We assembled at the seller’s notary’s office in Mediaş: the seller and his daughter, our lawyer, a translator, the notary and us. The translator is compulsory in Romania so you know exactly what you’re signing.
It took us some time to find the office – strange addressing and numbering – the piaţa turned in to a street and both were numbered separately – we’re easily confused. While we were wandering around we met Ligia, our friend, Raoul who lives in Mediaş’ wife. She was surprised but we hadn’t said we were coming because we were unsure how the day was going to turn out so thought we’d just wait and see. The seller had seemed to be prevaricating a little and perhaps having second thoughts about the price; he kept asking for money up front to pay his taxes and so on. Our lawyer impressed upon him that any money would be deducted from the asking price. There were other petty wee problems which were easily surmounted and we finally met him for the first time at the notary’s. He turned out to be a lovely man who is broken-hearted that he is having to sell his family home. We assured him that we would love it and look after it and he and his daughter were welcome to visit; it is a difficult time for all involved.
It took us some time to find the office – strange addressing and numbering – the piaţa turned in to a street and both were numbered separately – we’re easily confused. While we were wandering around we met Ligia, our friend, Raoul who lives in Mediaş’ wife. She was surprised but we hadn’t said we were coming because we were unsure how the day was going to turn out so thought we’d just wait and see. The seller had seemed to be prevaricating a little and perhaps having second thoughts about the price; he kept asking for money up front to pay his taxes and so on. Our lawyer impressed upon him that any money would be deducted from the asking price. There were other petty wee problems which were easily surmounted and we finally met him for the first time at the notary’s. He turned out to be a lovely man who is broken-hearted that he is having to sell his family home. We assured him that we would love it and look after it and he and his daughter were welcome to visit; it is a difficult time for all involved.
Made even more difficult by the notary – three hours we were in his office while he faffed around with documents which hadn’t been prepared in advance despite him having been sent all the information he required already. We were stuffed into an airless, chaotic, cluttered office the state of which said nothing for his organisation or efficiency and left me, me who has a fairly untidy desk at work, asking how he could possibly know where anything was. Everything in Romania has to be notarised. Everything. So, given that this is a really important job in Romania and the notaries have to stake everything they own on their accuracy – if they make costly mistakes, they can lose everything, his way of working was rather curious.
So, we spent our three hours waiting while he had the documents typed – yes, it was that bad – mistakes, of which there were many, corrected – apparently the hungry one’s middle name is Citizen; how not to read a passport. This was all very well but things had to be done in time for us – the seller and I – to get to the bank before they closed at five o’clock. We had to make the transfer into his account, get proof of transfer, take it back to the notary, get it notarised – now, that’s odd – and, as I recall now, we had to go back to the bank to do something else. By this time, I was rapidly losing the will to live and was just begging for it to stop. Soon. Now. Please.
Unsurprisingly, over the course of the afternoon, we started to get to know one another. It turned out that both the seller and his daughter speak more English than they thought they could which made it easier. After a while boredom and acute nicotine deficiency in all but the seller and our lawyer led us outside to the notary’s cries of, “Just two minutes.” Of course that two minutes turned into half an hour. At least. Because of our chat in the office, the seller’s daughter had figured out that she, the translator and I were all teachers – possibly why the 29th June was the first day we could all make it. Having something in common made conversation easier. When we got back into the office, the seller had finally succumbed and was dropping off – at least it’s not just us that find this a tad tedious.
So, we spent our three hours waiting while he had the documents typed – yes, it was that bad – mistakes, of which there were many, corrected – apparently the hungry one’s middle name is Citizen; how not to read a passport. This was all very well but things had to be done in time for us – the seller and I – to get to the bank before they closed at five o’clock. We had to make the transfer into his account, get proof of transfer, take it back to the notary, get it notarised – now, that’s odd – and, as I recall now, we had to go back to the bank to do something else. By this time, I was rapidly losing the will to live and was just begging for it to stop. Soon. Now. Please.
Unsurprisingly, over the course of the afternoon, we started to get to know one another. It turned out that both the seller and his daughter speak more English than they thought they could which made it easier. After a while boredom and acute nicotine deficiency in all but the seller and our lawyer led us outside to the notary’s cries of, “Just two minutes.” Of course that two minutes turned into half an hour. At least. Because of our chat in the office, the seller’s daughter had figured out that she, the translator and I were all teachers – possibly why the 29th June was the first day we could all make it. Having something in common made conversation easier. When we got back into the office, the seller had finally succumbed and was dropping off – at least it’s not just us that find this a tad tedious.
Finally, we got documents signed. Notary, translator and taxes were paid and the hungry one pointed out, “The only person who hasn’t been given any money is the seller!” This was corrected by the trip to the bank. But not before a couple of wee – are you kidding, wee? – surprises came our way.
“We need you to take on our two dogs, we can’t take them with us.”
“What are they?”
“Bichon Frises” – What the?
“Sure, we can do that.” – Are you mad?
“Oh, and there are five sheep.” - ?????????????????
“Okay… What on earth do we do with five sheep?”
“It’s all right. They are with the shepherd he brings you lamb at Easter and cheese at other times. Wool too, if you want it.” – Do I have to learn how to spin wool too?
Thankfully, there was a bar just outside so after monies were paid and transferred, we all decamped there for much needed water – yes, water. Our lawyer said we were no longer needed and she would wind it up. But. Yes, you guessed it there was another mistake and we all had to troop back in and do some more signing.
Finally, we got to shake hands all round and arrange to take over the house around the 15th July.
We were done in. Over the course of the afternoon, the hungry one had been texting back and forward to Raoul and, anyway, we had parked our car outside his house so we dragged ourselves round there and availed ourselves of his and Ligia’s hospitality for red wine (the hungry one) and homemade lemonade (me) while considering our purchase of three buildings and 4,000m2 along with a 3,000m2 orchard in the next village with 30 apple trees and, surprisingly, two dogs and five sheep.
Now, we are nursing our wounded and bleeding bank accounts and wondering what on earth we have done and how on earth we are going to look after too wee dogs for a year when we are not there…
“We need you to take on our two dogs, we can’t take them with us.”
“What are they?”
“Bichon Frises” – What the?
“Sure, we can do that.” – Are you mad?
“Oh, and there are five sheep.” - ?????????????????
“Okay… What on earth do we do with five sheep?”
“It’s all right. They are with the shepherd he brings you lamb at Easter and cheese at other times. Wool too, if you want it.” – Do I have to learn how to spin wool too?
Thankfully, there was a bar just outside so after monies were paid and transferred, we all decamped there for much needed water – yes, water. Our lawyer said we were no longer needed and she would wind it up. But. Yes, you guessed it there was another mistake and we all had to troop back in and do some more signing.
Finally, we got to shake hands all round and arrange to take over the house around the 15th July.
We were done in. Over the course of the afternoon, the hungry one had been texting back and forward to Raoul and, anyway, we had parked our car outside his house so we dragged ourselves round there and availed ourselves of his and Ligia’s hospitality for red wine (the hungry one) and homemade lemonade (me) while considering our purchase of three buildings and 4,000m2 along with a 3,000m2 orchard in the next village with 30 apple trees and, surprisingly, two dogs and five sheep.
Now, we are nursing our wounded and bleeding bank accounts and wondering what on earth we have done and how on earth we are going to look after too wee dogs for a year when we are not there…