Finding our dream home in the Gironde

Angela Mariett updates us on her property search

If you read my previous account, you may remember that it ended with our return home. My husband Donald and I had just spent six days in the Gironde, found a reasonable match to our property dreams and needs and left a verbal offer with the estate agent.

The answer wasn't long in coming, but the few curt lines left us reeling with disappointment. The owner had flatly rejected our offer, expecting another party to cough up his full asking price. Unbelievably, we thought, (considering the state of the buildings), this actually took place, although at the time we simply scoffed and thought "good luck".

Self-preservation is a funny instinct, and luckily for us it kicked in instantly. Once the initial shock of our loss had worn off, we started to remember all the things we had disliked about the place. Before long, we were congratulating each other on a lucky escape!

By the way, let me heartily recommend the Akena Hotel chain to anyone travelling with pets. We had our cat with us and my nightmare was that we would have to sleep in the car, or leave her in the car alone. Earlier in the year I had looked into conducting our shopping campaign from rented accommodation and my search for gites willing to take in pets had revealed that less than 1 per cent were so inclined. At the Akena (we stayed in Creon), they simply charge E3 per pet per day, no questions asked and I even saw a cute dog on a leash accompany his family in the breakfast room.

A quick tally on the back of an envelope revealed that our previous house-hunting trip had cost us about E900. Realistically, we could only afford one more try before summer and peak-season pricing kicked in, so we pencilled in a date roughly a month later, but also promised each other that we would only go if we could pre-qualify a suitable number of potential houses.

Our initial foray had been almost uniquely for the purpose of 'taking the temperature' of our French fever as, having been away for the last four years, we had no idea how the new post-Euro France would strike us. This time it was going to be all business and, although I would not recommend our shop-till-you-drop style of house-hunting, there was really no other option.

For three weeks I scoured the Internet, daily revisiting the sites in my Favourites folder and running advanced searches whenever possible, with some surprising results.

For instance, one house came up with five different agencies and as many prices, while another one was more expensive with agency X despite having less land included. This business of non-exclusive listings is very nice when you are the seller as your property receives wider exposure, but it does complicate life for buyers and quite often your agent will not know that a property is sold until your interest prompts him or her to call to make an appointment.

Two days before our second foray, we had lined up five houses to see on Tuesday and three more on Wednesday, with two local reps of the same agency, and had another four properties, listed with multiple agencies, to look into if necessary.

Early on the morning of our departure I was still printing property details off the Internet when the news came that two of the eight houses had sold, including, of course, the one we were really excited about.

These last-minute changes in the availability of properties, I think, contribute to the 'hot' reputation of the French housing market (at least in some regions). But it is essential to stay cool and focused on what's truly important to you, keeping in mind that those houses that are suddenly declared sold could, in fact, have been sold and therefore not been available at all from weeks before you even cast your beady eye on them.

As French laws grant the buyer a seven-day cooling-off period during which it is possible to withdraw from the sale with no financial penalty, it is understandable that sellers are in no hurry to announce the sale until they feel the deal is secure.

Tuesday started out inauspiciously. The first house on the list (a late substitute for the one that sold) was a large concrete block with a stone facade (which looked good in the photo) bordering a provincial road. We peered at a downstairs room through an open shutter and Maurice (our keyless agent) was almost relieved to hear that we were not interested.

Next came an inexpensive four hectares with what I thought was a farmhouse needing work inside. The interior was actually better than expected, although the bedrooms upstairs suffered from the common affliction of having charpente beams at shoulder height, passing under which necessitated a repeated and rather inelegant ducking of the head and neck. Worse for us was that the heavily wooded land stretched in a long strip on the other side of a steep bank and stream. Horse-friendly it was not.

House number three had been described as a "splendid maison d'architecte" and we were all (Maurice included, as he had not seen this house) burning with curiosity to see what part of the plain white wooden box shown in the photo could inspire such linguistic transport.

The garden had also been described in superlative terms but it's delights were sadly lost on us because the monstrous power pole towering above the little house had a magnetic effect on our bodies, causing them to remain attached to the car seats. Maurice, a savvy and stout young man, did the brave thing and went in to apologize and tell Madame that the buyers were not coming in after all.

During his lunch break, our hard-working agent hit the Internet and came up with one more 'affaire'. We drove by the large and beautiful stone house tucked into a dense forest, so remote that their immediate neighbour had deemed it desirable to keep two huge dogs (were they pit bulls?) who never stopped barking and displaying their excellent dental attributes, while we inspected the property line. Regretfully we let that one go. Not even the prospect of the "spacious interior with lofting ceilings" could overcome the invasive presence of the dogs!

Next was a non-descript newer house (meaning, not old enough to have charm, nor modern enough to be comfortable) with a little garden thickly planted with young fruit trees. When we asked about the rest of the hectare, a vague wave of the hand directed us to an irregular plot on the left and, on the right, an unkempt field which almost surrounded the neighbouring house.

It was by now clear that the 'land for horses' part of our wish list was proving to be a challenge. Just as our Maurice was showing early signs of a nervous breakdown, we parked outside the last house on the tour and immediately noticed the four hectares of completely cleared pasture land neatly fenced and cross-fenced stretching back behind the buildings.

The four-bedroom house was imposing, recently built but incorporating beautiful traditional elements, such as a stone-surround fireplace, massive charpente beams, oak staircase and a huge light-flooded veranda which effectively doubled the living space.

On a long refectory table was the largest doll collection I have ever seen outside of the Victoria and Albert Museum and in two of the bedrooms, masses of "peluches" invaded the beds, chairs and the entire expanse of shelving, so that one felt observed by the curious gaze of hundreds of teddy bear eyes. When we remarked on the number of stuffed toys, the owner shrugged his shoulders and said: "I have daughters".

Of more interest to us, the four horse boxes looked large and well built, but we soon discovered that the current owner had adapted them to his own storage needs. Two had been lined with shelves and held the usual collection (so common in French rural homes) of tins and bottles with faded labels and smelling strongly of chemicals, while the other two held wire cages inhabited by birds of every description.

Outside more aviaries housed the larger fowl and some rickety sheds served the needs of the sheep flock, which was obviously the main business. As any horse person knows, the last thing you want next to your equines is sheep, and I found myself remarking to the owner about his neighbour's horses grazing on the other side of the fence. Another Gallic shrug of the shoulders and he said: "Nah, his horses don't bother me".

Wednesday started even more discouragingly when we met our other agent. He had discovered that two of his three listings were sold, and the third house was only 5m away from a major road and the inevitable traffic noise did not exactly match our expressed wish for a "quiet and secluded location". All his listings had been in the Monsegur area, on which we were now less keen, so only slightly disappointed, we turned the car and drove north again towards St Emilion.

We had decided to check out a listing that intrigued me. It was that rare creature, an exclusive, and with relief we quickly located in the agency's window display a larger version of the thumbnail that I had been squinting at on my monitor. The chap who was about to lock the door (it was by now lunchtime) greeted us warmly, put away the keys and invited us in. He turned out to be one of the agency owners, and used his charmingly accented English with obvious enjoyment.

We pointed to the picture and said: "We would like to know about this one." The details in his big book added little to those on the Internet, but he smiled as he described the house as in "perrrfect condition" and, noticing our sceptical expressions, asked, "Would you like to see it?". Yes, we would. He called the owner and again guessing correctly, announced, "We go now!".

After all these happy coincidences, I expected the usual scenario, such as: driving through glorious countryside, turning a couple of corners, passing a dilapidated ironmonger, a pile of old tyres and the messiest plot in the whole of Aquitaine, just as the immobilier prepares to park the car and yours truly thinks: "Now I see why this one's so cheap!".

However, the magic continued. We turned into a quiet country lane, then into a tiny hamlet. The main house was, as promised, immaculate. Its small size (all on one floor with just two bedrooms) had brought it within our price range, however for the two of us it seemed perfect and hopefully manageable: there was recent insulation, central heating and two functioning fireplaces.

The decor was decidedly 50's and realistically one would want to replace all the floors and wallpaper as well as revamp the bathroom (entirely done in a strong hue of cerise pink), but these would be cosmetic changes while the house was immediately habitable.

At the back was a large 'chai' with a newish roof and clean charpente visible, more storage space than barn and apparently suitable for conversion to a 'maison d'amis' and on the other side of the house, a tall, spotless 'dependance', where one could easily envisage housing a couple of horses and their equipment.

Donald and the agent, meanwhile, were struggling to keep up with the octogenarian owner who was forging ahead with his tour of the land. Complementing the excellent cleared portion we had seen was another two hectares of lightly wooded sandy loam ending at the edge of a private lane, used mainly to access the vineyards. As we walked back across the vast, immaculately trimmed green lawn, the sight of manicured rows of vines stretched for miles, as far as the eye could see, and I thought, "I really want this place!".

Our offer, slightly below the asking price, was accepted and two days later, after a second visit and a celebratory drink with the owners and the agent, we signed a Compromis and our respective notaires set to work. We chose to involve the notaire who handled both the purchase and sale of our previous home in the Dordogne as he is patient with our uncertainties, speaks English when required, and gives us confidence with his professionalism.

The legally required inspections for lead, termites and asbestos having turned up negative results, we are now waiting out the SAFER mandatory period while the notaires conduct all the other investigations and gather the required documentation leading up to the Acte Authentique (or Acte de Vente). Donald is very happily planning the garden and paddocks, but I am still not sure what to do about the cerise bathroom....

Angela Mariett