What a difference a couple of weeks can make! When I first planned this blog series on moving abroad, I was secure in the knowledge that we had found a place to rent. The days of hunting and indecision were over, I believed, and now it was time for the mill of administrative boredom to grind down its excruciating detail.
But alas, not so!
In the meantime, we have had not one but two properties that we had set out hearts on slipping out of our grasp. And, however ambivalent we felt about them before, their elusiveness suddenly made them all the more desirable in our eyes. Two weeks ago, I would have said: ‘Involve the children in your househunt, especially if they are reluctant to move abroad. It will help them visualise themselves in their new environment.’ But that has backfired, as the children are now crying over the swings in the garden and the playroom in which they had already mentally unpacked their toys.
So we are still very much in hunting mode, which is further complicated by the fact that: (a) Geneva is expensive and we don’t want to spend our entire earnings and savings just on rent; (b) we need to be living within 30 minutes of my husband’s experiment (and this side of the lake is much more expensive than the other side); (c) we have high-spirited boys used to chasing each other up and down stairs, so a flat is really only a last-resort option; (d) we need to be within a reasonable distance of a local primary school that has spaces and is used to dealing with multilingual children; (e) I am not based there to do all the legwork and viewing, while my husband (who does live there) does not speak French, so is reliant on the kindness of colleagues to make appointments or ask for documentation. This last point, incidentally, may well be why we lost the previous two properties, but there is no immediate solution, short of a crash course in estate-agent French.
Then there are all the normal problems and limitations that any family will encounter, such as conflicting priorities. In my experience, husbands tend to look for living rooms where they can strategically place TVs and other gadgets, or gardens where they don’t have to do much mowing. Wives tend to look for views, well-equipped kitchens and the right kind of environment/atmosphere. Children want a garden (preferable with swings and climbing frames, or swimming pools) and a playroom. It can be really hard work balancing all the family’s demands and someone’s expectations will nearly always be disappointed.
That was the hardest thing of all: accepting that we would have to make far more compromises than we had expected or understood conceptually before we had started the actual househunting.
There was that magnificent chalet up on Col de la Faucille, with breathtaking views over the Alps. Only 500 metres away from school – 500 m in altitude, that is! There was a promising house in a nice village, but with a garden so steep you could lose even the squarest ball in it. There was a large house with plenty of garden located just a street away from the place we had lived in during our previous stay in Geneva, so comfortingly familiar, but with beams knocking us out throughout the first floor. Finally, a house I craved with all my soul, except it was in the wrong village, probably the only village where I really did not like the school.
At least there were some possibilities back then. But the more I look now, the fewer I see. And the shorter the timeframes become. Oh, and can anyone help me solve the mystery of why men seem to take no pictures of storage space and the outside of the houses they are viewing?