A Week in the Life of an Estate Agent in France

By: Michael Bowditch
Submitted: 2007-01-17 16:16:14
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Monday. Always the busiest day of the week. While I have been enjoying my weekend my inbox has been receiving many requests to see properties. Last weekend, by the way, was the busiest one of the year for my village. Sunday was La fete d’olivier. Only in France, can they decide that the olive tree needs celebrating. Everything linked to olive oil, the wood from the olive tree, and the fruit itself. 200 stalls surround the old walls, and stall holders sell their wares to the 10 000 visitors that amble through. An oddity does occur however. Well 2 actually. The first is a contest held in the main square. It is called Grand concours d’aioli. 12 people of all ages stand behind their bowls made from olive wood. In front of them, they all have the following ingredients: 1 egg, a bottle of olive oil, a head of garlic and salt and pepper. The idea is to mix these ingredients in an aioli (generally used to dip crudit?s into) in your own, special way and then the judge, armed with slices of baguette, tries them all and declares a winner. Each contestant somehow manages to include their own secret, or not so secret, way of crushing the garlic, the speed and amount of olive oil that is drizzled into the wooden bowl, how it is mixed up and finally, with their finger, they taste it as if sampling a finest Claret.

The second bizarre event is called “The contest of throwing the Beret.” The Beret is the archetypal flat cap, usually black, that is worn by Frenchmen. This contest is to see how far the Beret can be frisbeed. Personal techniques have been developed over the years, ranging from quick flick of the wrist to something that resembles putting the shot. The cap has to land in a chalk marked area to be legal. The judge was a pure comic character. Long white beard, he was sporting an outfit fit for a clown- and of course, a red Beret. The winner flung his cap a total of 29 yards. He won a bottle of first pressed virgin olive oil- of course!

We have 6 people who want to see properties this week, so appointments are made. I have 1 person to show around this afternoon. She is a lady of a certain age, who has been married a few times, and I think has done very well out of her past men. She has given me a budget of 500 000 euro ($630 000) to find a home where she can put up, with great en-suite comfort, her friends and then her family. She needs a small garden, no pool, and in good condition. Well, it sounds a lot of money, but at this time, it is a tough brief. I have selected a handful of properties ranging from a 19th Century renovated church to a very modern, circa 1990 home. She turns up looking like a true Parisienne, haute couture abounding, and of course, a small yapping dog. She rides in my car (sadly the aircon decided not to work , and with an outside temperature nudging 36 C, her coiffure decided to start flattening itself ), and we do the viewings. She is like a whirlwind going through the properties, flinging questions at me, wiping her finger along the top of a Louis XVI sideboard and inspecting her finger to see if it had been recently polished. She declares that she does not find any of the 4 suitable and tells me to find some more to show her. Back to the drawing board.

Tuesday. The first of my new clients arrive 15 minutes early. This is a bad start to the day as that first coffee of the day has to be consumed in peace, while feeling that dark, hot liquid going to work in the body. They are dressed as if they were on the beach and smell faintly of coconut oil. They belong to an ever increasing breed of first time buyers that are unrealistic about their budget and want the whole dream, and more if possible, for a handful of cents. They arrive, big and bright eyed, and are ready to be wowed! Sadly, I can’t deliver the wow factor for them- on paper anyhow. I show them the properties we are going to view, and they put on a brave face, but I feel that they are already disappointed. I show them 5 properties- all needing work to be done on them, all in small villages and all that look like an old granny has been living there who entered a time warp 60 years ago and never left it. Damp smells abound, and at 1 property we viewed, the owner showed us around. Bearing in mind that the time was 11 a.m., she greeted us dressed in her dressing gown. There was a chicken in the kitchen clucking around. I looked at this beast to try and decide if it looked concerned that its days were numbered and it was due to enter the large pot of boiling water I saw on the stove. I decided that it was a pet and that the pot of water was for soup made from one of its distant relatives. After the last property we viewed, we went to a local caf? and discussed our findings. I could tell that they didn’t possess the imagination to see past the rotten beams and chicken droppings and imagine their dream home. I suggested new built homes that we had in their price range. Their little faces lit, and I could feel a collective sigh of relief. No major renovations required and at most, just some light painting and decorating to suit their tastes. I dismissed them for the all important 2 hour lunch break, and told them to come back in the afternoon to see some more properties.

Wednesday. I receive a call from the lady of a certain age. She has changed her mind on one of the properties I showed her, and would like to see it again in 1 hour. Luckily I have the keys and we meet at the property. She leads the charge, opens most of the drawers and cupboards throughout, smiles knowingly when we discover a stash of Vintage Champagne and makes positive noises. She informs me that she will ask her Lawyer to call me the following day. Yesterday’s young couple think they like a very modern, characterless, small home I showed them. They are viewing other properties and may be in touch.

Thursday. 2 of my clients want to put in an offer on the same property. The market is very much a buyers one, with prices being put on high with the knowledge that offers will come in anything between 5 and 15% below the asking price. I advise them both with the same information, and by the end of the conversations, I have 2 offers to put forward to the owners. There is a 3% difference in the offers, but I leave it to the owner to decide who she wishes to go with. 1 offer, the lower, is easy, as there is no chain or mortgage. The higher one is fraught with complications. She goes with the former, but mutters that the English are taking the Mickey on offering too little.

Friday. Our lady of a certain ages’ Lawyer calls me. She wishes to proceed with an offer, wishes to complete the sale within 6 weeks and would like the furniture to be included in the sale. The latter can be quite a common request in France. I spend many hours trying to track down the vendor, who I eventually find on a yatch in Greece. The furniture belongs to his family but he has never liked that heavy, classical style himself. He is more minimal in his tastes. My buyer is very welcome to the furniture, but he will need it to be valued, which takes time. This rings alarm bells in my head, because there now will be no way to complete in 6 weeks. I convey this via the lawyer to her ladyship. We now await the outcome of her reaction. The young couple have gone very quiet so I will nudge them back into life on Monday.

Another “fun” week has ended. I decide to put on my Beret and go into the bar for a Ricard before going home to my crudit?s and aioli and another fun weekend.

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