French Bureaucracy

This is the seventh installment of the series about my journey to France to make my dreams come true. You can read the first one here or follow this to see past posts. https://wordsworthywriting.wordpress.com/2023/08/28/how-it-began-my-journey-to-make-my-dreams-a-reality/ 

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When one contemplates moving to France and begins the research process, the word that keeps recurring is “bureaucracy.” But what exactly does that mean? A lot of papers to fill out? Documents that you’ll need to carry around? In its most simplistic form, yes, but it’s so much more frustrating than that!

The first clue should have been the fact that it took four months just to get the mandate, a document needed in order for the broker to be able to apply for loans for me. After that document was signed it would take two more months before we could go to closing. Apparently, six months to purchase a home is standard. And, once I received the loan docs, there was a mandatory 11-day consideration period. OMG!! Now, over seven months after signing an LOI, I still haven’t settled on the house.

The second clue was the process of getting a SIM card. Normally, it’s pretty straightforward. You purchase it, put in your information (which includes one’s passport number) and credit card and you’re good to go. NOPE! The SIM card I originally purchased was not compatible with a US passport. Fortunately, a kind soul took me to an Orange store (the equivalent of Verizon) and got me set up. But they couldn’t just use my information. They needed his as well because I don’t have a bank account in France, even though it was a month-to-month agreement and I was paying cash. Ugh! At least it was done and I had data enough to get me functioning in this virtual world. Baby steps…

Granted the process of opening a bank account in the US is not much different: ID, SSN (or equivalent), proof of address (utility bill), and money. But France takes it one step further. I provided them with a copy of the lease agreement with the LL (which was generated at the Notaire), and a utility bill in their name. But that was not enough. They also required copies of their passports, along with mine. Another delay of several days but ok, that’s done now. A bank account should allow me to do a lot more, much more easily, right? Not really. 

Of course (I say this not because it’s obvious but because of the way things were working out for me in France), within days of opening this bank account I was refused for the loan. Sad and disappointed and in need of a friend I contacted my former Workaway host who lived two hours southwest of me. He invited me to stay as long as I needed. Determined to make this work and with a list of things I needed to get done swirling in my head like a tornado, I drove down to escape for a few days.  He was awesome and helped me focus and worked on the process with me. 

Next thing I needed was internet. In one week I ran out of the data on my phone so I needed something more. Here, they have an Airbox which gives 200 GHz of data every month. It’s wireless, small enough to fit in a pocket, and can be used everywhere. It only cost 80 euro to purchase and it’s a month-to-month contract for 15 euros, unlike all my other Wifi options which required a one year contract. Yay! Let’s do it. Big checkmark for France!  My friend took me to the Orange store so I could purchase one. Well, unfortunately, in order to purchase and activate it, they required proof of address. No matter that both of us had existing accounts with them already and a bank account which, in order to obtain one, required exactly all these documents! My friend couldn’t even add me to his account as a family member because he’d have to return with a family book proving that we’re related! I mean really, who gives a crap? Sell me the box, charge my credit card monthly, and let me go!  A new contract required all the documents again! UGH! We had to make an appointment for the next day so he could gather all the documents they required.  We left and, just before we arrived the next day (it was a 30-minute drive), we got a call that their computer system was down and we’d have to reschedule. In the end, it took three trips to the Orange store and more documents than reasonable just to get mobile internet access. This is French bureaucracy at its best. Big check against France! Deep breath, one more thing done. Baby steps…

Getting a long-term visa was next. I was under the impression that I could get it done here and my intention was to pay someone to do it for me. So we went to the local Marie (a government office found in every town) to get more information. Well, I’d have to go to the Prefecture in my region. So we went online to get that information and, of course, everything is in French. Yes, here’s the website committed to helping foreigners obtain visas, and it’s all in French. Not even an option to choose a different language. I sent them an email asking a couple questions and only received an auto-reply to go to the website and find my answers on the FAQ page, which was in French. My friend, who is French and super Zen, was beginning to understand my struggles and feel my frustration.

Most importantly, however, I needed a loan. Since the broker I’d contracted with was useless, I terminated the agreement and decided to take on the banks myself. My friend taught me how to say to the banks, in French, why I was calling and to request to speak with the appropriate person. The problem came when they would respond in French. Haha! Then I’d ask them if they spoke English. If they didn’t, or if it was an automatic system and I couldn’t understand it enough to push the appropriate numbers on the phone, I’d have to hang up. So he helped me make the calls to numerous banks, and we were able to get a few appointments scheduled. Baby steps…

I sent all the required documents to the banks: business plan (the French version that was approved by an accountant and very different that the one that I did), the Compromis (my agreement to buy the house), bank statements, retirement account statements, passport, and the electrical estimate because the French business plan had it in as double what it would actually cost. The third bank I went to said, because I was to run a business, I needed to create a society and get a serial number. Well, that all takes money and there’s no point in doing it if they won’t give me the loan. “And you need to have income.” Well, I can’t have income if I don’t have a loan to buy the house! I was asking for a professional loan, not a personal one. Did they not consider that I wasn’t asking for a lot of money and could live on my savings alone for at least three years without generating any income? UGH!! One bank finally explained to me that a Chambre d’Hôte is considered a secondary business, even if it’s my primary, and this is why that requirement is in place. Finally it makes sense. I don’t agree with it but at least I understand. 

It wasn’t looking good. Time for Plan B…

Riberac: Dream vs Reality

This is the sixth installment of the series about my journey to France to make my dreams come true. You can read the first one here or follow this to see past posts. https://wordsworthywriting.wordpress.com/2023/08/28/how-it-began-my-journey-to-make-my-dreams-a-reality/ 

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Riberac: Dream vs. Reality

Through my realtor I made an appointment to see the house with the sellers to try to rent it until a loan was secured. Their English was minimal and my French dismal but we made it work. To be honest, my first impressions of the house was disappointing. In preparation for the sale, the art, rugs, mirrors, etc., had been removed. In their place now were large, faded, rectangular discolorations on the wood floors and “clean spots” on the wallpaper. The wall coverings were also torn and stained in some places or peeling at the seams. The sink in the upstairs bedroom didn’t work, the bidet leaked, pretty much everything needed some sort of attention. Not major but still… a million little things. There were a lot more repairs going to be needed than I’d anticipated. It was still very livable though, and I was excited to put my touch on the house. 

We went to their Notaire’s office where a rental document was drawn up, and we went back to the house to gather information and sign, and returned to the notaire for copies. I paid the owners 150 euros for the first months’ rent. I would also be responsible for utilities. The process took three hours but I was very grateful that they did this with me because, I am sure that left to the realtors and notaires, this would have dragged on for another week, at least.

While I knew the house was on the main street of this town of 4,000 people, and that was a positive for me, I didn’t realize how busy and noisy the street was. Not just because of town traffic, but anyone from miles around, going north or south used this road. It was the main, and only, thoroughfare for all traffic. I was disappointed that I wouldn’t be able to open the kitchen windows because of the noise, and worried about how the guests on the street side would sleep. I was also very annoyed with all the dog poop one had to dodge on the sidewalk between my place and the center. Still, for business, the location was very good; easy to find and access, and within walking distance to everything the town had to offer.

I moved into the house with little more left behind than bedroom furniture, a table and chairs, old, chipped, and mismatched dishes, some flatware and very small glasses. Not a single pot, pan, kettle, or coffee cup. I couldn’t even make a cup of tea. Because the loan wasn’t secured yet, I didn’t want to spend much money buying necessities. It was now Wednesday and I still had two days until the farmers market where I planned to buy my produce. I spent much of the day reading, A Year in Provence (Thank you, Karen!). It’s a great book, filled with beautiful and humorous writing. From the beginning, this book which was written in 1987, reflected my house-buying experience nearly 40 years later. The French government has not evolved with the times. They love their bureaucracy and paperwork!! However, it was a nice way to get me in the French mindset although I haven’t found the culinary aspect to be the same. 

Friday, finally! I woke up early and went to the market. It was massive! It encompassed an entire city block. Not just farm fresh items but clothes and household goods, and more. But the food was mostly what I was interested in. At three euros/kilo (that’s about $1.50/lb), I could buy massive, flavorful heirloom tomatoes for a fraction of the price of tasteless ones in the US, whether at the supermarket or the farmers market. The same goes for lettuce (1 euro for a massive head), carrots, radishes, aubergines, mushrooms, fresh herbs, bread, peaches, strawberries, and amazing cheeses. Homemade, herbed goat cheese for 2.80. Best goat cheese I’ve ever had! Did I mention it’s all so flavorful?!  Local honey, while not cheap, is still only 7.50 per mason jar size vs. $12+ in the US. Some things, like olives, which were comparable at 16.50/kilo but with 20 different varieties to choose from, they’re so much tastier! I cooked massive, scrumptious meals. But as delicious as my meals may have been, they would’ve been so much more enjoyable if I had a table on the terrace and someone to share them with. The loneliness is real.

I was amazed at how busy my phone had been since I arrived. Although I’ve had WhatsApp for years, my European friends rarely called me on it. Now I was receiving calls from friends in Europe and the US. I even received an invitation to a friend’s 60th Birthday party in Vienna. There was a small group of us from our early days in Vienna that have stayed in touch for the past 35 years. Over time we’ve all scattered, to Canada, US, Germany, and France. But, Vienna is where it all started and I was excited to receive the invite, which wouldn’t have happened if I was still in the US. 

Now I had to get down to business. I had an appointment at Crédit Agricole to open a bank account, which is very important for all things in France. The meeting was unsuccessful due to the lack of documents required. Ugh! Another appointment was set for the following week. It only took two appointments but I got it done. One thing completed, just ten more to go. My head was swimming. Everything in France involves so much bureaucracy: paperwork and meetings, paperwork, effort, time. So much time! There’s still the car, visa, and mortgage loan to go before I can even get a credit card, internet, hire contractors and…and…and…! It was like a tornado of all the things I needed to get done swirling in my head. For most of it, I didn’t care if I was on the French schedule, but the loan was time-sensitive and everything was dependent upon obtaining that. I didn’t have a plan B! Every day that I don’t have a loan I’m losing money. While it’s considerably less expensive here than in the US, it’s not cheap. 

Dealing With the Reality of The Process

This is #2 in the series about making my dreams a reality. Last week was about how it all began, both the thought and physical processes. To see the first post go to: https://wordpress.com/post/wordsworthywriting.wordpress.com/1148

Change can be really hard for some people. For me, it seems to be uncommonly easy. I’m sure a large part of it is because I have nobody to keep me in one place. Perhaps it’s also because I don’t sit well. If I go to a party I’d rather help the host than sit around trying to make small talk with strangers. It’s also why I usually don’t enjoy the beach. It’s boring to just lay in the sun for hours. I have to move. Ironically enough, much of my life’s movement has been in search of a place to settle down. I truly thought that was going to be in Oregon.

My boyfriend was a bit floored by all this. We’d been dating for nine months and he was talking about taking our relationship to the next level. I wanted to remain in Bend. I had a dog, a nice group of friends, was active, and enjoyed my job. We talked about staying but both of us were renting and even with our incomes combined we couldn’t afford to buy a house in Bend. A move anywhere else meant he’d have to either start his handyman business anew, which could mean a long time before he could build up his clientele to the level it was at now, or get a job. At 60 years old, that was a scary prospect. Regardless of how qualified he was, most companies weren’t going to want to hire someone who would probably retire in a few years. What were my options?

I was determined I wasn’t going to pay someone else’s mortgage for the rest of my life and houses in Bend would never go back down to anywhere near the pre-Covid prices. Plus, the town was being destroyed. Thousands of new homes were being built at the expense of eliminating trees and open land, traffic increased to road rage levels, and the process of making improvements to the infrastructure made it even worse. Going anywhere near downtown or the river became a cringeworthy thought when one considered the nightmare of trying to find a parking spot or just the crowds of people. A town five miles in diameter, designed for 60,000 people now had 120,000 with thousands more moving in every year. And, let’s not forget the year-round tourists. Prices for everything skyrocketed. Worst of all, being able to take a spontaneous hike or camping trip in the mountains was no longer a viable option. A permit process had been instituted to try and mitigate the massive crowds and damage being done to nature. I’d become disenchanted with Bend.

I invited my partner to go with me. I thought we’d be a great team: he, with his handyman and hospitality background, and me, with my computer knowledge and property management background. We were both Virgos so neat and organized were part of our make-up. I believed in ‘us’ enough to pay for him to fly to France so he could do Workaway and see if he’d even be interested in going with me since he’d never been to Europe before. When he returned he was less than enthusiastic, finding too many things about his whole experience to complain about, so I withdrew my offer. It was my dream and I wasn’t going to let him spoil it. We continued to be a couple but there was an end date in sight.

According to my realtor in France, the process would take several months but should be done by the time my lease was up at the end of May. Dumbfounded that it would take four months to close on a house, I acknowledged that it was France. They were known to work as little as possible when they weren’t on strike. And that easy, stress-free lifestyle was part of the charm of France, wasn’t it? Little did I know that four months was an aggressive target date. It took four months just to get the mandate from the Notaire. That is a document that is between the LOI and the closing documents. It was also the paperwork required by the broker at MEA Finance in France to enable her to look for a loan for me.

The infuriating thing about this lackadaisical process was that every month the mortgage interest rates went up. That sweet 3% in January would be 4% in May, and nearly five percent in August. The exchange rate as well. When I started this process it was $1.05 dollars per Euro. By summer it was a lot closer to $1.10. Five percent isn’t a lot when you’re talking about hundreds but when it gets into tens of thousands it’s a much bigger loss.

Once the mandate (in French) was returned by me, initialed, signed, and notarized—good luck finding someone who will notarize a document in a foreign language— the Notaire had to sign it and then the process would take two months. We set a closing date of Friday, July 28th. I notified the broker that this was the closing date and a loan needed to be secured a week before then. 

There was so much to do before I could leave! First and foremost, with a new closing date and my lease coming up, I was going to be homeless and needed to secure a place to live for a couple months. I would not pay the new month-to-month rate of $2,700. My boyfriend said that we should still live together, just to see how it would work, but I knew he still had hopes of coming with me. Then there was the actual downsizing and moving. Organizing garage sales, selling, donating, and giving things away. One of the last things to get rid of was my art deco buffet. It was my most prized piece of furniture and I got teary-eyed when I couldn’t sell it and had to donate it. I managed to get all the remaining items, mostly kitchen stuff, art, sports equipment, and boxes of books, games, photos, and other sentimental mementos into a 5×10 storage space. When I called to get prices for shipping, ocean freight for 400 cf would cost about $7,300.00. I about shit myself. How much for 200cf? Oh, only $5,378? Yikes! On top of that, it would take about two months once it leaves the port, and I can’t ship it until I have a long-term visa. Ugh! That was another nightmare. 

In early April I started applying for a long-term visa. One has to make an appointment with a third party for the consulate and it has to be done online. The process is infuriating. Over the next couple of months, I tried several times for both San Fransisco and Chicago, and no appointment time slots were coming up. Every time I logged onto the calendar, which only goes out two months, it was all booked up. So I conceded to pay for the ‘remote service’ where you pay $500 for someone to come to you to get the documents organized and do the process for you (that fee does not include mileage and the nearest place was in San Fransisco, 500 miles away). The website promised a 24-hour response. I sent two requests and never heard from anyone. So I decided to just go to France and pay someone there to do it for me.

There were so many layers and each one was so complicated! If it were easy, everyone would do it, right? That’s what I told myself to keep myself going. It will be worth it in the end. As the months dragged on, the reality of the financial commitment started to sink in. I’d always been content working for someone else, letting them take all the risk and have the responsibility. Now, I was doing this on my own. What if it didn’t work? This was all the money I had in the world and I would have nobody to help me or lean on, not even for emotional support. I did a business plan and realized this seasonal work was not going to provide me with enough income to last the year round. I’d have to figure out other work for the off-season. I was getting scared. Very scared. But I refused to focus on that. One will always fail at 100% of things they don’t try. I had to try. And I had to succeed. I didn’t have a Plan B.