We’re sorry, the house you are trying to buy does not exist

People often talk about walking into a house and knowing they’ve found “the one.” I’d always been pretty sceptical about this, but that was before I found myself in a beautiful old converted farmhouse, with a huge kitchen island, high ceilings and the most wonderful, uninterrupted view of the sea I could’ve imagined. 

Honestly from the second I walked in, I was sold. It didn’t matter that I tried to open a window and the handle broke off, or that even the light switches had been taken off the walls leaving nothing but wires precariously hanging out. 

This was IT. This viewing had been arranged through an estate agent, so I knew it was legit. It was a little odd that he wouldn’t let us walk up to the house on the path and instead made us climb up the hill through a cactus field to access it but hey, I knew Spanish property would have its oddities.  It was perfect. It needed a whole host of work doing but that was the whole point - I wanted a project, and I knew I could really get stuck into this one, turning it into the absolute house of my dreams.

There were a few other places to view on both La Gomera and El Hierro, but nothing came close to this one. It was a little far from the scuba diving centre - only a 15-minute drive but up a mountain, and as everything in Gomera is up a mountain, I figured that was absolutely fine.

I started pushing for more details from the estate agent – why did I have to walk through a cactus field to get to the house? Who lived in the house next door? Ah it was no problem, I was assured – there was a slight issue with the legalities of who the access road belonged to, but they were sure all that would be figured out before I moved in. And the neighbour? Well, she was an elderly Spanish lady who lived alone with goats. Apparently she could be a little argumentative, but that wasn’t a problem! I’m good with people – I had visions of taking freshly-baked English scones round to her house and introducing myself, and forming a beautiful friendship where she helped me with my Spanish and I helped her with grocery shopping, culminating in a tearful confession from her where she admitted that she’d been sceptical of me moving in, but now I was like the daughter she’d never had. All in all, it was a risk I was willing to take – and who doesn’t love goats, right?

When I got back to England, the process started properly – I put in an offer, had it accepted, and it was time to sign the Arras. In Spain, when you’re buying a property, the first piece of paper to sign is the Arras – it’s a legally binding contract, even though many unscrupulous estate agents will try to convince you it’s not. It basically states that you’ve put in an offer, had it accepted, and that, mortgage approval permitting, you are agreeing to buy the house. You have to put a deposit down along with the arras – normally a few thousand – and you forfeit that if you back out of the sale for whatever reason. 

With the agent pushing me to sign this, I asked a lawyer to look at the paperwork and the house, just to check all was ok. If you’re buying a place in Spain, DO NOT do anything without a lawyer. There’s SO much that is so different to anywhere else, and it’s absolutely worth every penny. My lawyer is simply spectacular, and if you’d like his details please get in touch. Anyway, this was when the problems started. 

It turned out…

1: The neighbour was angry because the house used to belong to her, and the bank repossessed it.

2: There was absolutely no guarantee of access to the house.

3: Actually, it was technically illegal to get to the house ANY way, as all the surrounding land was owned by the angry neighbour.

4: It wasn’t a house. It was legally listed as farm buildings, meaning I would struggle to get any electricity, water, paperwork…

I think my lawyer summed it up perfectly when he said, “Felicity, if you buy this house, you will have PROBLEMS PROBLEMS PROBLEMS.”

Dreams crushed, back to the drawing board…