Why Are There So Many British People in the Dordogne?

 Why Are There So Many British People in the Dordogne?

What you have noticed around Château Marouatte is not incidental. The Dordogne has one of the most remarkable concentrations of British residents in rural France. For decades, Britons have bought houses, restored old farmhouses, opened businesses and retired here. The phenomenon became significant enough that the area has sometimes jokingly been called “Dordogneshire.”

And there is a much deeper history behind the modern migration.

The English connection is much older than the expats

The relationship between southwestern France and England goes back nearly 900 years.


In 1152,
Eleanor of Aquitaine married Henry Plantagenet, who became King Henry II of England in 1154. Through that marriage, Aquitaine came under the control of the English crown. It remained at the heart of the complicated Anglo-French relationship for generations. Cambridge’s history of the region notes that Aquitaine remained in the hands of Henry’s royal successors from the mid-12th century and became one of the central issues behind the Hundred Years’ War. 

That doesn’t mean today’s British residents are somehow continuing an unbroken English community from the Middle Ages. They aren’t. But it does add a wonderful historical twist to the modern story.

The English have, quite literally, been coming to this part of France for centuries.

The modern migration really took off in the late 20th century

Today’s British community is a much more recent phenomenon.

Beginning particularly in the 1970s and 1980s, British people started buying inexpensive rural properties in southwestern France. At first, many were second homes.

Then the movement accelerated dramatically.

Official French statistics show that British migration to France was particularly strong between 1990 and 2006, when the British population living in France approximately doubled. 

By the early 2000s, Dordogne had become one of the epicenters.

There was a powerful economic reason.

Imagine selling an ordinary house in southern England and discovering that the proceeds might buy you a stone farmhouse, barn, several acres of land and perhaps even a small château in rural France.

For many people, it was irresistible.

French government statistics specifically identify the combination of less urbanized surroundings and property that was more affordable than in Britain as important reasons Britons settled in these sparsely populated western regions. 

But money alone doesn’t explain it.

They were buying a different life

Researchers have actually studied this movement as a form of “lifestyle migration.”

The people interviewed weren’t simply moving because France was cheaper. Many described wanting a different rhythm of life: countryside, space, old houses, village communities, markets, food, wine and the possibility of escaping the pressures of British working life. Academic research specifically examining British migrants in the Dordogne and neighboring Lot found that the desire for a perceived “better lifestyle” was central, although individual motivations varied considerably. 

And standing here at Château Marouatte, I can understand the attraction.

Look around.

Rolling countryside.

Forests.

Stone villages.

Medieval churches.

Farmhouses and barns.

Weekly markets.

Quiet roads.

Long lunches.

History everywhere.

And, compared with England during the great expansion years, enormous amounts of space.

For a British couple approaching retirement with equity in their house, the proposition could be extraordinary.

Dordogne became particularly British

The numbers are quite striking.

In 2016, France counted about 148,300 British residents. More than one-third, approximately 53,000, were retirees. And British residents were disproportionately concentrated in a broad southwestern belt incorporating the Charente and Dordogne. 

The Dordogne alone had approximately 7,200 British residents in the official 2016 figures, representing about 1.74% of the department’s entire population

That’s remarkable for a foreign nationality spread across a whole rural département.

And those numbers don’t capture everyone you might encounter because there are also British owners of second homes and seasonal residents.

Across Nouvelle-Aquitaine, the pattern was particularly pronounced. INSEE found 39,000 British residents in 2014, making it the French region with the largest British population. Half were retired, they were frequently homeowners, and they tended to settle in rural areas rather than on the coast. 

In some small communes, British residents represented more than 15% of the population

So when you think, I seem to be hearing an awful lot of English accents around here, you really are.

Then there is Eymet


If there is an unofficial capital of British Dordogne, it is probably
Eymet, south of Bergerac.

The British presence there became so substantial that it developed a genuine Franco-British community.

What’s particularly interesting is how the migration evolved. Eymet’s mayor explained in 2014 that the earlier generation, arriving roughly four decades previously, tended to purchase second homes. A later generation became more embedded in the community, starting businesses, enrolling children in schools and participating in local organizations. The town even developed a large Franco-English association. 

That is an important distinction.

They weren’t all wealthy retirees occupying picturesque houses for a few weeks each summer.

Some became plumbers, builders, restaurateurs, shopkeepers, gîte operators and craftspeople. They restored properties. Their children went to French schools. They joined associations. They became neighbors.

They also helped revive villages that were losing population

There is another side to this story that I find especially interesting.

Many rural areas of France had experienced decades of depopulation. Younger French people moved toward larger towns and cities for employment, leaving behind aging populations and large numbers of old houses requiring considerable maintenance.

Then foreign buyers arrived who thought those same neglected stone houses were magnificent.

INSEE actually concluded that British residents were helping to revitalize predominantly rural communities, including places struggling with depopulation. 


They bought abandoned or deteriorating properties.

Then came roofs, stonework, carpenters, plumbers, gardeners and builders.

Some opened chambres d’hôtes and gîtes.

Others opened restaurants or small businesses.

They shopped in village markets and hired local tradespeople.

An old farmhouse that might otherwise have continued deteriorating suddenly became someone’s dream retirement project.

There were downsides too. In areas with heavy foreign demand, concerns arose about rising property prices and whether local residents could still afford homes. That tension was being reported in Dordogne as early as the 2000s. 

So the British influx has been both an economic stimulus and, occasionally, a source of debate.

And then Brexit happened

Brexit complicated what had previously been a relatively easy movement within the European Union.

British citizens who had already established themselves in France faced questions about residency rights, healthcare and their future status. Communities such as Eymet became particularly interesting places from which to watch the process because so many British people had made permanent lives there. 

But Brexit did not erase decades of migration.

By then, the British presence was woven into parts of the Dordogne.

And that explains something about the Château

It also gives me another way of looking at Château Marouatte and the people I have encountered during this trip.

There is something about this landscape that seems to encourage outsiders to stop being outsiders.

You arrive and initially notice the spectacular things: the château on the hill, the ancient villages, the stone houses, the forests and fields.

Then you begin noticing smaller things.

The market.

The baker.

The person sitting at the next table.

The afternoon light on an old stone wall.

A door left slightly ajar.

An owl calling after dark.

A road disappearing through the trees.

And suddenly the idea that someone might have come here on vacation thirty years ago, looked around and thought,

“Why exactly am I going home?”

doesn’t seem strange at all.

In fact, after spending time here, it becomes remarkably easy to understand.

Perhaps that is the real story behind the British of the Dordogne. They didn’t discover an English enclave and move into it. Enough individuals independently fell in love with the same corner of France that, eventually, an expatriate community emerged around their shared decision to stay.

And there is a delightful historical symmetry to it.

Almost nine centuries after Eleanor of Aquitaine married an English king and tied southwestern France to England, the connection continues in an entirely different form.

This time there are no Plantagenet armies.

Just British retirees renovating old stone houses, tending enormous gardens, drinking wine at village tables and apparently deciding that the Dordogne feels very much like home.


Passport, Please. Now Look at the Camera: Crossing Borders in the Digital Age

 International travel used to mean standing in front of an immigration officer, handing over a passport, answering a few questions, perhaps getting a stamp, and waiting for that moment when you were officially waved through.


On this trip, both France and the United States showed me just how much that process has changed.

Leaving France: Passport First, Face Second

At Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris, I encountered France’s automated border-control system.

The process was remarkably straightforward.

First, I placed my passport on the scanner. The machine read it, and the first glass door opened. I stepped into the small enclosed area between the two gates.

Then I simply looked into the camera.

Apparently, my face and my passport agreed that I was, indeed, me.

The second door opened, and I walked through.

That was it.

No lengthy conversation. No complicated series of questions. No hunting around for another document. The system used the biometric information in my passport along with facial recognition to verify my identity and complete the border check.

Considering how many different checkpoints and lines can be involved in navigating Charles de Gaulle, I found this particular part of the journey impressively simple.

Arriving Home: Global Entry in Phoenix

When I arrived back in Phoenix on Thursday, the process was slightly different but equally easy.

I used Global Entry.

Instead of beginning with my passport, the system relied heavily on facial recognition. I stepped up, looked into the camera, and the system identified me through the information already associated with my Global Entry membership and travel records.

Again, the remarkable part was how little I actually had to do.

France essentially said:

Show me your passport. Now show me your face.

The United States essentially said:

Show me your face. We already know who you are.

Both systems were quick, intuitive and remarkably efficient.

Automation, With a Human Nearby

There was one detail I particularly appreciated about both systems.

They were automated, but they didn’t feel abandoned.

At both Charles de Gaulle and Phoenix, there was a human nearby to help travelers navigate the equipment. If I stopped for a moment or looked even slightly questioning, someone was available to point me toward the scanner, indicate where I should stand, or reassure me about what came next.

I liked that combination.

The technology handled the repetitive identification work, while a person remained available for the very human moment of standing in front of an unfamiliar machine thinking, Now what am I supposed to do?

There was no need to search for an employee or hold up the line while figuring things out. A glance of uncertainty seemed to be enough to bring a little guidance.

Different Systems, Same Goal

The French and American approaches aren’t identical.

At Charles de Gaulle, my passport initiated the process, followed by facial recognition.

In Phoenix, my face was essentially the key, with Global Entry and government records already connecting that face to my identity.

But from the traveler’s perspective, the result was much the same: very little paperwork, very little interaction and very little confusion.

After an international flight, when you are tired, carrying luggage and mentally calculating how many more steps stand between you and your own bed, simplicity matters.

Both countries got this part right.

Technology did the complicated work behind the scenes. I provided a passport in France, a face in both countries, and just enough occasional uncertainty to keep the helpful humans employed.

And then the doors opened.

Sometimes the best technology is the technology that makes you wonder afterward:

Was that really all I had to do?

There was one more thing that struck me as I came through Global Entry in Phoenix: there was essentially no line.

There were perhaps six Global Entry stations available. One traveler just ahead of me stepped up to one, while I simply walked over to another empty station. Within moments, I was completing the facial recognition process and moving on.

Then I looked to my left.

There was a long line of arriving passengers waiting to go through the regular immigration process.

Standing there, with several Global Entry stations open and virtually no wait, I couldn’t help wondering: Why don’t more international travelers use Global Entry?

There is an application process, a fee, a background check and usually an interview involved in becoming a member, so it does require some effort beforehand. But for someone who travels internationally with any regularity, that preparation can pay off at exactly the moment you appreciate it most: after a long international flight, when all you really want to do is get through the airport and go home.

On this arrival, the contrast couldn’t have been more visible. A long line on one side and an open Global Entry station waiting for me on the other.

I know which line I want to be in.

PS - There is no longer a stamp on your passport.  Something lost, something gained.  In fond memory, I leave this illustration of what used to be.


#GlobalEntry #CharlesDeGaulle #PassportControl #InternationalTravel #TravelTechnology #BiometricTravel #FacialRecognition #ParisToPhoenix #TravelAdventures #DigitalBorderCrossing




Why Are There So Many British People in the Dordogne?

  Why Are There So Many British People in the Dordogne? What you have noticed around Château Marouatte is not incidental. The Dordogne has ...