of grape vines.
We stopped in front of a house on the perimeter of a busy village. The initial impression wasn’t great, because directly opposite the house, where not long before, there must have been a fantastic view of vineyards and mountains, a new processing plant with huge concrete silos had been constructed.
But the air was warmer, the chattering insects louder and the house was huge. It was within our price range, but only just. It was one of those places which you dream about, but when you start to think practically, you realise is not sensible. It was still quite a long drive to the coast, but most of all, if something were to go wrong, it would be hugely expensive to put right.
Like me, most foreign buyers of French properties are chasing a dream. Luckily Jane was not in the same fantasy land that I was and she quickly brought me back to reality, not that I appreciated it at the time.
By the end of Tuesday, I knew that I wanted to be in a village on the vineyard plain, within a reasonable distance of the sea and not too far from the canal du Midi. The house we had seen earlier that day on the mountain side was mentally written off.
We had pre-booked an appointment for the next day with an agent in Perpignan. We cancelled it and made a new one with another English speaking agent in Narbonne, who we tracked down through the pages of a copy of Exchange and Mart, which we had brought with us.
That night we stayed on the sea front again, this time at Narbonne plage, where we witnessed but didn’t sample, large prawns which were cooked by a method we had not come across before. The already partially cooked prawns were effectively barbecued, by setting alight a bush of wild Rosemary on which they had been laid. If the smell was anything to go by, then the taste must have been tremendous.
As usual we had chosen one of the four course menus, which were such good value. On this occasion though I learnt an important lesson. The wine was offered by the bottle or by the caraffe. We chose the caraffe. This turned out to be a mistake, because it tasted rather like red ink, laced with vinegar. I have had many a good wine by the caraffe, but it is a bit of a lottery. You really have no idea what will be served. Generally wine by the bottle is a safer bet.
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