How to leave the rat race behind

The 8.16 train to London Victoria has been cancelled due to leaves on the line. We apologise for this inconvenience”

A collective groan, with British reserve, reverberated along the station platform. Another normal day in the life of the commuter trying to get into work to earn a heavily taxed crust.

I stood on the station platform and looked around me. That familiar site that had greeted my pollution-reddened eyes for the last 15 years was becoming tainted. The drab colours of ill-fitting and over worn suits, mixed with badly ironed shirts and “racy” ties. Let me tell you about those ties.

It seems that there is a belief that you can be thoughtless and grey in all of your attire, but when you enter a Gentleman’s outfitters, and head for the section marked “Ties”, you enter into a new world. This one garment can describe and liberate you, verging on being risqué and out of character. Your eyes are attracted to South Park characters, Disney or at worst, a Jackson Pollock reproduction that looks like your scrambled egg missed your mouth. You purchase this tasteless tie, and walk out of the shop, floating on air, like Mary Poppins clutching onto her umbrella.

The weather too- the favourite topic of conversation- never seems to vary. The grey, heavy skies with ever threatening rain, add a dull lustre to everything.

So, while waiting for the next train, that I know will be full, and that we will be treated to an experience that even cattle on the way to market would decline, I had to ask myself a question. What’s it all about? This has been my life for the last 15 years, the quality of my life is being diminished by continuing to be a rodent clone in this rat race, and there must be a better way to exist- even to live happily every day. Is there a way out?

My brother had left England and moved to South West France to start a new life. He was vaguely forced to do this, as he had fallen victim of the 21st Century culture of being far too old at 54 to be considered for new employment. What happened to those values that stated that experience is everything? He bought a ruin of a property in a small village for next to nothing, spent 1 year renovating it, and began a new life. I had been to visit them on a few occasions and discovered a region in France that I had previously not known. The Languedoc-Rousillon is on the West coast of the Mediterranean heading towards the Spanish border. Their home is situated in one of the 6 regions, namely the Aude.

The 5 other regions are; Herault, Tarn, Haute Garonne, Ariege and Pyrenees Orientales. Each one is different, filled with touristic and rural villages, beaches, mountains, waterfalls, history, and variety to quench all tastes. More detailed information on the regions in future articles.

Maybe this is the way out? Sometimes the best solutions are the most obvious and simple. Why not sell my home in London, kiss goodbye to my fellow commuters (maybe not) and buy a property in the Aude and work for myself.

Over a gin and tonic, with plenty of ice, a plan was hatched. I would go and spend 2 weeks with my brother, make appointments with property finders and try and find the dream. I booked my budget ticket and flew out, filled to the brim with expectations. That was short lived as the property finders had not followed my brief at all, and the appointments that they had made for me turned out to be a total waste of time. Estate Agents were not expecting me, then they dug out a handful of properties to show me that missed the mark by many kilometres.

Imagine looking at properties, day after day, that, even with the wildest imagination, one knows that they could never be renovated to any suitable level of comfort or quality. I was looking for a primary residence, not a holiday home, and therein lies a big difference. Holiday home buyers can see things through rose tinted spectacles as their needs are different to purchasers who aim to live permanently in their new home.

At the end of my first week and 27 properties later that all got an emphatic thumbs down, I was walking from my brother’s home to the Boulangerie (a trek of at least 1 minute), when I spotted a hand written notice on a green metal gate. “2 houses for sale, could be made into 1, with other properties. Contact buyer on ****** )

A phone call was made, an appointment set up for later that morning. What lay in wait behind that green gate?

Imagine 300 year old stone which was part of the villages’ ramparts. Originally the total property for sale contained 6 homes, now turned into 4 “spaces”, which included a ground floor apartment that was being used, partly, as a “kitchen” to sell Kebabs through a window to passing trade and a greasy living area. Then we have next door, a commercial property that housed an Estate Agent of unknown origins. Above both of these ground floor properties, there are 2 houses, both containing 2 floors. Lost? So was I when being shown around- trying to imagine the overall picture. After an interesting 3 hours of drinking Ricard and negotiating in typical French style, a deal was struck to purchase all 4 “spaces”, and at the end of my second week, I was a home owner in Bize-Minervois, Aude, Languedoc.

I was now free to make the next bold step and sell up in London and move to the Aude, refurbish the spaces into workable properties, and start the dream. It was no easy move, with many “interesting” experiences. I decided to set up my own Property Finding Services to offer future dream hunters a smoother ride down this worth-while but pot-holed route to leaving the rat race behind.

Copyright 2006 Propertysolutionslanguedoc.com

Purely and honestly from personal experience! http://www.wine-food-languedoc.com

Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/?expert=michael_bowditch

An exciting arrival in France

I had spent many months planning my escape. It relied on so many factors that I felt like a player in the Crystal Maze. All the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle were starting to take shape and I was about to cut free!

I was moving lock, stock and 2 smoking barrels to France from London to start a new life after 15 years stuck in pollution and the rat race. I had bought a 300 year old house 3 years previously in a small village in SW France, in the Languedoc. A small amount of work had been done on the house, but was in no way it habitable.


I had sold my house in London after many false starts, lies from potential buyers and finally, in vague desperation, accepted an offer at a lower price than the asking price. On the web, I had found a South African guy who specialised in moves to France. The date was set. The furniture and 37 boxes were packed and I was ready.

The removers arrived. 2 hours later, a small van that looked like it had seen better days was filled with my worldly possessions, driven away and I was requested to join van and man later on that day. I duly arrived at the mans’ home to be told by his wife that their best friend, who also does deliveries to Europe, was killed in a crash a few days previously. She asked me to make sure that I kept her husband awake during the long trip! Into the very uncomfortable van, Mike, the van driver, told me that he had never driven this van before. The gears groaned and crashed and we swayed along the main route from London to the port of Dover. Our ferry crossing was due at midnight. He happily announced that he had no intention of stopping during the trip, but was annoyed that the small diesel tank of his van meant that he was going to be forced to stop more than he desired, to fill her up.

Try making conversation to a stranger, who was on a different planet to the norm, at 4 am, while the van was being stretched to its beyond maximum speed! No sleep- did not dare to- many coffee and diesel stops- a bad sandwich and a sore brain from creating conversation on subjects that I didn’t know anything about. 24 hours later, we arrived in my village. All stores and restaurants closed, so had to visit neighbours to beg for food and beer.

My house was now filled with boxes and furniture. In order to be able to live vaguely comfortably in the house, I had about 6 weeks of renovation work. Day 4- all went very wrong. Being the end of January, the weather can be very unpredictable. Well, I awoke to a light falling of snow. This was the first fall for 15 years. I continued to renovate. Snow started falling more heavily. Lights flickered, cut, came back on, and then cut. As my house relies totally on electricity for cooking, heat and hot water, this was mildly alarming. Inside temperature was nudging zero degrees C.

The next day, more snow fell, and still no electricity. The river Cesse was rising at an alarming rate and could threaten to flood the village. I continued to work, wearing 4 layers of damp clothes. My hands no longer belonged to my body and my feet were suffering from rising damp. I ate some cold food and dreamt of a hot cup of tea. By 5 pm, the whole village was covered by 12 inches of still falling snow, electricity was still a distant memory, and the river was about 8 inches from causing flood damage. The fire department was evacuating old people who may be threatened by flood, the Mayor was in attendance, and doorways were being blocked against rising water.

I decided that my life hung in the balance. I needed heat, hot food and a dry, warm bed. So, armed with a 5 litre box of red wine, I ventured out to see if friend number 1 was at home. She was not. I was soaked through by now in minus zero temperatures. Knocked on friend number 2s door. They were in! Also, they had a log fire burning, electricity and a beef stew cooking! Paradise! They took me in, looking and feeling like a dog that had fallen into an Artic flow. I took off all my 4 layers of wet clothes, borrowed dry ones, and sat , unmoving, by the fire for an hour. My voice had returned, as had my appetite and thirst. I spent a blissful 24 hours with them- fully recovered, but with a sore head form too much red wine. I returned to my home, and was overjoyed that the electricity had returned and that I was able to continue my work.

The floods did not arrive and no damage was done. The electricity had been cut due to trees falling on the wires. I have to admit that I did have momentary thoughts of questioning my madness of leaving an efficient city like London and decamping into a small 1000 population village of Bize Minervois, Aude, Languedoc.

Summer is now here. The weather is now 35 C every day and the river is my swimming pool. The cigales are screeching outside, the swallows and house martins swoop through the village in huge numbers, and all is wonderful in the world! The property market is very slow, though it is a perfect time for buyers looking for a retirement home and/or a holiday home on the west coast of the Mediterranean.

My baptism of snow seems like a distant nightmare.

Copyright 2006 Propertysolutionslanguedoc.com

A very personal experience! http://www.wine-food-languedoc.com

Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/?expert=Michael_Bowditch