They shook hands. Adrian transferred the euros. Dubois signed the certificat de cession (the sales declaration) in triplicate. The farmer then reached into his glovebox and pulled out a bottle of chilled Côtes du Rhône and two plastic cups. “Tradiție,” he winked. “La vente d'une voiture en France.”
On a grey Tuesday morning, Adrian landed at Lyon-Saint Exupéry. He had prepared everything: the Contrôle Technique (the French equivalent of the ITP), a bank transfer limit high enough for €9,500, and a translation app for the finer points of French bureaucracy. What he hadn't prepared for was Monsieur Dubois. achizitie automobil franta
The plan was simple. Fly to Lyon with a one-way ticket, meet a private seller named Monsieur Dubois, buy a seven-year-old Renault Kadjar, and drive it back 2,000 kilometers across Europe. They shook hands
That night, he posted on a forum: "Recomand achiziție automobil Franța. Dar luați cu voi răbdare, un vin bun și un prieten care vorbește franceza." The farmer then reached into his glovebox and
First, no negotiation. “Le prix est le prix,” he said, puffing on a Gauloises. Second, the sale required a certificat de situation (a document proving the car wasn’t a write-off) printed less than 15 days ago. Adrian had read about this online. Without it, you couldn’t register the car in Romania.
The next morning, his phone rang. His cousin from the truck route had a new tip: Germany was cheaper. But Adrian just smiled, looked at his French Kadjar, and replied: "Maybe next year. Let me drive this one first."
He handed over the French carte grise (registration) with Dubois’s name scratched out and "vendu le..." written on the back. The Hungarian officer studied it, shrugged, and waved him through.