“You’ve always said you were going to buy a chateau!” That was the reaction from our closest friends when my husband Richard and I gathered the courage to tell them we’d purchased a castle in France. They were adamant that we’d always said we would.
We don’t remember declaring such a crazy thing. Can you imagine the stupidity of doing up a very large, likely derelict house, halfway across the world, dealing with people in another language, all while commuting to and from Sydney every few months?
We do remember joking about it, though. Not only because we have an unexplained longing for France, but also because we’ve been renovating since the day we were married in 1992. As jokes go, it seemed like a logical progression.
We first talked of renovation as soon as we started dating – Richard had a dream of doing up a terrace and is very handy; I had learnt to draw up plans with my dad. Financially, a doer-upper made sense. I remember that when we talked about it for the first time, something clicked in my heart. Here was someone with whom I could literally build a life.
We started with a one-bedroom Edwardian flat on Sydney’s north shore. The work was tough, but we didn’t mind. We were learning to DIY. The one-bedder gave way to a two-bedder, then three. When our kids came, we did up our first house – a California bungalow in Fairlight. Selling and renovating became a way of buying a family home within our means.
Fast-forward a couple of houses, and decades, and we found ourselves wanting another project. Richard had stopped work, the world was mid-pandemic, we were aching to travel, and cheap French real estate looked like an attractive proposition in the way crazy impulses often do.
Indulging my incessant online searches, Richard laid out a challenge: “If we’re going to consider this, we will need a list of what to look for in a place.” My heart leapt.
We set out some guidelines: no ruins, no medieval fortresses, no 20th-century replicas, no national monuments. It had to be in the Dordogne, a part of France discovered in previous travels, or nearby. And the price should be equivalent to a one or two-bedroom apartment in Sydney.
We fell in love with Château de La Roche-Joubert online. But the relationship could have stayed platonic if not for encouraging friends who, despite my faint protests, took a road trip to inspect it on our behalf.
Our hearts beat faster as they walked around centuries of architecture, extensions and renovations, objects left by previous occupants, holding up the phone, pointing out the inhabitable parts and the work that appeared necessary. We were immediately energised by the scale of the challenge and the romance of it all.
Sadly, the owner sold it privately. Our friends advised us to look elsewhere – “there are thousands of these places in France!” – but we had found our heart’s home. It was this one or nothing.
Three months later, by a stroke of luck or fate, the sale fell through and we finally had our chance.
We saw it for the first time for real the day before getting the keys, walking through each room looking for the faults and cracks we had studied in photographs. The real estate agent, who had tried to sell us a different property, saying this was too much work, asked tentatively if we were still interested.
“Bien sûr!” was our reply.
There’s a French expression for people like us: amoureux de belles pierres (lovers of beautiful stones). It describes a passion for architecture and history that defies reason. We were hooked.
We have not looked back. Our “project” has, in fact, become our second life. At an age when many people fear the future and turn inwards, we’ve embarked on a new adventure, a reinvention. It’s our chance to enjoy another culture, make new friends, learn a new language, become part of a tiny village of 160 wonderful and welcoming people, and live life like we’re just a little bit mad.
We’re richer for it. Friends visit often and enjoy savouring the incredible food and traditions that surround us – but only after they have demolished a wall or ridden the mower for six hours to help keep the grass down. The rest of the garden is a big job that must wait.
We started at the top, fixing the roof and making the place watertight. Basics like septic tanks have also been done. Rewiring is under way and, four years in, the kitchen and laundry are the first spaces fully renovated.
Room by room and level by level we are starting to visualise a finished masterpiece. Never underestimating the time each step takes, we know it will be years before we get it done, but that is part of the attraction. Along the way, we’re discovering the château’s past, its many owners and legends, with the help of local historians.
We are patient because experiences like this should be savoured, along with the local culture, markets, fairs, festivals, a new community and weekends away discovering other corners of this mesmerising country.
We might finish our project in a few years, but La Roche will never be finished. Others will eventually succeed us, have their passion ignited and add their own touches. It could even endure for another six centuries. We’re just very lucky to call it ours for now.
Château DIY Australia screens on Channel Nine later this year. Nine is the publisher of this masthead.
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Lia Timson is a producer with The Sydney Morning Herald and The Age. She was previously deputy foreign editor and technology editor.Connect via X or email.
