Why moving to France doesn't guarantee the good life

Telegraph

4 days ago

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It starts, as dreams often do, with a holiday. Mornings spent savouring strong coffee and still-warm croissants from the boulangerie; evenings drifting from ice-cold rosé aperitifs to long dinners accompanied by a chorus of cicadas.
In the haze that follows, a vision takes shape: living la belle vie francaişe – forever.
For many looking to move away from Britain, France is a haven where excellent wine is cheap and a charming pied-à-terre awaits anyone handy with a power drill.
Despite new layers of Brexit bureaucracy, thousands are still moving to EU countries each year. At the end of 2024, just under a quarter (23pc) of British-based respondents were considering doing so, according to research by Currencies Direct, driven by the cost of living and property at home and better job prospects overseas.
But the analysis also suggests that France is losing its allure among British expats. Spain, Italy, Australia, Canada and America rank as more desirable destinations. According to France's interior ministry, an estimated 8,400 first-time residency cards were issued to British citizens at the end of 2024, down some 10pc from the previous year (9,339) and 24pc compared to 2022 (11,174).
While there is much to enjoy about emigrating to France – gorgeous landscapes, rich culture and a high quality of life – plenty of expats have experienced the complex reality.
'We were caught out by French tax, but still want to stay'
Andrew and Caroline Lewis, both 60, had always adored the south of France. They both spent holidays there as teenagers. Fast forward a decade, and with six sons in tow, they continued to take trips across the Channel. 'We couldn't afford hotels, so we'd drive the car down with everything we owned strapped to the roof for two weeks' camping,' Andrew says.
Alongside Andrew's construction business, they bought and sold houses in London, always hoping there would be enough left over to buy somewhere in France – but paying for the children's schooling got in the way. When their youngest finished his studies, they finally had the funds to start searching. They viewed 250 properties over the next few years.
Nothing felt right, until they found an 18th century farmhouse in Quissac, a village in Occitanie. It was 'a pile of stones': no windows, no doors, half the roof gone, and reeking of the 5,000 hunting pheasants living on the land.
A week later, they spotted a cock pheasant in their Wimbledon garden and took it as a sign. After lengthy negotiations with the owner's children – under France's strict inheritance laws, all heirs must agree to a property's sale – they bought the 32-bedroom property, La Deveze, and its surrounding 200 acres.
The renovation took three years while they commuted between Quissac and London. They moved full-time in 2018 although it was far from finished.
'We lived with holes in the floor, bats everywhere, and no heating,' Caroline says. 'I remember watching Downton Abbey in the dark, freezing, thinking: this is the life!'
They worked with French builders on major jobs but handled the finishes themselves, including replacing the roof with 22,000 Roman-style tiles.
Then Covid hit, halting Andrew's business and forcing them to sell their London flat. As newly classified French tax residents post-Brexit, they were hit with capital gains tax in the UK – since it wasn't their main home – and again in France, with no allowance or taper relief.
'We'd only owned La Deveze for two years, so the French tax was high,' Andrew says. 'On top of the money pit that we were still trying to make liveable, it really caught us out.'
Despite setbacks, the Lewises have found their rhythm. They have transformed the property from hosting holiday rentals and yoga retreats into a bespoke wedding venue, with 28 bookings lined up for the next calendar year.
A return to the UK looks unlikely – especially with a new dream project in the Côté d'Azur. 'It's been abandoned for nine years, with a view straight over the Bay of Cannes,' Andrew says. 'Maybe we're being stupid, but it would be the perfect bolthole for us to relax in between weddings.'
'Making friends with the French was tough'
The French countryside has been luring Britons for years, with TV shows like Peter Mayle's series A Year in Provence and Channel 4's Escape to the Chateau capturing the hearts and minds of expats looking to leave behind their daily grind.
The result is that parts of rural France have quietly become 'Franglo-Saxon'. According to Insee, France's national statistics agency, the top three regions with the highest British presence – Nouvelle-Aquitaine, Occitanie, and Île-de-France (which includes Paris) – are home to around 78,000 British expats, roughly the population of Shrewsbury.
In many cases, their arrival is slowing rural decline and boosting local economies. But for anyone keener on authenticity, the sudden appearance of fish and chip restaurants and corner shops peddling PG Tips and Marmite could feel they're trading one British bubble for another.
Ann Tams, 74, and her husband Chris, 72, experienced this first-hand after buying a riverside townhouse in Couiza, just under an hour's drive from Carcassonne, in 2006.
'Properties in France were still relatively cheap – we paid £80,000 and used it as a holiday home,' she says. Their summers were spent hiking and playing tennis; winters meant trips to small, nearby ski resorts.
But it was moving to Algiers for three years for Chris's job that piqued their appetite for adventure. By 2011, fluent in French and ready for a change, the couple made the leap and moved to France full-time.
Looking for more space and a bigger garden, they sold the house in Couiza and relocated to Ginoles, a small spa village just outside Quillan, near the Pyrenees.
That, Ann says, was their first mistake. 'It was much harder to integrate as it was full of Brits who just wanted to stay British; not speaking French and sticking to their own groups, which wasn't what we came for.'
The couple threw themselves into village life – attending fêtes, sports clubs, and community events – but deeper friendships remained tricky. 'Making friends with the French was tough, as they're not unfriendly, just very private,' she says. 'It took us five years to be invited to our neighbour's house across the road, even though we'd invited them numerous times.'
Disillusioned by the isolation and climate-related decline in ski conditions – and pulled home by the desire to spend time with ageing family members – they put the house on the market in 2016.
It wasn't a speedy French exit however, as the property took three years to sell.
'We hit a slump in the market and lost money, eventually selling it to another British couple,' she says, adding that she was grateful they had kept hold of their home in West Sussex.
Now the couple are preparing to move to Dumfries and Galloway, not far from their daughter in Glasgow – 'our 10-year itch,' as Ann puts it.
They haven't returned to France since selling the house. 'August in Ginoles was unbearable, and winters were freezing, so we're enjoying a more temperate climate now,' she adds. 'Living elsewhere makes you appreciate the UK, even the weather!'
Endless admin kills the joie de vivre
For all its pastoral promise and slower pace of life, France isn't always the sun-drenched paradise it is imagined to be. And time spent in the country doesn't necessarily make its foibles easier to ignore.
For Roy Carpenter, 59, the has rose tint faded the longer he has stayed.
Carpenter has lived in Lyon for almost 30 years. He is originally from the US and works as a professor of American civilisation at the Université Grenoble Alpes. He came to France for love, married a French woman and stayed after the divorce. He is now married to Shona, 63, a Scot.
Even with a level of French far above the average Anglophone, he was treated as an outsider to start with. 'The best thing was when they would say 'gosh, you're alright for an American',' he laughs.
He's long been intrigued by the British – and to some extent, American – love affair with France. 'After two weeks in the sun, everyone wants to move here,' he says. But behind the joie de vivre lies endless admin and a frustrating aversion to queuing, according to Carpenter.
Beyond the clichés, he finds France to be far more conservative than many outsiders realise. 'In the States, people think it's socialist and liberal, but it's not,' he says. 'Even the Left-wing parties, until Macron, were more conservative than the Conservatives.'
Change, he adds, comes slowly, if at all: budgets don't add up, protests are constant, and even teenagers take to the streets over pensions. The national mindset, he believes, is summed up in a phrase: ' Oui, mais pas comme ça' – yes, but not like that. 'They want change, just never the way it's proposed.'
Carpenter sees France as fiscally cautious to the core. 'They don't want you to take on debt,' he says, recalling how even a simple student loan for his son came wrapped in layers of red tape – insurance, insurance to insure the insurance, and invasive financial questions. 'As his guarantor, they asked why I'd spent €300 the previous February. I thought, why do you care?'
He also notes that debit cards are king, and mortgage lending is approached with extreme caution, with terms rarely over 10 years. After a long-standing health issue, he was repeatedly refused a loan for his own house.
With retirement on the horizon, the couple plan to swap France for Scotland or America, although they worry about the financial leap they'd need to make and missing out on decent healthcare as they age.
Their mixed feelings are a reminder that for many expats, moving to France – despite the gastronomy, the sun and the fêtes – is no guarantee of the good life.