The Frequent Flier

Dreaming of Deauville
By: Christine O. Cunanan

The author so loved this Parisian weekend retreat that she bought a house here, sight unseen

I finally met Benjamin, an ambitious young Frenchman who sold real estate to foreigners for a living, in Paris in the winter of 2003—a few weeks after I had bought a two-bedroom apartment in Deauville over the Internet.

In hindsight, it now sounds quite ludicrous to be snapping up real estate with a click of a mouse, the way one buys books or DVDs online. But this was exactly what happened. One day, I chanced upon Benjamin’s website and it was love at first sight. Apartments, villas, and chateaux to suit every budget were laid out so attractively that I couldn’t help wanting to own a little piece of France. Several e-mailed layouts and contracts later, I was the happy owner of my own place, a few minutes’ walk from the famous Deauville beachfront.

It was only after I had paid up and passed that crucial point of no return that I realized a trip to France might be recommended to actually check out the goods and ensure that my euros were indeed ending up with legal developers and not just with internet fraudsters marveling at how gullible some people can be.

Benjamin picked me up at the Park Hyatt Paris and we drove two hours out toward Normandy in a rented car.

“You won’t be sorry you bought this place,”Benjamin told me on the way there. “Deauville is the Riviera of Paris. This is where the chic people spend their weekends. Everyone wants to have a place in Deauville.”

My first impression of the town was one of wonder as we drove through incredibly picturesque streets lined with half-timbered buildings that housed exactly the kind of bakeries, delis, and cafés I wanted to visit. And in the town square, local vendors were just clearing up the mess of a lively morning market that boasted artisanal cheeses and breads, organic fruit and olive oils, and freshly caught seafood.

Then we veered right and got on the seaside road, where I spied the widest beachfront I had ever seen. It was not very inviting that day in the December cold, but I could already imagine its liveliness and color in the summer, when striped beach umbrellas and banners line the promenade.

However, the clincher was the beautiful and gracious, grand old Normandy Barriere Hotel, right by the beach and a mere two blocks from my place. An imposing half-timbered structure painted green and white and adorned with whimsical statues, it was the kind of historical hotel I loved staying in. It also had a Belle Epoque dining room that served very proper, oldfashioned meals.

The icing on the cake was meeting Nathalie, who was developing my Deauville apartment complex into a residencehotel. Her family owned a string of properties all over Normandy, and this project in Deauville was her first venture. After the formalities and a tour of the construction site, she, Benjamin, and I had a wonderful dinner at a local hangout in the nearby town of Cabourg, where the specialty was a cholesterol busting beefsteak doused in a thick Camembert cheese sauce. I was already envisioning leisurely Sunday brunches here.

And that was it—I was hooked on Deauville and very glad to be a part-time resident. Since then, I’ve taken my entire family there several times, where the highlight of each visit has been snapping up five-euro buckets of fresh mussels and baskets of oysters, and enjoying these on the balcony with a bottle of local wine. Life hardly gets better than this, and this Internet story has ended happily ever after. n