Planning our new life in France Blog

Update, one year on

camillapoissonnier@yahoo.co.uk — Tue, 04 Mar 2008 11:30:00 GMT

It's been a year since the last blog post, and a lot has happened in the meantime. We moved to Brussels 11 months ago when Mr P. got a one year contract as an IT manager with a bank, and we have just learned that it has been extended for another year. "This is just a stepping stone to get to France" we told ourselves before we moved. But we changed my mind on that within the first two weeks (at least I did. Mr P. needed a bit of persuading). Having spent years trying to find the perfect place to live in France, we have now understood that to move countries and change your life is about being realistic. Unless you have a lot of money or you are self-employed or speak fluent French, the dream of moving can easily remain a dream. If I had a pound for every hour I've spent searching for run down farmhouses in the middle of nowhere on the internet, I'd probably be able to buy one! For us, without a lump sum to buy a house outright, and needing to work but not being fluent in French, we needed a place with an international jobmarket, and that's what we didn't find in France. For those of you who want to live the "francophone life" but need to work, and don't mind living in a city, I can recommend Brussels with all my heart. It's a place without to many airs and graces, where life is good and, for a capital, very cheap. If you are tearing your hear out about how to make your move to the continent work on a financial basis, look into it! I'm parked for the day near the radiator in a wifi cafe off Avenue Louise, a swish are of Brussels, trying to do some work. Instead, I'm listening to the buzz of customers who have come in from nearby offices to enjoy their lunchtime conversation and soup du jour. I study the neatly coiffed heads and touchingly perfect suit and tie combinations, the frequent arm movements which manage to be restrained and animated at the same time, and marvel at being here.

Back to the drawing board.

camillapoissonnier@yahoo.co.uk — Thu, 08 Feb 2007 21:05:00 GMT

We were so excited after coming back from Aix last year. We were finally going to do it! Then things happened, as they often do. Nothing dramatic. Just the slow realisation that myself and Monsieur P. living in two different countries was not a great idea, even if one of those countries was France and the one living in it was me. With Monsieur P. living in Copenhagen for months, and myself and Mlle. P. living in England, we realised just how hard it was, and that changing England for France wouldn't make it any easier. The commuting, the expensive flights, squeezing family life, the hellos and goodbyes, the paperwork, the social life, the cuddles, the arguments, all of it, into one and a half days per week. After a couple of months we all looked like zombies and we stopped dreaming about France and started dreaming about living together. It was hard to postpone a dream that we've had for so long, since before we got married. But we started getting excited about living together as a family in Copenhagen instead. I visited schools (I am thinking of writing a book about international schools in Europe, I feel like I have visited them all!), looked at rental property. THEN Monsieur P.'s contract ended and we were back to square one, or what felt more like square zero. At the moment, France seems very far away, alhtough I look accross the channel every day, and when the weather is clear, I can see it looks so close, it is like torture. When I see the ferries leave I want to shout "wait for me!" and swim after them. They look so beautiful, the great white things disappearing into the horizon, like one of those 1920s postcards with cruiceliners on, have you seen those? There is a glimmer of hope, because, although the French jobmarket is all but closed to non-French speakers, we have discovered a back-door! It ain't pretty, and it ain't glamorous and apparently the weather is as cold and damp as in England, but they speak French, and they don't mind if we don't. The job market is quite international. I'm talking about Belgium. Yes, I know it's not France, but we can't afford to be fussy. With two years in Brussels under the belt, we'll be fluent in French (in my dreams) and suddenly, as if by magic, employers in France will roll out the red carpet. Anyway, that's the theory. At the time of writing, Monsieur P. has had some encouraging noises from a recruitment agency in Brussels. It may come to nothing. Or it may be the answer. I'll keep you posted.

Mlle P. and I earn ourselves an icecream

camillapoissonnier@yahoo.co.uk — Tue, 26 Sep 2006 12:44:00 GMT

In August, Mlle P and I spent two weeks camping in Aix and the Luberon, one of the areas on our shortlist. Driving through the countryside, with roads lined by mature trees, the colours gradually changing into the autumn palette, I felt like I was driving though a car advert. In Aix, we came upon a café on the Cour Mirabeau where the friendly waiter gave Mlle P a straw with a fold out pineapple attached. Hoping to start a “straw with fold out fruits-collection”, we became regulars and spent hours watching tourists and locals. I was amazed at how slim the women were, and how, no matter what age, they all seemed to wear very short, tight fitting dresses. And the men – so well groomed! I phoned up Monsieur P and told him to buy a selection of white linen shirts in preparation for the move.

To get a feel for the French school system, we decided to make some visits. Ecole Privee Val Saint Andre, conveniently, was right near our campsite. The headmistress took the time to chat, the school was small and friendly. Mlle P was impressed and wanted to start straight away when she discovered that the twin brother of her favourite teddy, Eye-eye (so-called to make up for the fact that he only has one eye), was the school mascot. But the main teaching language was English, and although cheaper than the international school, it was still expensive. We also paid a visit to a small Protestant school, where the main teaching language was French. I loved the family atmosphere, but as a lapsed Protestant, religion played a more central role in the teaching than I felt comfortable with.

Back to the drawing board and the Mairie to find out about the state schools. We were redirected to the office for schools, at an address which turned out not to exist. We stumbled across the office by luck later on, half an hour before closing time on a Friday, the last day of inscription. The place was in chaos, with a lot of harassed staff running around. Luckily, there was a temp who spoke some English.

The rules were (I think) that we would be allocated a place in a state school, maybe close to where we lived, although there was no guarantee, as soon as we had an address. One of the staff told us there were some schools with special assistance for non-French speakers, but she was not sure which ones they where. Her colleague denied the existence of such schools, and a third member of staff said yes, the special assistance did exist, but not at Maternelle. In any event, I would have to write a letter to apply for a place in one of these schools (which might exist or not), although no place could be guaranteed.

We walked back out into the busy streets of Aix, more confused than when we came, but feeling very proud of ourselves for getting through a full day of French bureaucracy without crying. Then we bought two big ice-creams to celebrate.

Back home in the UK, we are mulling over Aix and the Luberon. Commuting to the area from Copenhagen was more awkward than we though (Monsieur P. made a week-end visit while we were out there). Nice may be a more realistic choice for us to reduce the stress of commuting. The search continues.

A bit of research

camillapoissonnier@yahoo.co.uk — Mon, 03 Jul 2006 11:07:00 GMT

Amidst the excitement about Monsieur P.’s new job, it didn’t sink in that he was going to be a long way away. It’ll be tough, even though we’ve had to cope with weekly commuting before. The only jobs in Thanet are in hair dressing, taxi services and dog walking, or with a large pharmaceuticals company where Monsieur P. has already applied and been turned down.

Monsier P. has looked into the French job market, but adverts tend to insist on perfect French. They do that to keep the Arab immigrants out, is my theory. Unemployment levels over there are frightening, 23% among young people. Many go for years without a job. Monsieur P. is willing to pick grapes, he says, but since he has an expensive family to maintain, I don’t think that’s realistic. I work from home as a research analyst. The flexibility is great, but the pay won’t buy us a plot with a vue degageé.

To keep the momentum, I’ve been working on some research. Yesterday evening I covered a wall of my office with a map of the South of France, printed off from multimap.com in twenty small squares and pieced together very neatly with sticky tape. It took me three hours and I really enjoyed it, seeing bits of France coming together. I coloured in little bits of paper and wrote the names of the departments and the numbers and stuck them on with Blutack Then I positioned them very carefully in the wilderness of the Pyrenees and the Massiv des Maures so that they didn’t cover up particularly interesting places like Perpignan and Nice, or any of my favourite villages like Cogolin, where we stayed for two nights during our honeymoon in 1999 in the Hotel Coque d’Or. I thought the name was a bit naughty at the time, but my French wasn’t very good.

Today was the day when I should have kicked off my new research project (not the one on my wall, but one that I get paid to do). Instead, I went through the time tables for all the airlines that fly into the major airports in the South of France and made miniature yellow cardboard cut-outs and stuck them on the map. Budget airline flights are often in the middle of the day, which is no good for a weekly commuter. That leaves us with Girona (for Perpignan), Marseille (for lots of great places) or Nice.

After lunch, I went on the AA website and worked out how long it would take to drive from these airports to everywhere I could think of where we might want to live, and wrote down the distances and drive times on my map in red pen. Then I surfed the property sites and cut and pasted pictures and prices of plots of land onto my map as well, which is now starting to look impressive. Monsieur P. is not so impressed. He’s come over all corporate and efficient since he got his new job and he thinks I should do mine too. He’s right of course, but that doesn’t mean I want to hear it. Anyway, my map looks pretty good.

Monsieur P. gets a job

camillapoissonnier@yahoo.co.uk — Mon, 26 Jun 2006 19:56:00 GMT

This is major! Monsieur P. got a new job today, after 6 weeks of unemployment. The job is in Copenhagen, and it's for 8 weeks, extension possible. This means we'll have money again, and Monsieur P. will be more receptive to my plans.

Being in computers and working on contracts, life is pretty unpredictable for Monsieur P. and for his family. We (mainly I) have decided that since Monsieur P. is only home at week-ends anyway, he may as well be commuting to France as to Thanet. We can see France from here on a sunny day, and it's such a tease. Thanet is all very well, but it's been a long time since it was joined to France. Too long.

Our (my) plans are these; we will rent a flat in France, Monsieur P. will commute weekly to wherever in Europe his job takes him, while the rest of us, Mlle P., our dog DD and I battle it out (it'll be hard, but someone's got to do it) during the week. Then, at the week-ends, we'll have a great time, and we'll be together, and we'll be exactly where we want to be. Only I'm not quite sure where that is.

There is a (preliminary) shortlist. It includes Nice, anywhere in Var that smells of pine trees, Avignon, Arles, Nimes, Montpellier, the Cevennes, Perpignan, anywhere in the South and anywhere we can afford. It's not very short, is it? I'll be so grateful for any suggestions from you! I've already had some great help from colleagues in the Forum. I've been told to, as an American friend once put it, "get off my butt and do stuff", and that's good to know. Some of you suggested Perpignan, and the Southern Luberon, they both sound like great ideas. I'm very excited. And scared. And desperate to go.