House-sitting in the UK & France
How and why to stay in someone else's house
We spent most of the first six months after arriving in France house-sitting. We’d done several sits before—in England, in New York—and it had always felt like a good exchange. No rent, a change of scenery, and a way to see parts of the world we never have seen otherwise – and to see them as locals.
TL;DR
House-sitting let us explore without overcommitting.
Some sits were exactly like you’d hope that they would be. Others came with anxious pets, vague return dates, or a 30-minute drive for everything or anything. We ask better questions, set clearer expectations, and listen.
It wasn’t just about free housing. It was about learning how we actually want to live. For us, we have to be there and feel it to know it.
[ed note: this should be a part of a series about house sitting, or about how to move abroad on a budget, etc.]
Learning a place
House-sitting in France became a way to figure out where and how we wanted to live, or even if we wanted to live in the country at all.
We wanted to try different landscapes. And to understand WTF country life in France even meant for us. Lavender and goats? Spotty Wi-Fi and an hour’s drive to the supermarket?
When we got there, we still had some fantasy notion of what living in the country might be like.
Now it’s very different: we still love the country, but maybe not permanently.
Being able to visit is enough for us.
Taking Care of Pets (and People)
Know your limits.
Some owners don’t seem to know their own pets very well.
We once stayed in a place with a deeply anxious dog who panicked during storms. The owners had decided the best solution was a shock collar and a small closet, where he’d previously torn the walls apart in fear (not during our stay, thankfully).
The closet had one window looking outside, so that the poor dog was in a small space with an unobstructed view of the storm that scared him and nowhere to go.
I’m fairly sure that they hadn’t even considered it. They were nice folks, but this was also their first dog.
We tried following their instructions for a few days, but it was awful. After a bit, we just stayed with him through the storms. He was fine then. He slept, even.
We gently suggested this to the owners, but they insisted on their closet routine after we left.
You're not there to change minds—just to do the best you can while you're in charge.
Learn the Place, Not Just the House
Google Maps can tell you a lot—but it doesn’t tell you what it smells like when the wind blows across a nearby pasture. But I have learned to scan for cows from space.
Our first sit in France looked charming from a distance. In person, it was cows and quiet. Only a mile or two from town, but it felt the edge of the universe. Another time, in the Dordogne, we didn’t see a single person for a month. Just us and the chickens.
That kind of isolation is paradise for some people. For us, it started to feel like the air was too still. Long walks with no one around, beautiful views that began to feel like wallpaper.
We realized that no matter how lovely the house is, if you can’t access basic things—or if you’re not emotionally ready for that much space—it wears on you.
It might be different for someone else. I think it might have even been different for us 10 years ago.
One spot had a perfect view of a tiny village church and a cobbled square down the hill from the place. Gorgeous. But renting a car was absolutely necessary and long trips on winding backroads to the nearest store was 30+ minutes away.
None of that was communicated clearly. And when the homeowners were vague about their return, it messed with our own timing for the next sit & nobody was happy with it. Stress layered onto charm. Not ideal.
The Interview
In London and New York especially, the interview process could go on for weeks—back-and-forth emails, follow-up questions, vague dates even though they listed specific dates in the listing.
It wasn’t the logistics that wore us out—it was the uncertainty.
In the country, it wasn’t quite like that, which may be for the simply fact that fewer people apply for those.
Now, we’re clearer from the start. We communicate early and in detail. We set expectations. We know what we need to be comfortable and what we need to provide so the homeowners feel confident leaving.
Just note - if your interviews are awkward, the sit might be as well.
Some interviews were easy conversations. Others felt like we were on stage auditioning for a job we didn’t want. Some people treat you like “the help,” which doesn't not work for me.
If someone is hesitant, I don’t try to talk them into it. If it’s a match, it’s a match - be curious, ask questions, find out what you need to run their place how they would.
And it can be a bit like dating that way: if you think it’s a red flag, it probably is.
What We Know Now
We don’t house-sit constantly anymore, but we do it occasionally. We know how we like to live. We know how much isolation is too much.
We know to ask a lot of questions.
We know how to walk into someone else’s space and treat it like a home (even if it’s not ours) , not just a stopover.
It’s mostly about expectations. Set them early. Share them clearly. Be specific, kind, and practical. And if the details don’t feel right, don’t go.
The upside to this is that we now tend to sit for people whose own style of living is closer to what we want for ourselves. I’d always imagined that by this time in my life, I would be clearer about it, but moving to another country kind of blew that all apart for a bit.
House-sitting helped us to learn about some places that a lot of French folks have never been to - or heard of. It helped us to learn the seasonality, what plants grow well here, about the wildlife we had no idea about, from bird life to salamanders, nature preserves and deer, boar and rangodin to odd insects and bats getting in the house.
And, of course, we learned that we don’t want to live near cows.
Cheap and cheerful living in France.
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Keith Christiansen
