Coming Home to a Place I've Never Been Before: Part I

So, I bought a house in southern France.

Hang on—before you break out the Grey Poupon, let me clarify that this is a very inexpensive house in southern France. One might go so far as to call it a stone and concrete shell with a working toilet. Still, there’s a fireplace, a yard, a farmhouse kitchen sink that’s beyond adorable. And all that really matters is that every bit of it is mine.

Oh, but did I mention the view? Here it is.

The view from my bedroom window. Do I even need to say anything else?

Alright. Before I get ahead of myself, let me start at the beginning.

Because, as an American, when I say I bought a house in France, most folks have immediate and lingering questions: How did you find this place—is it a region you go to frequently? This is usually followed by, Are you a millionaire? My answers to both are no, absolutely not.

The only question that’s a fast and easy yes is the question: Americans can just…do that? Up and buy a house in France? Yes. Yes, they can. And over the course of the next few posts, I’ll explain how I did it.

A few months ago, in January 2024, a good friend sent me a listing for a chateau in Normandy, in the northwest region.

“Can you imagine living in France?” She asked me this. Although I didn’t have the €115,000 asking price handy for a fixer-upper chateau, the idea of owning property in France was not only appealing, it was also something I’ve come back to more than a few times over the years. Working in roller derby—a global sport—for nearly two decades has helped me feel at home almost anywhere with paved concrete. So yes. Yes, I could imagine living in France.

True, my four years of public-school French won’t wow anyone in Mirepoix. But it’s enough for me to get by right now. Which, truly, is what most Americans have been doing our whole lives, isn’t it?

Anyway, after eyeing the French chateau, I started sifting through online real estate listings, bookmarking regions I was interested in. Turns out, there are more than a few websites dedicated to selling French property to folks outside the country. I’m sure you’ve seen similar TikTok and Instagram accounts dedicated to selling homes in Italy, Spain—heck, I even get ads for Scottish castles.

France is a mixed bag, with some usable properties mixed in with shells or land. And, like the US, it varies by region. Lots of properties were for sale in Limoges, for example, many of them under €50,000. If your dream is to find a functional chateau for €30,000, you may be out of luck. However, just like anywhere, there are bargains.

Widening my search to all departments in France, I visited Leggett Immobilier’s website and spotted this incredible photo on a listing in Aude, a region in the southeast close to the Pyrenees.

When I saw this photo on the real estate listing, I had to know if it was real. Turns out, it was.

As a writer, I thought this listing was eye-catching, as was the little house attached to it, priced at about €32,000. And in this economy, the US dollar is in our favor right now.

Trying not to get ahead of myself, I poured through the listing’s photos over and over again. For about three days, I walked around muttering to myself. Am I really doing this? Is this just a phase? Am I having a midlife crisis?

Turns out, I didn’t really care what my answers were. These photos just kept calling me. So, I opened my email and reached out to the realtor.

And, before you start wondering if I’m a trust fund baby, I assure you I am most decidedly not—at least, not yet. One can always dream. Growing up in Gen X, I watched my mother become the first woman in my family to have a full-time job, just to keep me and my sister on her company health insurance. My father owned a small company, and he and my mother made less than $45,000 a year combined. But they worked their asses off and invested in stocks, land, or anything they could. And I’ve always done the same—sometimes working several freelance jobs above full-time work to invest and afford things…things like, recently, a house in France.

Oh, is that a heckin’ castle across the street? Yes, thanks for asking. It’s my back yard castle, Le Château de Puilaurens, built a thousand years ago. I’ll show you the view from it in an upcoming post.

All in all, capitalism sucks. Particularly American capitalism. Nothing drives this home more poignantly than being a single mom who’s trying to run a household and a company (or companies) as a solo act in a post-COVID world. And if you want to afford a little house in France, you might have to give up, say, the Alfa Romeo.

Life is about tradeoffs. You drive a crappy Jeep so you can write books and fall asleep across the street from a castle in France a few times a year. Such is capitalism.

I also understand that an American passport—indeed, an American life—carries privilege. We’ll discuss the visa conversation in future posts, but I’m well aware that not everyone shares a boundless sense of globalism. Or is able to. Borders, and capitalism, kind of suck. They leave you constantly chasing for survival in a world that values wealth instead of peace or diversity. You end up living a life lacking in growth or intention, and one dedicated to the grind of waking up in the same bed, with the same existential dread, and the same self-promises of someday I’m going to…

So, in early February 2024, I decided that someday was aujourd’hui. After chatting with the realtor for a week or so, I booked a flight with my friend to a part of France neither of us had ever been to before.

Let’s be real, this street is begging me to get a bike with a basket.

In upcoming posts, I’ll talk about the process of meeting with the realtor and seeing the house for the first time. I can share what I know about some of the mechanics behind real estate as a non-resident in France, some problems and pitfalls, and more about the gorgeous region called Aude. And, of course, my hot takes on the truly important details—wine, cheese, and pastry.

For now, I’ll leave you with the new way my 16-year-old introduces me to people: This is my eccentric, onesie-wearing mother who writes poetry and just bought a house in France.

The exact kind of legacy I’ve always wanted.

À bientôt!