Window searching les Immobiliers in Gramat was tantalising, but it was only when we took the plunge and walked into one of their offices that things started to get interesting.
We waited patiently for the afternoon lunch break to be over, and when Monsieur l'Immobilier arrived to unlock the door, holding a tiny cup and saucer in his hand, we hesitated a moment before following him inside.
Clearly the hordes of Brits holidaying in France during the summer add "House Hunting" to their must-do list, as Mr l'Immobilier was superbly and - it has to be said - magnificently laconic and indifferent to G's stumbled enquiries. Effortlessly channelling Gerard Depardieu, Monsieur was a French caricature. His large frame was a shambles in crushed linen; his long, untidy hair fell across the forehead of a face with unruly Gallic features; he wore noisy clogs on his large feet; and when he drank, he cradled a doll's cup in a giant hand. Cordial, without being friendly, and shall we say restrained in his enthusiasm for our request, he nevertheless provided us with a few pages with the approximate location of several barns for sale in the area.
If we were interested in a formal visit, then by all means, we should return, but in the meantime, have a look and see if any were of interest. He could not give us specific addresses - it was the law in France...
Instead he helpfully showed us (with sweeping gestures of his pencil over the large map of the region on his wall, me desperately noting down names and major routes), the approximate location of the properties before going back to the hectic bustle of his afternoon. Not.
We spent a fruitless couple of hours trying to find the cheapest barn - our directions were simply too vague - and anyway, we calculated that it was no bigger than a double bed on two levels (truly a stone 'tent'). The second barn was more like a half-collapsed and overgrown stone shed, and was situated on the Causse de Gramat, a rocky plateau area which G and I find a little bleak.
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| Barn #2 |
Thégra was a delight. We loved the village, with its attractive buildings, winding lanes and beautiful surrounding countryside. We mooched about, trying to spot the third barn and eventually parked next to what we assumed was the barn in question. G got out to ask a neighbour for information and was told that we should speak to the man next door. I sat in the car, watching while G knocked and then began to speak with the man who answered the door. After some discussion, G gestured for me to join him.
Apparently it had taken a few minutes before the two men had realised that they both spoke English! Ken was an ex-South African, who divided his time between the UK, Portugal and France. He kindly invited us into his beautifully restored barn and we spent a while chatting and exchanging enthusiasm for this turning-barn-into-home folly that we had in common. He had managed to turn half of his barn into a gite, which provided a steady income from May to September each year. Ken was full of information regarding the burdensome bureaucracy in France, specifically the potential Batiment de France hurdles that would need to be cleared if we chose a building near a building of significance or a village, such as Thégra, of heritage status. He also pointed out the advantages of being part of a village from the sewage, as well as the social, point of view, since there would be no need for that medieval bastion of rural France, la fosse septique (septic tank).
Ken was curious about what had brought us to this corner of France, and when we referred to Darnis, surprised us by saying he knew the Stuckes and that sadly, Henry had recently passed away. He also said that there were a couple of Mites who had returned to France and were now living in the area! Clearly l'Auberge de Darnis had made an impression on others too...
Leaving Ken, we eventually found the third barn on the silent outskirts of the village. It was a good size, and not too dilapidated. While I kept watch and held back a swinging shutter, G climbed through a window and crept around in the junk taking photos. He even managed to climb up a ladder to the top floor. Pros: good size; in reasonable shape; in a great village and area. Cons: In a Batiment de France heritage village therefore difficult, maybe impossible, to get planning permission for new penetrations; facing the road and not the fields; communal bins right next door; expensive (probably because it was in a sought-after village).
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| Barn #3, Thégra |
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| Communal poubelles with barn at left |
After a picnic of bread and camembert (our idyll interrupted by the arrival of a tractor, which seemed especially large from ground level), we explored the village further. We passed another À Vendre sign on the left, just before leaving the village. A lovely but faintly ramshackled house was separated from a tiny but pretty stone barn by a vine-covered pergola. The barn instantly spoke to us, and we sat in the car while G summoned the courage to ring the number. He spoke to the owner and managed to glean that she was not interested in selling only the barn. A little stillborn dream.
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| Thégra cutie - barn #4 |
No visit to the area would be complete without a detour to Darnis. This was our second visit since leaving in 1988. In the summer of 1992, G and I (with our baby daughter and my parents) paid Darnis a visit. Although outwardly not much had changed, it seemed that the renovations had been completed: Lawrence Stucke and his girlfriend were running it as a Michelin-rated restaurant and auberge.
This time, despite it being high summer, the place was deserted and the Michelin sign faded.
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| Darnis 2010 |
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| Note the Michelin sign |
Barn #5 was a magnificent structure that nestled in a sleepy hamlet and presided over a small piece of land bounded by fields below, an orchard on one side...and a really ugly, in-your-face house right next door. It was also beyond our price range.
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| Barn #5 |
While camping nearby at Padirac, the day before our return to Sydney, we heard about a barn for sale in the area and went on a madcap search for it. We'll never know if the barn we found down a tree-lined lane, with views over the sheep-dotted fields, was the one. It was in the process of being renovated, and perhaps the owner had run out of money or steam, since it was deserted the day we saw it.
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| Barn #6 at the foot of the lane, near Padirac |
Whatever the circumstances, it fanned the flame of our barn passion, and when we returned on the train to Paris the next day, we were already plotting our next move. We wanted a piece of French countryside so badly we could taste it.
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