Cheerio, London. Bonjour, Red Tape

French real estate is something of a bargain, but as I learned when buying my pied-a-terre, local customs can be very strange indeed

Some of the best advice my godmother ever gave me was to beware of beautiful moments, as they can lead to unwise decisions. Her words floated back to me in early March as I huffed and puffed up five flights of stairs to see an apartment for sale near the center of Paris. I had just sold my small flat in London and was determined to choose a property in the City of Light based on a rational analysis of pros and cons. No elevator was definitely a con.

But then all my resolve went out of the window -- literally. I discovered that the apartment had a view of the Eiffel Tower from the master bedroom. As I stood and gazed, it suddenly burst into glittering lights, a bewitching 10-minute spectacle featured every evening hour since the Millennium. It was all too much. "I'll take it," I said in quivering, breathless French.

RELATIVE STEALS. I'm not alone in taking the plunge. More foreigners than ever are finding themselves seduced by the charms of setting up a business or home in the world's most visited country. Foreign investment in French property has increased from $4.5 billion in 2000 to $15.3 billion in 2004, according to data collected by the global real estate company Cushman & Wakefield Healey & Baker.

While property values have doubled in that time, a good chunk of the boost comes from new investment. And a big piece of that derives from Brits like me, many of whom are priced out of their own market and can fly back home on one of the myriad new low-cost airlines.

Even with the run-up in French property values, prices are still relatively low. Despite the weak dollar, Americans yearning for a small house in the country's sunniest Southern region, Languedoc-Roussillon, can find one for $100,000. Or they can bag a typical Parisian one-bedroom apartment for under $275,000. Government taxes typically load 8% onto that, but that's still a steal compared with upward of $600,000 for the equivalent in Manhattan or central London. I got my two-bedroom flat -- just a couple of subway stops from République in the 11th arrondissement -- for $365,000.

A good investment, perhaps, but my godmother's advice is still valid. A few days of post-purchase elation quickly evaporated, to be followed by three months (and counting) of alternating stress, terror, and boredom caused by interminable red tape and strange traditions peculiar to France. Unlike the U.S., where the property market is well oiled, in France you lurch from one battle to another. Bedraggled and paperwork-weary, the least I can hope is that my struggles prove useful for another person's foray into l'immobilier français.

HIGH COMMISSIONS. First, to find the perfect place, forget using a French-style real estate agency. As in most European countries, these are stores that display properties for sale and offer a simple introductory service for buyers and sellers. On Sundays in Paris, you often see couples strolling the streets and window-shopping for a new pad. While these agencies provide a good idea of what's available, they don't share properties among one another, so a small setup might only have 10 apartments on its books. That leaves buyers hotfooting it around town to leave their specs with dozens of stores.

These stores also add as much as 10% onto the property price -- a cost passed on to the buyer. It's galling to pay that premium when you can often locate the same property online. I found my apartment on the Web, and later discovered that it was selling for $19,000 more through an agency.

France has no equivalent of the Multiple Listing Service, leaving two ways to ensure you bag the right property at the right price. If you have time and speak French, by far the best place to look is Pap.fr, a countrywide consumer-to-consumer site that posts new ads every day.

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