chroniques d’une fraise

Loan offers much better than my worst-case scenario are coming in, and with the compromis de vente (sale agreement, a legally binding document for buyer and seller) signed by all parties, barring exceptional circumstances, the apartment will be mine! These photos are from the advert (not mine), I’ll take other pictures when I have the chance — silly me forgot to do so when I had my handheld camera with me last time. The kitchen is a great size, and I like the bar. As mentioned before, the living room is decorated with fake rocks (which I’ll remove), and it has a cozy nook the right size for a couch. The façade is late art déco; the building is from the late 1940s/early 1950s. The arches on the upper balconies are repeated (without detailing) inside my place, over all the doorways. I love simple arches done like that on high ceilings.

As a few people (in real life and here) have mentioned, I’ve come a long way. The story, since its original telling isn’t online anymore: four years ago I broke up with my then-boyfriend of seven years. Four years before that, when my boyfriend and I arrived in Nice and found our apartment, he put the apartment rental agreement in his name only, explaining that it kept me safe from legal pursuit if anything happened. But when I broke up, he found a new place and I had no recourse on keeping the old one. As a foreigner with noone to act as guarantor, unmarried (single woman…), and a freelancer (i.e. no permanent job contract), landlords wouldn’t even consider renting to me. My ex also took all of the furniture, since without an apartment, I “wouldn’t need it.”

A few months later, I offered to take care of our cat, Malo, at my ex’s place for Christmas — I was living in a self-catering “apartment”, meublé in French, that didn’t allow animals. On Christmas Eve, I arrived at an apartment with no cat… no cat food dish… no litterbox… and no explanation. A few days later I learned that my ex had given away Malo as a Christmas present. (This parenthesis is where I gloss over my fury.)

A year after the breakup, I was still living in the meublé, whose owner was dropping unmistakable hints about renting my apartment to someone else for the summer. She started having prospective renters visit, since I had a lower rate than she could get from tourists in high season. One day in March, so depressed that I’d written about it on my blog, out of the blue I got an email from my current landlords, who read this site and so knew what was happening. They had an apartment that would be freed up soon — I visited and could hardly believe my eyes. It had a gas stove (I love cooking with natural gas), beautiful light, was furnished, and they hoped Malo would be able to enjoy it some day.

As if that weren’t miracle enough, a couple days after moving in, the “gift recipient” of Malo decided that cat fur was not something she wanted to deal with. That same day, Malo was back — and so was my bookcase, amazingly enough. Another big “thank you” to Landlord T and Landlord S, as well as family members who helped — without their generosity, I honestly have no idea how I would have managed.

Life has fallen back into place since then, accumulating my own furniture gradually, having a permanent job contract, and soon, my own home. I’m happy to say that living out of my hiking backpack in a dark, cockroach-infested hotel without my cat is now only a rough memory that I can look back on and sigh with relief. And I am so, so happy to have been able to stay in Nice. It has its quirks, to be sure, but I’ve come to love it. I never imagined while growing up in the countryside near Springfield, Oregon, that one day I’d own a place on the French Riviera.

Last Saturday I stumbled via SeLoger.com onto a 45 square meter (480 square foot) apartment with an 18 square meter (200 square foot) covered terrace — with northern exposure, on a quiet side street, 200 meters/yards from a Nice-Sophia bus stop (!!!) and 300 meters/yards from a tram stop. The ad said it was in good shape and selling for 120K, a price I could afford. On Tuesday evening I visited and made an offer for 115K, which was accepted Wednesday evening, and this afternoon I signed the compromis de vente. In other words, unless no bank is willing to finance me (technically 2 banks would have to refuse), which is rather unlikely though not totally impossible, I’m the proud owner of an apartment in Nice!

In a part of France reputed for its “cheapest” properties going for 5000 euros per square meter, I got 2500 euros per square meter! (Conversion: 240 euros/square foot. I don’t convert the euros into dollars because as purchasing power goes, the reality is that a French person with a euro in France basically has the same as an American with a dollar in the US. Obviously this changes the moment the French person purchases anything outside of France, and vice versa.) It should be said that you can find 3000-4000 euros per square meter here, but you need to have done your research on Nice quartiers, be patient, not have your heart set on a view of the Mediterranean, and usually be willing to do some work on the place. I’m quite lucky in that nothing urgent needs to be done — a few cabinet and closet doors could be replaced, some shelves need another nail, and I plan on repainting, but that’s all. Why the low price then? It’s half underground and has fake rocks glued onto one wall! (Fake rocks that I wholeheartedly plan on removing myself.) The southern end of it is underground, and the terrace is at ground level. Other prospective buyers were put off at having to walk downstairs to reach the apartment entrance. I personally find it nice, especially since the summer sun won’t be pounding on any part of my place.

All that said, I must admit to feeling a bit of panic. The apartment is great: high ceilings, nooks with arches, several closets, an enclosed laundry room, separate toilet, good-sized kitchen with real wood cabinets and bar, electrical and water all updated within the last two years, no signs of water or structural damage, in a beautiful stone art déco building from the late 1940s, a lovely terrace on an inner courtyard (i.e. no street noise) that fills the living room and kitchen with light, and the terrace is enclosed (with green wiring that’s nearly invisible) because the previous owners had cats! There’s even a cat door. Malo will be in cat heaven and I won’t have to worry about him visiting neighbors. So it’s not the place itself behind my mild panic, but rather the realization that I’m really going to have a home all my own and what that’s going to entail financially for a good deal of my life. As it’s an apartment, the notion of copropriété applies.

Photos will come as soon as a bank has agreed to finance me, which should be within two or three weeks. I’ve been browsing apartments for a while now and have been given good advice by people here (thanks to all of you, you know who you are!), but it all still makes me a bit light-headed. (For the love of God, please do not ask me for information about financing real estate in France. Contact a French bank or three, and read up on other loans/financing available.)