The Winter of Our Discontent

In our last post we covered the initial stages of buying a house in France. With a mountain of paperwork submitted to the mortgage broker and the translation of the dreaded diagnostic reports complete, we felt like we were sailing down the silky Seine of French bureaucracy and everything was moving along swimmingly.

The Scary Legal part

The Compromis de Vente

The Compromis de Vente is the initial sales agreement. This delightfully named document, which translates to “Promise to Sell,” which sounds delightfully quaint, like something out of a Jane Austen novel. But don’t let the romantic name fool you, friends. This puppy is the first legally binding contract you sign, where you officially declare, “Oui, je veux” (yes, I want) to your new French abode. It basically sets out the terms of the agreement between the buyer and the seller. This document is usually drafted by a notaire but in some cases, as in ours, it is taken care of by the estate agent and then checked for legality by the notaire.

Each diagnostic report is valid for a certain amount of time (See our in depth guide to diagnostic reports here). Our agent explained that some of the property reports were out of date. The seller needed to get new reports for termites, asbestos and electrics - the unholy trinity of home buying fun - all required fresh reports. These reports are included in the initial sales agreement, so we would have to wait for these to be completed before signing the agreement.

This fancy French contract is also where you get to add your own special sauce, so to speak. We, ever the cautious culinary connoisseurs (read: control freaks), stuck in two conditions: 1) We would only go ahead if we could secure a mortgage, because who wants a house they can’t afford? and 2) the seller would eradicate any woodworm squatters at their expense and get a professional to certify their eviction.

We were advised that this process would take a few weeks and then the document would be ready to sign by all parties.

Everything was in order and we were confident that we could complete the sale early in the new year.

The Notaire

Ah, the Notaire! Imagine the most fabulous legal guardian angel you’ve ever dreamed of. That’s basically what the Notaire is - a knight in shining armour, clad not in metal but in perfectly tailored suits and armed with a mastery of French property law. This official superstar takes care of the final deed of sale, digs up all the dirt (legally speaking, of course) on the property, and ensures the whole process is squeaky clean and above board. The notaire is a legal representative for the sale. They are responsible for preparing the final deed of sale, conducting the relevant searches and making sure all the legalities are covered.

Our estate agent, ever the fountain of French knowledge, informed us that sharing a Notaire with the seller is perfectly normal. Apparently, it’s like car sharing for property purchases - cuts down on the travel time (and paperwork!). The bonus? This particular Notaire spoke both English and French, which meant we could ditch the middleman translator and potentially save a few euros. Thinking this was a one-way ticket to smooth sailing, we agreed.

Just a heads up, though, the Notaire’s fees are no flea market bargain. Expect to cough up roughly 7% of the purchase price, though it can vary depending on where you are in France and how old your new house is.

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Budgeting for this upfront is key, because let’s be honest, nobody enjoys a surprise bill after they’ve already signed on the dotted line.Check out our in depth guide to using a notaire here.

When The Wheels Started To Come Off

We had spent the last month in a constant state of excitement and trepidation but thus far everything had gone smoothly. The first sign of choppy waters began during a call with our mortgage broker.

We found our dream house online, all sparkling pictures and idyllic descriptions. Ah, the joys of French real estate listings! And hey, bonus points - “Agency fees to be paid by the seller,” it chirped. Free money, right?

Cue angelic music, closely followed by an abrupt record scratch noise! Huston, we may have a problem.

The Reality of Estate Agent Fees

Our mortgage broker, bless their financially savvy souls, informed us this little nugget of information was about as real as rocking horse poo. The bank, it seemed, would deduct those agency fees from the loan amount. So, imagine our surprise when it turned out we were basically paying the seller, who then, in a financial shell game, will then throw this money to the agent.

When we mentioned this to the agent, they said they had never heard of the bank deducting agency fees before but a quick Google search informed us this was standard practice. The only way this would not affect you is if you were cash buyers.

Whilst this was not a deal breaker, the money had to come from somewhere.

For us that meant a hit to our renovation budget. Our dream kitchen and luxurious bathroom plans started to look a little less, well, dreamy. We also felt the wording in the listing had been misleading, purposely so and this left a sour taste in our mouths.

One Man’s Trash Is Another Man’s Treasure…..Or Is It?

Remember that time we did a celebratory dance after our offer got accepted? Part of the happy deal was that the house purchase included all the furniture and some bonus garden equipment – like a treasure chest overflowing with French home décor and lawn-care goodies! Now, this wasn’t a make-or-break situation for us, because let’s be honest, who needs to inherit the previous owner’s questionable taste in floral bedding? But hey, an agreement is an agreement, and the price we offered reflected this furniture bounty.

Just when we were picturing ourselves lounging on a vintage chaise longue, courtesy of the seller’s generosity, our estate agent dropped a bombshell. Apparently, the seller had a sudden attack of familial philanthropy and gifted some of the furniture to a lucky relative. Now, we weren’t exactly heartbroken over the loss of a 1980’s cream leather sofa, but an agreement is an agreement, right?

The agent assured us it was mostly “personal things” and that a full inventory would be coming our way soon. Inventory? Sounds fantastic! Visions of a treasure map leading to a secret room filled with antique armoires danced in our heads. But then came the kicker: this inventory would come with a price tag on each item, determined solely by the seller’s, ahem, possibly inflated, sense of worth. Hmm ok, seems legit right?

We reported this development back to the mortgage advisor. The applied value associated with the furnishing would be deducted from the mortgage. That’s correct, the free furnishings were now a cost item! The furniture we were not that fussed about, was now going to cost us money, even though we were not sure about keeping any of it.

Okay, so here’s where things went from “slightly frustrating” to “full-blown furniture fiasco.” We, ever the resourceful house-hunters, hatched a plan. We proposed to the seller that the house would be sold “as seen,” meaning everything that graced its interior (including, hopefully, all the furniture that hadn’t mysteriously vanished) would be ours. No need for an itemised list, no seller-inflated price tags – just a beautiful, furniture-filled future for us! This way, the cost of the mystery furniture wouldn’t put a dent in our mortgage. But here’s the catch, without a list, we’d have no legal claim to any of the furnishings. It was a calculated gamble, but the house was the ultimate prize here, not the contents.

To our surprise, the seller agreed. Great! Game-on! Only a few weeks later, the agent casually dropped into a conversation, the sellers planned to sell the “high-value” items to a local antiques dealer (cue dramatic music) but still expected us to pay the full asking price. Let’s just say I was not amused! My Husband, ever the voice of reason (and probably sanity at this point), reminded me that the furniture was a bonus, and our offer was fair. Grudgingly, I agreed, but the whole ordeal left another bitter taste in my mouth.

There was also a growing suspicion that the estate agent wasn’t exactly being honest in communications.

The Wheels Of Bureaucracy Turn Slowly

We originally viewed the property at the end of August and made our offer in September. Fast forward to December. Remember that optimistic timeline we were promised? The one with the “draft sales document in a couple of weeks” and a “key handover by New Year’s”? We hadn’t even seen a whiff of the Compromis de Vente, the all-important “promise to sell” document. We, the eager beavers of bureaucracy, had finished everything on our end, but our mortgage application was stuck in neutral, desperately awaiting a signed sales agreement to shift gears. Our ever-patient mortgage broker was starting to develop a nervous twitch.

So what was the problem? Well firstly we were told that the new diagnostics were taking longer than anticipated, then we were waiting for the seller to itemise the furniture (that we were no longer getting), this arduous process was drawn to halt when we decided not to include this list in the sales agreement. Yet still we waited……and waited …….and waited.

In the midst of this bureaucratic purgatory, the world decided to throw a few more curveballs our way. In late September, the UK had a mini budget. Its purpose was to increase growth and liberalise the economy. What actually happened was a financial crisis involving a significant decline in the value of the pound. The impact on the country was massive and would be felt by individuals and businesses deeply over the coming year.

So what did this mean for us? Well straight away the drop in the value of the pound meant that we would be paying a lot more for the property. As we were not yet at a stage to hand over large sums of cash, we were hopeful of seeing rates stabilise over the coming months.

When we initially engaged our mortgage broker we were offered several types of mortgage in principle. As a result of the economic crisis, some of these offers were no longer available. This meant we had much less choice, interest rates had also increased and French lenders were becoming even more worried about lending to non residents.

Lastly, and for us most importantly. Many companies started laying off staff. We couldn’t help but worry about this happening to us.

Did we really want to risk our savings and take on more monthly outgoings during such an uncertain time?

Not So Happy New Year

The one upside to all this waiting around was we had some time to think. We talked and talked about all the potential outcomes. Finally, a few days before Christmas we received the draft sales agreement by email from the agent. The email stated that time was of the essence and could we sign and return the document immediately.

There were a few sticking points here! We had patiently waited THREE MONTHS for this document and now it was time critical, yeah right!

It was a few days before Christmas. This is a very very busy time in our household and being given a mammoth document full of legal eagle speak and written in French was not helpful. It would need translating accurately. We explained to the agent that there was no chance of this being signed before Christmas and would be in touch after the festivities. Apparently, we were now holding up the process. We didn’t know whether to laugh or take offence at this point.

The holidays arrived, bringing a much-needed break from the stress and meticulously combed through the sales agreement. Everything seemed on the surface, but a niggling feeling, a sort of house-buying premonition, wouldn’t leave us alone. Was it the financial crisis looming like a storm cloud? The ongoing seller saga? The estate agent who seemed to be channelling their inner used car salesperson? All of the above, most likely.

The next few days were spent agonising over how to proceed. Eventually, on New Year’s Eve, we decided the risk was not in line with the reward and with the click of the send button it was over! We were not going ahead. The future was just too uncertain for us. The really sad (or lucky depending on how you look at it) thing was that if the suggested timescales had been met, we would have signed before the brunt of the financial crisis came to bear.

We were devastated! We could not even think about resuming our search. It was over! The dream shattered. As we rang in the New Year the mood was sombre. Had we missed our chance? Did we really want to go through this again? Would we ever get our slice of French Paradise?

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