Life in Spain, life in France – the differences!

GANDIA, VALENCIA - THE MAIN SQUARE

As well as being a more than happy house owner and recent resident of Spain, I am also fortunate to have owned a property in France for almost 26 years. Nowadays visits to France are much less frequent than before, usually only a couple of weeks a year in late summer.

Our property in France is in a small, typical, very beautiful Provençal village an hour from the coast and an hour east of Cannes. When I bought it the village was a simple, quiet place with few tourists. Occasionally a British car could be seen, usually after a TV programme featuring Frank and Nesta Bough as they toured their way round France. In the early days the living was easy with 10 French francs to the pound and diesel at very low prices.

This year in September the changes to the village and the noticeable prosperity of the locals was very marked indeed. Property in the area is back to the record prices of 2007!

A simple village apartment in our French village is just under 200,000 euros. A house similar to where we live in Spain (in La Drova, Gandia, Valencia) would be around 500,000 euros and would be sold within weeks – a huge difference between France and Spain! There are many properties for sale at well over the million mark level.

The village is now packed with visitors from northern Europe and Scandinavia and this is where the new prosperity is coming from. Belgium, Luxembourg, Germany and the Netherlands are around 10 hours away on excellent AutoRoute’s, Scandinavia just an hour or so away on a low cost airline. For visitors from the euro zone the cost of living in France is probably lower than staying at home and the way of life considerably better.

The locals’ main ambition is to move out of the village and buy a new, off plan, single storey house with an above ground pool. Their old house – too hot in the summer and too cool in the winter is quickly snapped up by artists from the north, who soon have their potter’s wheels turning and churn out designer ashtrays at 300 euros each.

Outside the village the relocated locals can relax and await the stream of phone calls for their skills, be it for building, electrical, painting or plumbing work. Unlike in Spain there is no shortage of work – as long as you are French with the correct certificates – and there is only a small black economy. Unemployment in the south of France is low.

With this prosperity comes inevitable change. The weekly market is more like a scene from a Disney film (‘Provenceland’ perhaps!) – so much so that maybe the village should be dismantled and shipped to Florida for extra winter sun!

There are lots of visitors photographing melons and peaches and loitering without intent to buy anything. If you haven’t ordered your market rotisserie chicken early or booked your lunchtime table you will be met with that Gallic shrug which basically means: “you must be joking”.

No Spanish flexibility or welcome there – so notable and pleasurable an aspect of life in Spain!

Nothing sums up the difference between France and Spain more than the village paper shop. I have visited the shop so often over the years and only very rarely, regardless of how many papers I have bought, have I ever received any sign of recognition or more than a muttered cool response to my own “bonjour”.

No “Hola!” or “Buenas dias!” -  and smile there.

COTIGNAC IN FRANCE

The shop has prospered greatly and outside there is a carousel of British and other non-French newspapers.  But woe betides anyone who glances at these newspaper headlines – without an intention to purchase!

In the high season the couple who own the shop divide their duties with the wife sitting outside like Madame Defarge, ready to pounce upon an unwitting visitor who looks or touches her papers. For the full French cool treatment, take down a paper, enter the shop, join the wrong end of the inevitable queue and try to buy a lucky dip lottery ticket. Although the proprietors know perfectly well what you want, they will make you sweat both physically and mentally whilst you try to explain what it is that you need. I have taken to sending my partner to buy the papers. An addict of Paris Turf (the racing paper) and much less timid than me, she hides behind the carousel before diving into the shop.

Victory!

On the last day of our time in France this year, my partner and I went for a coffee in the tree lined village square. It was Forum des Associations day: a chance for local groups to sign up new members for the winter programme of activities. Close to the cafe were a group of British women – of a certain age, shall I say. Dressed in long white dresses with tartan sashes they resembled the forgotten performers in the 1960′s White Heather Club TV show. In the background a Jimmy Shand tape was playing. It was the Scottish country dancing society. Business was very slow, not much interest there.

My partner turned to me and said “I think it’s time to go!”

The folded bill arrived on a plate.

I felt my partner’s hand on my arm. She pointed at a large, red machine on a nearby wall. “What’s that?” she asked.

“Hmm. I think it’s a defibrillator” said I. “There are now a few around the village”.

“What’s it for” she asked?

Thinking of what to say, as I opened the bill and passed it to her: “for the heart attack you have, when you receive the bill!”

Grand crème coffees at 4.50 euros each. Ouch!

No Carajiilo, tostados, cortados or café solos at reasonable Spanish prices here – and no friendly Spanish welcome either.

Looking at me, she said “Life in Spain is so much better.  Let’s go home, now – to Spain”

Iain Henderson – Culture Spain

Iain lives in Spain, was a professional soldier and is a businessman who has lived in many different parts of the world.  His lovely villa is available for rent during the summer months.