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 man was a retired farmer from the Ardèche. He met Adrian in a McDonald's parking lot, holding a cardboard sign that read "Kadjar – comme neuf" (like new). The car was immaculate. Beige leather, full service history from a Renault dealer in Valence, and not a single rust spot. But Dubois had rules. achizitie automobil franta
They drove to a small tabac with an internet terminal. Dubois printed the certificate. Clean. No véhicule accidenté history. Then came the certificat de non-gage — proof that the car wasn't being used as collateral for a loan. Adrian’s heart pounded. If this came back red, he’d be buying a legal nightmare. First, no negotiation
Three days later, Adrian parked the Kadjar outside his block in Cluj. He had saved €4,000 compared to identical cars listed in Bucharest. The only extra cost: a set of Romanian plates (€300) and a new set of headlight stickers to flip the beams for right-hand traffic. Adrian had read about this online
It came back green.
Adrian drank the wine at 11 AM, then started the engine. The drive home was a tour of European paperwork: through the Mont Blanc Tunnel (toll: €52), across the Swiss border (no customs issues because the car was EU-origin), and finally into Hungary, where the police stopped him for a random check.
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.