14) Les Agents Immobiliers

A typical full and accurate description on an agent's details

We have now seen quite a lot of different houses.  Many of these, however, were never going  to be suitable in the first place, but because of the French estate agent’s reluctance to tell you much about them, you do not discover this until you arrive.  Les agents immobiliers are a race apart (and apparently even more despised than estate agents are in England).  As a consequence, French vendors will try to cut them out by doing a deal directly with the buyer if they can (this saves them about 25,000 euros, so you can understand why).  Life is made even more complicated by the fact that most properties are with about five or six agents, often at different prices (we were recently sent two properties, each of which was almost 100,000 euros more than we had seen them at with another agent).  Because there is so much money involved in each sale everybody tries to get a slice of the action, and any English person who has been out here for more than a year or so is constantly trying to make “introductions” to those renting their Gites (like us) so they can muscle in on a commission.

Locked outside, we begin the game of hunt the keys

We do, though, seem to be about the only people looking for a property in France at the moment, so the agents seem happy to drive us all over the place, presumably because they have nothing else to do and are bored.  There does also seem to be a (for us) rather aggravating game they play presumably, again, for some further amusement to offset the lack of activity.  The keys to the property are usually hidden somewhere, such as under a plant pot by the front door.  Often, however, they are not there because some rascally agent has either hidden them (deliberately) in the wrong place, or simply gone off with them in his (or her) pocket.  With the double gabled house above we drove some considerable distance to meet an agent who had driven a similar distance from the other direction.

This was definitely the fuse box, but where were the house keys?

He found the key under the plant pot and we got into the lobby.  The other set of keys were supposed to be in the (very dodgy looking)  fuse cupboard.  They were not.  So the game started, a sort of weird version of an Easter egg hunt in which every object that could contain or hide keys was looked under, turned upside down and shaken.  Georgi and I joined in with enthusiasm, finding the whole thing more and more amusing as the agent got more and more agitated.  Sadly /inevitably we never did find them.  Georgi and I were disappointed the game had to end in failure, but at this point the agent seemed to display signs of the onset of apoplexy.  He become grovelling apologetic and even started to cower.  I guess he was afraid we might attack him in a fury, which must happen quite often.  But Georgi and I are now fairly used to this, and we simply had to turn away so he would not see us giggling at his incompetence and discomfort.

A great studio ready to move into

On another occasion we went to see a house lived in by a couple of artists.  It had  lots to recommend it and a wonderful ready-made studio for me to create masterpieces in.  It even had an observatory (for some reason this was by the pool, which seemed a rather odd spot to choose for an activity which involves wandering about in the pitch dark).  Sadly the house seemed to be at the junction of two major roads.  The agent assured us there was virtually no traffic on them, but we couldn't help noticing large noisy trucks roaring by every 30 seconds or so.

One of the largest quarries in France, just down the road

We liked the house so much we went back on our own, only to discover the source of the trucks just down the road. There we found an enormous quarry, which clearly supplied most of the hardcore for construction in SW France.

A lovely little group of buildings nestling in the landscape, with stunning views

Another time we went into an agency in Entragues sur Truyeres where a very enthusiastic young agent told us about a superb "product" (he was very keen to practice his English) that was just 10 minutes away and was just what we were looking for.  It was indeed very charming, and in a superb setting with stunning views.

Something the agent had omitted to mention

What he had omitted to tell us, however, was that there was a f***ing great pylon in the middle of the garden, right in front of the view.  When we arrived back at the agency, the other agent asked young Matthieu what we had thought.  "Ah, le pylon!" he said, and they both looked knowingly at each other.  Clearly everybody they had shown the property to had been somewhat put off by le pylon, and we were just more clients who (rather unreasonably) saw it as some sort of a problem.  We were not quite sure if they thought we might not notice it, or whether we might embrace the idea of it as some sort of symbol of modernity and progress.  Actually, we just thought it was a terrible eyesore, might well give off harmful, cancer causing radiation, the constant buzzing might eventually drive us mad, and it would make the house completely unsaleable if we ever wanted to sell in the future.

Pierre shrugs off his paucity of navigating skills.  We did, of course, find it in the end (he shrugs)

Pierre, seen above, is definitely one of our favourite agents.  However, as well as sharing the trait with all other agents immobiliers of being a terrible driver, he also regards sat navs as some sort of threat to his manhood and social standing.  We are constantly amazed at how often agents get lost and yet none of them use sat navs.  Thousands of extra miles get driven, gallons of unnecessary fuel gets used, tons of extra CO2 gets dumped into the atmosphere and hundreds of man hours are wasted, all because les argents either refuse, or don't bother to think of using sat navs (this equally applies to the English ones as well as the French).  On the occasion we visited the house above Pierre was giving us a long lecture on how people had become reliant on gadgets like sat navs, and how they ruined your sense of direction and diminished your knowledge and understanding of the position man held in this vast and constantly changing landscape (which was France).  It was at about this point in his eulogy that he realised he was completely lost.  He was so completely convinced by his innate sense of direction he hadn't even brought a map with him.  We then spent about half an hour meandering up and down valleys, pausing at crossroads to reappraise the situation, and being reassured that the house was just over there, and it was simply a case of finding a road that would get to it.  Which, eventually, we did.

Mas de Vernhet

This house was near Villefranche de Rouergue, and was one we rather liked.  It was in a village but had about an acre of garden and was not too overlooked.  It had no pool and neither of the barns had been converted, so there was still quite a bit to do (and money to spend).  When we saw it first it was foggy, but we were assured there was a lovely view over the valley behind, and it was "protected" so couldn't be built on.  We have come across this sort of assurance before in France and are aware that, if you happen to be friends with the Mayor (or perhaps have something on him), more or less anything can get through.

Just beyond the house, we stated to notice homemade notices stuck in the ground

We were staying near by so we decided to go along for another look.  As we approached the house we saw that, in reality, the view was really not that great.  We decided to drive on a bit further to check out the village and we started to see little placards all over the place saying things like "Non a la rocarde!" or "Preserve la Nature!" and "Pensez a nos enfants!"  Alarm bells started to ring, and out came the dictionary as soon as we got back to the gite.  Rocade nf  1. (de deviation) bypass; (circulaire) ring road, beltway US 2. Mil transversal route.  We were not quite sure what a "transversal route" was, but we certainly got the jist of a "beltway".