Wednesday, October 05, 2005
We were both astounded to receive a phone call the following morning, Thursday, at around 9.00 am saying that our offer had been accepted! We had expected at the very least a little delay or discussion. N said "Get dressed, we have to go and see the notaire!" conveniently the notaire who had acted for N in his purchase of the Saint-Denis apartment is only a few doors down the road. We managed to see him; he agreed to act and telephoned the agent and the appointment for the signing of the compromis de vente was arranged for the day after, Friday 30th, back at the agency at Conches, but told us that the final signing would take place two and a half months later. Still hardly unable to believe what was happening, we continued with the necessary procedures to open my internet euro account, ready to transfer the necessary funds.
On Friday morning we set off again in the direction of Normandy, a slightly different route as we were heading directly for Conches, and N was anxious to time the journey exactly, and estimated it to be about two hours. As we arrived it was colder than Paris and raining and I realised that from now on it would be wise never to set off for Normandy without a raincoat or umbrella or both. We had lunch in a little local bistro and sheltered in the church until it was time for the appointment at the agence, and for the first time met the vendor of the house, Mme V; at the viewing we had only met her mother.
The signing was a fairly solemn legal process, lightened somewhat by the fact that our agent had forgotten his glasses, but was able to see perfectly with N's, which were passed to and fro throughout. We also learned that the final date could be as late as 15 January, as Mme V had to make arrangements for her children to change schools. We had hoped to see the house again afterwards, but this was not possible, and we arranged to come back on 17 October.
We went anyway to see it again from the outside, and the road at the back with the entrances to the garages, (complete with a bank of irises) which we had not seen the first time. Apart from the little supermarket and the market place there were a boulangerie, boucherie, traiteur, bureau de poste, pharmacie, quincaillerie, charcutier, antique dealer, electro-ménager, coiffeur, taxi and bicycle repair shop, plus the church, the Mairie and the school. Outside the house opposite a neighbour was cleaning her front windows; we stopped and introduced ourselves – she hadn't known the house was for sale, and N was pleased to think we had contributed some village gossip. We had attracted a few stares as we walked round, looking like well dressed Parisians, particularly going past the hairdresser, who looked up in amazement with hairdryer in hand, obviously having seen me with a haircut she had not done herself. Our new neighbour said that our house had been let go a little over the last few years, but before had been "une vraie perle", and we said we intended to improve it again. N was especially worried about the shutters on the street side, which the neighbour said had not been opened for three years, and that it was very depressing to look out every day at closed shutters. We had been told – and observed for ourselves – that very heavy lorries passed down the street frequently, but that a by-pass was planned to start very soon.
As we left we agreed that the neighbour, who was very pleasant, should be invited round at the earliest possible opportunity, only differing in that N thought she should be offered coffee à la française, and I thought tea would be more suitable from an English household. The rain grew more persistent, and N's optimistic morning journey calculations were rather upset as driving rain and more intense traffic jams as we got nearer to Paris meant that the trip home took four hours instead of two.
On Friday morning we set off again in the direction of Normandy, a slightly different route as we were heading directly for Conches, and N was anxious to time the journey exactly, and estimated it to be about two hours. As we arrived it was colder than Paris and raining and I realised that from now on it would be wise never to set off for Normandy without a raincoat or umbrella or both. We had lunch in a little local bistro and sheltered in the church until it was time for the appointment at the agence, and for the first time met the vendor of the house, Mme V; at the viewing we had only met her mother.
The signing was a fairly solemn legal process, lightened somewhat by the fact that our agent had forgotten his glasses, but was able to see perfectly with N's, which were passed to and fro throughout. We also learned that the final date could be as late as 15 January, as Mme V had to make arrangements for her children to change schools. We had hoped to see the house again afterwards, but this was not possible, and we arranged to come back on 17 October.
We went anyway to see it again from the outside, and the road at the back with the entrances to the garages, (complete with a bank of irises) which we had not seen the first time. Apart from the little supermarket and the market place there were a boulangerie, boucherie, traiteur, bureau de poste, pharmacie, quincaillerie, charcutier, antique dealer, electro-ménager, coiffeur, taxi and bicycle repair shop, plus the church, the Mairie and the school. Outside the house opposite a neighbour was cleaning her front windows; we stopped and introduced ourselves – she hadn't known the house was for sale, and N was pleased to think we had contributed some village gossip. We had attracted a few stares as we walked round, looking like well dressed Parisians, particularly going past the hairdresser, who looked up in amazement with hairdryer in hand, obviously having seen me with a haircut she had not done herself. Our new neighbour said that our house had been let go a little over the last few years, but before had been "une vraie perle", and we said we intended to improve it again. N was especially worried about the shutters on the street side, which the neighbour said had not been opened for three years, and that it was very depressing to look out every day at closed shutters. We had been told – and observed for ourselves – that very heavy lorries passed down the street frequently, but that a by-pass was planned to start very soon.
As we left we agreed that the neighbour, who was very pleasant, should be invited round at the earliest possible opportunity, only differing in that N thought she should be offered coffee à la française, and I thought tea would be more suitable from an English household. The rain grew more persistent, and N's optimistic morning journey calculations were rather upset as driving rain and more intense traffic jams as we got nearer to Paris meant that the trip home took four hours instead of two.
# posted by Chez Katherine @ 9:13 AM 
