That’s us.
Florent had received permission for us to view the apartment one more time between check-ins to take some measurements and more closely examine the appliances to determine their operation.
What we have learned is that this apartment is newer than we had thought. It only went into holiday rental service a year ago in July. So the revenue it has generated only covers a nine-month period. That’s promising for our future.
It also means that the appliances are newer than we had thought. They are all top of the line, bright and shiny. The washing machine looks like it may never have been used.
The microwave, dishwasher, refrigerator and other kitchen appliances look the same. The kitchen has no oven, but the microwave is a convection combination with a single heating element on the top of the tiny cabinet. Very efficient and very flexible.
As we walked toward the front door, I asked Florent if the owner had responded to our offer. Florent replied that he had indeed countered, and I simply said, We will accept that.
I don’t think poor Florent was prepared for that answer, but we had arrived at exactly the price I had projected. There was no need for further discussions. Let’s just sign the papers and get the process moving.
After taking some measurements and poking into what closets we could, we made some notes of minor items that needed attention and then left the apartment so the next tenants could move in by 3 p.m.
I felt like the dog that chased the car and got it. Now what?
We were about to become home owners in Nice.
Family and Friends, contact Smart BNB at https://www.smartbnb.immo and ask for Marina. Then ask her for our apartment.
Our viewing was sandwiched in (sorry) between lunch and our planned walk up Castle Hill two blocks from the apartment at the end of rue Rosetti.
We had enjoyed a pizza and escargot at La Pairolerie before, but neither was on the menu this time. So we “settled” for a citron chicken for Lynn and the lamb confit for me. My lamb was excellent, but Lynn graded her chicken as only “okay.” It wasn’t a bad meal by any standards, just not to the level of what we have enjoyed elsewhere. Our glasses of Chablis and rosé were just splendid, however.
We then followed up our inspection meeting with Florent with a drink on Place Rosetti to celebrate, another glass of rosé for me and a Chardonnay for Lynn. I could see where this day was going. By the time we polished off our celebratory wine while hearing some of Florent’s varied background as an English teacher, a betting parlor worker and now a real estate agent, we decided to postpone the hike until Sunday. Castle Hill will still be there.
One dangerous attraction just around the corner from our intended apartment is a little dress shop named Even that offered scores of spring outfits in floral patterns on light cloth at reasonable prices. Lynn had bought one two days earlier, and now she wanted another that was displayed on the street. She purchased the second dress, but discovered that it was one size too small, so after trying it on in our apartment, she marched out to exchange it while I napped.
By the time she returned with the proper size, it was already time to begin preparations for dinner at Comptoir du Marché, another of Mr. Crespo’s restaurants. The dining room is tiny, so the outside tables double the restauarant’s capacity. The noise level rises fairly high inside the small dining room with tile floors and wood paneled walls, so it was hard to carry on any sort of conversation.
Our meal was a bit of a disappointment by Crespo standards. We ordered the grilled calamari starter, which was prepared with slices of grilled artichokes. Lynn found the artichokes very bitter, although the calamari was quite good. So we had to eat around that.
She ordered the beef cheeks, which were served in a black iron pot swimming in broth with vegetables. We thought they would be daube-style, but in fact the cheeks were served more as confit formed like a hockey puck. A delicious hockey puck, mind you, but not the rich sauce we had expected.
My own leg of lamb came out as an entrecôte rather than a hunk. And it tasted more like pork than lamb. Again, there was nothing wrong with it, but it was not what I expected.
The night ended in a bit of frustration, as we tried to stop off at Wayne’s for a nightcap but could not score a seat anywhere inside because the band was playing by then. I wanted a Havana Club to celebrate our pending purchase, but it was not to be. Instead, we walked around the corner to Cave du Cours, but it too was packed to capacity.
So we went home mostly sober to ponder our prospects as part-time residents and full-time investors in Nice.