June 12, 2013
House-hunting

          The economic crisis in France has affected real estate in Caunes, a village of 1500: there are quite a number of properties on the market, and many of them have been on the market for more than a year. Walking about the village last week I noted down the addresses and phone numbers of all those "A Vendre" and arranged visits throughout the day today.  Most of the houses are being sold by owners.  I see six houses, three offered by owners, three by a broker.  All are attached.

          The first, at the porte de Narbonne  by the gates of the old town, is sold by a Caunois painter and his wife whose children are grown.   He has bought a house in Minerve where he has a gallery he lives above.  The exterior of the house is old, but the inside has been completely renovated and is immaculate.  The price, which is a reasonable one, has dropped because of the combination of economic crisis, length of time on the market and another property to carry.  It overlooks the Black Mountains and the Pyrenees, as well as one of the old walls of the medieval town.  It is not a magazine's dream of a picturesque house, but it is turnkey.  Asking price: 165,000 Euros.

          The agent of Orpi brokers has driven over to meet us at 11 o'clock to show me a four-story house on rue Notre Dame that has a pool visible from the crack in the front door, which piqued my interest.  Imagining something worth writing an Audois version of Peter Mayle's A Year In Provence, it is disappointing to realize  that the house, while enormous, joins an old livestock stable on one side, and a charmless house on the other.  It is a second residence for a couple from the United Kingdom with children.  On account of the many cast-iron single beds, the upper floor looks like an English nursery.  The total ensemble, which includes another cast-iron bed on a landing between the third an fourth floors, makes me think of an orphanage.  The pool is shoved up against the wall between the two buildings and the land between the entrance to the two has not been floored, is just weeds. Asking price: 450,000 Euros.

          The broker, Noémie, shows me two other houses on narrow streets in the village that are much less money.  One is on the Impasse Saint Luce, a little alley.  It has a ground floor sitting room that makes me think of Balzac's characters: I can imagine an elderly grandmother with a bun sitting by the fire during the winter, her shawl wrapped around her.  Upstairs the bedroom boasts a 19th century fireplace with a navy blue-enameled door made by a master artisan.  The bathroom has been completely renovated with state-of-the-art taps and fixtures, and there is a small and completely private terrace on the roof that would be perfect for nude sunbathing.  The problem is that there is some water damage to the plaster on the ground floor, due to old pipes no doubt. Worse, the bakery across the street (one of two in Caunes), has installed a generator to keep the refrigerator going.  It emits a deafening, grinding sound at all hours.  Noémie suggests that if I put in double-pane windows I will not hear it.  I need to explain to her that I hardly think that that is an attractive proposition.  The property just came on the market. Asking price: 125,000 Euros.

          The third house Noémie shows us is a curiosity: even smaller than the house on the alley, it is inhabited by a renter, a friend of the owner.  It is actually two tiny, one bedroom houses merged together, with each bedroom on a different side of the joined building.  The renter has a hunting dog, a mix of Coonhound and German Shepherd that is being put to the test living there with the renter for more than a year.  Her long tail wags all the time, with the result that in the tiny spaces of the house, she injures herself, with the result that her bloody tail stains the the white stucco each time she moves past.  The renter a tall, blue-eyed fellow with an exotic accent is also a smoker, and the house reeks of Marlboro Golds.

          Not to exaggerate, the steps to the upper floors are so narrow and winding that I see myself paralyzed within a few weeks residence.  The ground floor has no sitting area, it is on the second floor, and the bedrooms are found on the third floor.  There is little light entering the house today, a brilliantly sunny day: in the winter, it would be Dostoievskian.  Asking price: 139,000 Euros.

          I bid adieu to the broker and, after a quick lunch, go on to see the next two houses.  The first, on rue des Lavandieres, near the abbey, is being sold by an Algerian woman, Madame Mazari.  To be more accurate, it is being sold for her by her sons, one of whom, Ahmed, will lead us through the house tour.  He has us go upstairs first, so as to show us the lovely view of the abbey from the second and third floors.  Indeed the views are a poster, but the rooms seem more Algerian than French: the light in each of the rooms is provided by a naked light bulb hanging from the ceiling.  Each shows little care for the niceties of bourgeois comfort.  Madame Azari is selling because she was widowed two years ago.  Ahmed, who spent his career with the French Army and used to live in Corsica, now lives in Bordeaux.  His brother, not he, however, will take in their mother.  All the children were raised in the house, in which Madame Azari has lived for thirty years.

          She is a lively woman of 82, with flaming orange-red hair covered by a blue scarf.  She looks entirely Algerian, with her fair skin and golden eyes.   She tells me happily that her neighbors down the street are American and lovely.  She also tells me that in Caunes there are sixteen different nationalities, proudly indicating that it is a tolerant place.  She also keeps saying to her son "Comme elle est belle! Comme elle est belle!" which makes me wonder whether she is looking for a wife for Ahmed.  Ahmed lacks a few front teeth, but is completely French, while his mother speaks only Arabic mixed with French.  She shows me her enormous couscous pots and we talk a bit about North African cookery, with her telling me, I think, that Algerian food is superior to Moroccan.

          When it comes time for me to ask the price of the house, Ahmed tells me that for that information, I will have to give him my phone number.  His brother is in charge of that side of the transaction, and will call me tonight to divulge it to me.  I find this faintly off-putting, even if the house were small enough to suit my needs.

          The last house, more house than I would ever need, 245 square meters, is the most striking.  It is being sold by a Kabylye family named Mazari, whose daughter, Madame Gonzalez, is the person to whom I spoke earlier.  Her brother, a sun-lined man who smokes the stub of a hand-rolled cigarette in between work on the front door lock, is working on the door when we arrive.  He waves us in, and his sister conducts the tour.

          The front of the house opens out onto rue Montgaillard, the back onto rue de la Petite Fontaine.  Both front and back views of the house are lovely, one facing the abbey's two  bell towers, the other adjoining a hidden little park with, indeed, a little fountain nestled in its center.  The house has five stories, including two balconies facing the houses opposite, which are now empty.  The adjoining property on the right has a terrace that is a bridge to the house opposite, whose terrace forms the other half of the bridge.  The terrace looks over the terra cotta roofs of the buildings leading to the abbey and beyond, a peaceful and soothing view.

          The Mazari children grew up there, each leaving when they married, the parents remaining behind.  Father and mother died in 2004 and 2007, but it was not until 2012 that the children agreed to put the house on the market.  The rooms are all finished with new flowering wallpaper, the roofs are painted, there are more than enough outlets, there is an enormous wine cellar in the basement, ten rooms, three fireplaces, three full baths, a two-car garage, two wall-length balconies and a shaded outdoor terrace for cooking on in the hot weather.  Madame Gonzalez will not speak of the price, that is her brother's domain.

          The tour done, we all stand in front of the house.  I spend several minutes talking with them, explaining how I came to Caunes and why I am looking, giving them my family history as well.  I let them know what other houses I have seen and the asking prices.  It turns out that Ahmed worked on the house that belongs to the English couple and they agree it is so enclosed as to be prison-like.  After these preliminaries, they are comfortable disclosing the price of the house: 250,000 Euros if I buy directly from them, 252,000 Euros if I go through a broker.  It is too much house for almost anyone, but the care with which the Mazaris have tended it begs for a purchaser who will love it as much as they do.