Always when we left, with peeling noses and regret, we promised ourselves that
one day we would live here,” wrote Peter Mayle in A Year in Provence in
1989. “We dreamt of being woken up by the sun slanting through the bedroom
window. And now, somewhat to our surprise, we had done it . . . We had
bought a house, taken French lessons, said our goodbyes, shipped over our
dogs and become foreigners.”
It all happened because of a property. Mayle, a professional adman, and his
wife, Jennie, “saw it one afternoon and had mentally moved in by dinner”. It
didn’t just mark the beginning of their new life in the Provençal hills – it
also kick-started the British invasion of France and a whole new literary
genre: flit lit. The postcard from abroad had become a book.
Britons have never shied away from writing up their foreign adventures, but
where once they were of the “dispatches from the Empire” sort – all cocktail
parties and safaris – now they were about living the good peasant life.
Two decades on, and the dream of cashing in on property prices at home and
starting a new life in the Mediterranean sun is just as strong. Since 2001,
the number of people emigrating has risen by 35%, according to the Office
for National Statistics; last year, more than 200,000 Britons moved abroad.
For those not yet ready to live out the fantasy full-time, the holiday home
is the first step, and almost 850,000 own land or property abroad, with
Spain, France and Florida the most popular destinations.
As more of us have invested overseas, yet more flit-lit books have appeared. Carol
Drinkwater’s trilogy centred on her new love for olives and a new lover,
both of which were ignited when she bought Appassionata, a three-bedroom
farmhouse with 10 acres in Provence.
Not everyone followed Mayle to the south of France, but many did attempt to
emulate his paper trail elsewhere in the country. Deep France by Celia
Bray-field detailed the life of expats in the Béarn, high up in the
Pyrenees; other authors followed, venturing to grow their own wine, run a
bar or open an Indian restaurant.
As France was reaching saturation point – for the wreck-to-riches story,
anyway – it was only natural that attention turned to the rest of Europe to
avoid bumping into fellow Britons and so secure a publishing deal. Isabella
Dusi went off to Montalcino, a medieval hilltop village in Tuscany, for her
two-book deal, as did the American author Frances Mayes, whose Under the
Tuscan Sun was taken up by Hollywood and made into a film in 2003. Chris
Stewart decamped to Andalusia, Anna Nicholas went from Mayfair to Mallorca
(A Lizard in My Luggage) and Alex Browning went Shooting Caterpillars in
Spain. Such escapism was perfect poolside reading and sucked in commuters
who fantasised about leaving behind the daily grind.
A Year in Provence became an international sensation after serialisation in
The Sunday Times. It was translated into 17 languages and went on to sell
more than 1.5m copies – not bad considering it had an initial print run of
3,000.
So, what would it cost to follow in Mayle’s footsteps now? Head down to the
sun-baked terraces and lavender fields of Provence and you’ll be lucky to
pick up a ruined farmhouse with some land. “The Luberon has changed, thanks
to Mayle’s book,” says Rudi Janssens, a Bonnieux-based estate agent who
works in association with Winkworth. “Lots of Britons and Americans have
discovered the area and all are looking for the same thing: a stone mas
[farmhouse] in the countryside to do up. But almost everything has been
renovated. Today, you have to pick something that was renovated, say, 20 or
30 years ago, and redo it.”
Prices for a 300-square-metre property, says Janssens, range from £1.2m up to
£2.5m. He is selling a renovated 18th-century mas near Goult with a view of
the Vaucluse mountains. The fourbed house with pool, staff flat and large
gardens is for sale for £2m (020 8576 5582, www.winkworth.co.uk).
Janssens picks the Drôme Provençal, known for its olive trees, where values
are 30% less than southern Provence, as the next destination on the Mayle
trail. “If you want to go for real deep France, you need to go towards the
Alps and the centre of the country,” he says. “People try, but they get too
isolated: they are too far from any culture and move back.”
Thanks to the interest his first book provoked (tourists picnicking in the
garden), Mayle decamped to America for a couple of years, returning only
when the crowds had died down. Eight years ago, the couple moved to
Lourmarin, a village still in the Luberon, but this time on the southern
side of the national park, and did the same thing again.
Chris Stewart of Driving over Lemons: An Optimist in Andalucia fame (oh, and A
Parrot in the Pepper Tree and The Almond Blossom Appreciation Society) has
stayed put since he moved in 1999.
Formerly a drummer with Genesis, he rocked up with a guitar and not a lot else
in search of a wreck and a rough-and-ready lifestyle in the Alpujarras.
“You need about £65,000 for a decent heap of stones in a desirable location,
and just as much again, if not more, to cover the work,” says Barbara Wood,
who runs the Andalusian end of search agency The Property Finders (0800 622
6745, www.thepropertyfinders.com
). She knows of a 180-square-metre house set in three acres, 10 minutes’
drive from Villanueva de Tapia, in need of renovation, on the market for
£67,000; buyers will need to spend £120,000 doing it up.
So it seems that buying into the Spanish good life isn’t as prohibitive as the
south of France, but it may be that Stewart’s remote choice of location is
one reason that prices haven’t rocketed up in postMayle fashion. “On the
southern flank of the Sierra Nevada, you can find great villages in the
summer,” says Wood. “But the winters are tough. A milder climate may cost
you 20% more, but then you can grow lemons, avocados and olives.”
Finding wrecks to do up in central Italy is altogether more difficult. A lot
has changed since Annie Hawes turned readers of Extra Virgin olive-green
with envy when she bought a house in Ligu-ria, and Dusi and Mayes upped
sticks to Tuscany.
“The market has moved on; now people want to buy the finished article,” says
Bill Thomson, head of the Italian desk at Knight Frank (00 39 055 218457, www.knightfrank.com),
who has two wrecks on his books: an 18th-century farmhouse in 25 acres near
Gaiole in Chi-anti, for £478,000, and one close to Siena in need of
modernisation for £1.1m.
“You can still find a wreck in Tuscany, but they come up rarely,” he says.
“Those that want to do the same [as the books] are heading to Umbria,
northern Lazio, Puglia and Sicily.” Hawes herself has also departed. After
10 years in Italy, she went to Morocco and Algeria, where she ended up on a
date farm in an oasis, and the resulting book, A Handful of Honey, has just
been published.
The shelves may be groaning with flit lit, but there are a few gaps. There’s
yet to be A Year in Bulgaria or Downhill in Dubai: Skiing in the Desert.
Also, the literary output from North America, the third most popular
destination for Britons, has yet to take off. Why? Perhaps the common
language doesn’t allow for comic misunderstanding; then there’s the lack of
old stone houses to do up. Or perhaps, dare I say it, Florida doesn’t appeal
to the budding man of letters.
Rural France, it seems, still exerts the greatest pull. Among the latest
titles is The Field by the River by Ken Burnett, which combines an interest
in natural history with the “let’s move to France” genre, recording the
wildlife in the field adjoining his 350-year-old house in Brit-tany. And
this week sees the publication of Chateau Monty: A Corking Wine Adventure by
Monty Waldin, the enfant terrible of the organic wine world. Needless to
say, at the start of his new career abroad, he is hurtling towards 40. He
breaks his back, literally, and along with his adopted dog, Harry, a jack
russell, joins fellow wine growers of the Roussil-lon as he attempts, on a
small budget and limited experience, to create a biodynamic organic wine.
However, the blue-shuttered house in the foothills of the Pyrenees and the
vines were rented. He now lives in a 1930s semi in Tuscany with an allotment
and a garage-cum-office built of straw bales. So expect a sequel. I’m sure
Mayle would raise a glass of vino.
Flit lit: the rules
1. Buy a property – it can be a maison-de-maître, chateau, cortijo
or finca, whatever you like or the locals call it, but it must be a
wreck
2. Choose a location or business proposal that hasn’t yet been written about:
a brothel in Bulgaria? Beekeeping in the Arctic Circle?
3. Make one stunningly rude and hilarious faux pas
4. A team of workers must down tools in a Mediterranean-style huff, leaving
you stranded. You will then be saved by a local hero with a ruddy face and
robust language who will initiate you into the secrets of village life
5. Take up a hobby: boules, cooking, flamenco or truffle-hunting. If
single, take a lover
6. Never suggest it is lonely or that you miss anything more than marmalade
and baked beans. The holiday spirit must reign supreme, but be rude about
English tourists who dream of moving abroad
7. Drag it out as long as possible – there could be scope for a sequel
