For expats trying to navigate car ownership, here’s a firsthand account of how buying a car in France can go spectacularly wrong and, in the end, surprisingly right.
Say Hello to Mustang Sally
When I first arrived in Uzès, I was fortunate to have a good friend, Geoffrey, who lent me one of his beloved cars for a minimal fee each month. The red Mustang, which I promptly named “Mustang Sally,” was a lifesaver. However, I soon saw signs of trouble—windows that wouldn’t raise or lower, no AC, bad tires, and a dubious license plate. I knew I’d need to find a better car solution, but Mustang Sally filled the gap for the time being.
After driving Mustang Sally for a few months, I decided it was time to buy my own car – especially since there were no legal ownership papers for Mustang Sally. I’d never bought a car for myself before—hand-me-downs from family or cars purchased by my ex were my norm. But now, here I was, in a new country, armed with little more than enthusiasm and broken French. My adventure of buying a car in France began.
Help with Buying a Car
Living in Uzès, a charming town without a car dealership, I turned to Leboncoin—the French version of Craigslist. For weeks, I scoured the listings, imagining myself behind the wheel of dozens of cars. But every inquiry hit a dead end due to unresponsive sellers or failed attempts to communicate over the phone.
Finally, in a moment of exasperation, I threw money at the problem. I enlisted a young French acquaintance who agreed to help me find a car. It wasn’t a smooth partnership—he was on his own timeline—but eventually, he saw something: a red Citroen from an independent dealer in Remoulins.
Hello, Lucy!
After a whirlwind of paperwork, insurance confusion, and trips to the préfecture to change over the title, I became the proud owner of a 1997 red Citroen I named “Lucy,” the feminine version of “Lucifer.” Lucy was shiny, vibrant, and had a personality all her own—a fiery one at that. She soon proved to be quite the challenge.
Parking her became an ordeal. After moving to a new apartment, I decided to save some money and downgraded her from underground parking to an open-air lot. This was a big mistake. Lucy wasn’t too pleased with her new digs, and that’s when things started to go wrong.
Lucy’s Fiery Temper (and Ultimate Demise)
Lucy began acting up, and it wasn’t long before disaster struck. One fateful night, I drove Lucy into a ditch on the way home from a friend’s Christmas party. Now, driving into a ditch in France isn’t as complicated as it sounds if you’ve ever driven on a back road. Rather than call a wrecker, I threw Lucy into reverse and backed her out of the ditch. I drove her to her parking space in Uzes and left her there for my annual visit to the US for the holidays. Then Covid hit. While I was sequestered in the US, a friend tried to drive Lucy, and the “bottom dropped out.” Little did I realize at the time the impact of falling into the ditch damaged Lucy’s transmission, resulting in her exile. And that’s another story.
A New Car, But No License?
When I returned from the States, when it was safe to enter France, I decided it was time to start afresh with buying a car. For a fresh start, I went into the closest Citroen dealership and made what I thought was a great deal on a brand-new Citroen 3: no more maintenance hassles, no more unexpected breakdowns.
But, as with all things in France, there was a catch.
While preparing to pick up the car, I realized I had overlooked one tiny, crucial detail: my lack of a French driver’s license. I had been driving on my American license, but that wouldn’t cut it anymore. I quickly called my insurance agent to switch the policy from Lucy to my new car. That’s when he dropped the bombshell: no French license, no insurance.
Wait, what? For six years, this same agent had insured me while I drove Lucy around with my American license, and now, suddenly, it was a problem?
Yes, it was. I had no French driver’s license or coverage, and without insurance, I couldn’t legally drive the new car. I was in a bind.
Cancelling the Car Deal
After the initial freak-out, I called on one of my closest French-speaking friends, someone who had navigated the complexities of French bureaucracy before. She made some calls in French, drafted the necessary lettres recommandées (registered letters), and sent them to the dealership and Citroen’s district office to cancel the deal. Miraculously, they agreed to let me out of the contract. It was a huge relief—but I was right back where I started: no car, no license, and no clue what to do next.
No Car, No License, and COVID
With the car deal canceled and realizing that I couldn’t get insurance without a French license, I began the long and arduous process of getting my French driver’s license, which, as anyone who has been through it knows, is no simple task.
Finally, a Smart Choice: Leasing a Car
Once the pandemic restrictions began to ease and I had a French driver’s license, I knew I had to make a smarter car decision than before. No more red cars, and minimize car upkeep. ! This time, I returned to the Citroen dealership with a French driver’s license in hand and leased a sleek black-and-white Citroen C3.
Leasing turned out to be the perfect choice. There are no more maintenance headaches or costly repairs. Whenever something goes wrong, I return it to the dealership, which handles the rest. In three years, I’ll swap it out for another new car, and the process will start over again—no stress, no ditch disasters, no headaches.
Conclusion: Lessons Learned the Hard Way
Looking back, my journey through car ownership in France has been a comedy of errors. It’s been a wild ride from driving the beloved Mustang Sally to sending poor Lucy to her doom in a ditch and finally navigating the French bureaucracy around car leasing and licenses. But now, I’ve finally figured it out: sometimes, the best way to survive expat life is to make peace that you won’t always get it right—and that’s okay. I’ve learned that sometimes, the best way to deal with car ownership in France is not to own a car at all. Leasing has given me peace of mind and, most importantly, a dependable ride. I may have taken the long way around, but in the end, I’ve finally found the solution that works for me.
4 Responses
You are so funny. Love the names you give your cars, did not know that “Lucy” was short for Lucifer -lol. But in the end you found a resolution. However you never mentioned a name for your leased car.
For some reason I haven’t come up with a name I like for the B&B car… except Cruella De Ville — and I know that’s asking for trouble! Thanks for following, John. I love knowing you’re there…
This made me laugh! “Mustang Sally,” was a lifesaver. However, I soon saw signs of trouble—windows that wouldn’t raise or lower, no AC, bad tires, and a dubious license plate.
It reminds me of the time I bought a 2CV sight unseen and collected it from the seller upon arrival in Toulouse. I didn’t really that there was a double-clutch to drive her. Imagine!
Omg! Sounds like you were lucky to stay out of a ditch! Thanks for the thought I’m not alone!