Do your sums - and only rent out your holiday home if you must

VoiceofExperience: The fantasy of a home in the sun can become reality, says Seamus Martin, but rain falls sometimes, even in a hot climate. La vie isn't always en rose. He offers some practical advice.

In the depths of the Irish winter the sun shines in thousands of minds at weekend property shows. Thousands more boost the TAM ratings of the increasing number of TV shows offering a holiday home to milk-skinned northern Europeans hankering for the sun, the sand and sophistication of life in the south.

On satellite TV there are now entire channels devoted to buying houses in more attractive climes. I watched an Englishwoman on Real Estate TV the other day explain her dream to buy a house in Puglia in southern Italy . . . It didn't augur well for her chances of assimilation when she pronounced "Puglia" to rhyme with "uglier." She had visited the place and loved it but hadn't, it would appear, got round to learning what the "natives" called their region.

It pays to make at least an attempt to conform to the culture of the country where you hope to buy that dream property. France, Spain and Italy, the three countries that attract most buyers from Ireland, all have cultural institutes in Dublin where courses in their languages are available at reasonable prices. Outside the capital courses in French, Spanish and Italian are also widely available.

As for sun, it can go into hiding as those wintering recently in Lanzarote can vouch for. It's worth remembering that a house is a year-round asset. It's there in winter too, so don't let a glorious summer day persuade you to buy on the spot.

To view a house on a rainy day has always been good advice in Ireland and the same holds true for elsewhere. If you fall for a place when the weather is miserable, and it even snowed in Algiers this February, then go for it.

But only go for it if you do your sums very carefully in advance. I was fortunate because my retirement lump-sum enabled me to purchase my French house outright. I didn't have to borrow and I neither need nor intend to rent my house to holidaymakers.

I'm also lucky in that full-time residents of my village keep an eye on my house when I am back in Ireland.

Renting can bring in considerable income but it can also bring its share of trouble. Friends who rented their house had furniture and other installations damaged, and there is little comeback against someone who has returned to Ireland for an act of vandalism that took place in another country.

It may be possible to insure against this sort of thing but you should only rent your house if financial considerations make it absolutely necessary.

Another thing to do your sums on is equipping your new home. It may be necessary to duplicate every stick of furniture and every knife and fork that you have at home in Ireland. You will inevitably spend more on your house than you initially anticipate.

As for the sand, every square metre can be taken up along the Mediterranean coasts in July and August. But it's cool, pleasant and uncrowded in the mountain villages back from the sea.

As far as the sophistication is concerned, it certainly exists, but in some areas of southern France in particular, it can be obliterated by rare but extremely unwelcome incidences of xenophobia.

My own complacency suffered a blow when I went to the local mairie to enquire about the amount I owed in water rates. The exchange of pleasantries included all the usual bon jours and mercis and de riens and in the end a warm handshake as the municipal policeman wrote out the amount to be paid and handed me the slip of paper with the amount due written thereon.

It was some time later, in the comfort of my home as I wrote out the cheque to be paid to the Tresor Public, that I noticed something was printed on the reverse of the slip so charmingly handed to me earlier in the day.

There in bold capital letters was printed a name that sent a chill to my spine. The words JEAN-MARIE LE PEN, the name of France's extreme right-wing anti immigration political leader, glared from the page.

An Irishwoman with a house in the same village had precisely the same experience.

With a neighbouring village having given Le Pen his highest percentage vote in all of France, it made one feel uncomfortable.

And there was a case in another village in the area where a foreign couple, who had been living there for 20 years, had, with no justification, been accused of poisoning a dog. They were thereafter subjected to severe harassment not only by anonymous assailants by also by a local policeman.

The husband, an American of strong Democratic Party convictions, and a committed opponent of the war in Iraq, was taunted as a warmonger by his neighbours.

My French friends were appalled at these examples of petty xenophobia and their views were reassuring.

Another neighbouring village, they told me, had recorded Le Pen's lowest percentage vote. They pointed out too that xenophobia is now open to very serious punishment. Persons found guilty of incitement to discrimination, hatred or racial violence, can be put in prison for a year and fined up to €45,000.

Now that's something we could do with in Ireland.

There are lots of other good things to offset those very rare incidents that make one feel unwelcome and uncomfortable. French people are very friendly and helpful except when they are behind the wheel of a car. But that Jekyll-to-Hyde transformation is pretty common in Ireland too.

One is generally made to feel very much at home and is encouraged to enjoy the undoubted quality of life of which they are so justly proud.

And, of course, there is the guaranteed summer sunshine, the wonderful food and wine, and the cultural events that abound in the summer season.

Seamus Martin, a former international editor of The Irish Times, lives part of the year in France.