The Last Post
I sit here among boxes and unspeakable filth (we sold the fridge and the washing machine today and when we moved it and the polite strangers saw What Lay Underneath I couldn't decide whether to nominate myself for France's worst housewife or just make it quick and die of shame on the spot).
From our window I can see the lights of the skyscrapers of La Defense, France's biggest business district. How reassuring that despite the fact it's 15th August, and a national holiday, the lights are still on. It's nice to have company in Paris in August.
This is the last time I will post from France, and all day I've been struggling to muster some feelings. Either it hasn't sunk in or I am just too glad that this chapter in my life is finally over. Maybe as the ferry pulls away from Dunkirk (a strangely appropriate place to sail from) tomorrow I'll squeeze out a tear or two, if I can be bothered. Bof. Shrug.
I came to France expecting to fall in love with the place and be bilingual in two years. It didn't happen, and I ended up living a parallel life, working in English-speaking companies (not by choice but because that was where the work was), socialising with my English-speaking colleagues and hubski's Russian friends. I felt that France, despite the fact I spoke French fluently and wanted to integrate, had its back turned to me. There were few opportunities to get involved in community life - in fact I don't think community life really exists outside villages and small towns (and call me needy, but saying hello to the baker doesn't count). As time went by I stopped expecting to make a French friend (though that item remained on my New Year's Resolution list for years). My contact with the French was limited to shops, banks and government offices. I think even the French will agree that these are not areas where they shine.
By the time my son was born in 2002 I had seen enough. I wanted to go home. But this was impossible - I would have had to leave hubski (who was then boyfriendski, and without an EU passport) behind. So I put it out of my mind. But every time something went wrong, it came back. Again and again. Until one fine day, about a year and a half ago, hubski agreed that I had a point. Getting work was easier in the UK. The smallest thing was not always a battle to achieve. People didn't openly revel in saying 'no'.
I have, however, found things about France that I appreciate and admire, and living in this country has changed me for the better in many ways. There's a tiny part of me that is more French than English. I am not rabidly anti-French and can understand Brits who want to come and live in France. They will have done things the right way round - have a career, make some money, then buy a French farmhouse and relax. Maybe one day I'll do the same.
I haven't properly begun to recount my memories of these years, or my trepidation at taking my family (especially hubski, who at the age of 40 is starting his life again from scratch, as he did in France at age 25) back 'home'.
So watch this space.
From our window I can see the lights of the skyscrapers of La Defense, France's biggest business district. How reassuring that despite the fact it's 15th August, and a national holiday, the lights are still on. It's nice to have company in Paris in August.
This is the last time I will post from France, and all day I've been struggling to muster some feelings. Either it hasn't sunk in or I am just too glad that this chapter in my life is finally over. Maybe as the ferry pulls away from Dunkirk (a strangely appropriate place to sail from) tomorrow I'll squeeze out a tear or two, if I can be bothered. Bof. Shrug.
I came to France expecting to fall in love with the place and be bilingual in two years. It didn't happen, and I ended up living a parallel life, working in English-speaking companies (not by choice but because that was where the work was), socialising with my English-speaking colleagues and hubski's Russian friends. I felt that France, despite the fact I spoke French fluently and wanted to integrate, had its back turned to me. There were few opportunities to get involved in community life - in fact I don't think community life really exists outside villages and small towns (and call me needy, but saying hello to the baker doesn't count). As time went by I stopped expecting to make a French friend (though that item remained on my New Year's Resolution list for years). My contact with the French was limited to shops, banks and government offices. I think even the French will agree that these are not areas where they shine.
By the time my son was born in 2002 I had seen enough. I wanted to go home. But this was impossible - I would have had to leave hubski (who was then boyfriendski, and without an EU passport) behind. So I put it out of my mind. But every time something went wrong, it came back. Again and again. Until one fine day, about a year and a half ago, hubski agreed that I had a point. Getting work was easier in the UK. The smallest thing was not always a battle to achieve. People didn't openly revel in saying 'no'.
I have, however, found things about France that I appreciate and admire, and living in this country has changed me for the better in many ways. There's a tiny part of me that is more French than English. I am not rabidly anti-French and can understand Brits who want to come and live in France. They will have done things the right way round - have a career, make some money, then buy a French farmhouse and relax. Maybe one day I'll do the same.
I haven't properly begun to recount my memories of these years, or my trepidation at taking my family (especially hubski, who at the age of 40 is starting his life again from scratch, as he did in France at age 25) back 'home'.
So watch this space.
posted by francesca tereshkova | 1:33 PM
6 Comments:
When we moved out of our little house I discovered my eldest had been using the back of the sofa as a bin for biscuit papers and such. He was 6 at the time. My ex was, how shall I put it... LIVID, with me as we were being helped by two lovely friends of mine.
I laughed, which made it worse of course.
Au revoir, "Francesca Tereshkova". I am sorry your French experience was less than you expected. No, I am not French and do not, yet, live in France. But I hope to live there one day. Unlike, you, I don't really expect to mingle with the French as much as just enjoy the country and it's fabulous cities and towns. I hope your experience back in England will be a good one, though my English friends tell me that it is not what it once was and they no longer feel comfortable there.
Thank you for your journal. It has provided many hours of enjoyment and quite a bit of unexpected information.
I found your blog today via a link at Expatica, and I have enjoyed reading through your archives.
Six months ago I moved back to the U.S after thirteen years in France. I can relate to much of what you have written.
Best of luck in this new chapter of your life! Looking forward to reading more...
I am glad I found your blog. I have had a blast reading through the archives.
Good luck with your move. I hope you get settled in 'back home' very soon.
Best of luck!
bang bang bang bang bang bang
(6 gun salute)
Keep writing please!!!
My wife and I moved back to the US after 7 years in France, last year. The 7 most miserable years of my life, easily. I can fully relate to your exhaustion at literally having *everything* be a battle, and the feeling of constant struggle just to do the simplest tasks. When we moved back, we had to re-establish our business here. To do this, I printed out a form from the internet, mailed it in with a check for fees, and within ONE WEEK I had back a stamped certification of LLC incorporation from the state treasury, enabling us to open business bank accounts and everything else. No muss, no fuss. When I phone our local bank or insurance agent, they are friendly and helpful, and actually responsive. It's a wonder.
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