Pinot, Bretzels, and Cathedrals

As you are pretty much aware, I love myself a whole lot of Facebook (and Instagram). I spend an inordinate amount of time scrolling through my social media feeds: while waiting for the bus; while having my cup of coffee; while watching tv; while waiting for my baking timer to buzz; while reading boring books. You would think I absorb heaps of interesting facts while immersed in the oracle of faux news, but I don’t. I have no attention span when I’m on Facebook.

I’m like a goat.

Foraging.

In the dumpster.

One of my favourite FB thingies is the ‘memories’ notification. I love getting reminders of how my kids used to look; pictures of Mom, of the nastiness of my job at Unisa (grateful I don’t have to deal with that sh*t anymore); my years before grey hair and crows feet. And then last week I got the memory of my announcement we were moving to France.

Aaah, don’t you just love them cows?? But no, I was looking at the 2013 memory. And in particular the line that says “for hopefully 5 years” and all of a sudden I was stumped. It’s 2018. It’s the end of 5 years.

Already.

Obviously I have had so many thoughts.

WHERE HAVE THE LAST 5 YEARS GONE TO FOR GOODNESS SAKE? being the first, largely rhetorical one.

The second thought is probably this: “did you really think it was going to just be 5 years or was that what you were telling Mom to make the announcement less hurtful?” Or did I think that the lure of the motherland was always going to draw us back because of family?

My third thought was probably apparently your comfort zone IS actually enough because life is technically easier in Europe for now. Well, it used to be. And then my comfort zone got us in trouble. So we pushed out some boundaries. And carried on.

All this reminded me that friends contacted us in April looking for advice in their decision making process- he had been offered a job with an international medical company, for a position based in the Netherlands. Their questions were dominated by “this is his salary proposal. It’s not enough for us. How easy will it be for me [my girl friend] to get a job?”

And also “what do you know about English schools?”

“Why did you decide to move to France?”

Lastly “do you regret your decision and would you do do it again knowing what you do after 5 years?”

The first question coincided with a Facebook group chat question, where a guy had been offered a (IMO) massive salary to move to France. He was worried it wasn’t enough- could they live off that as a family of 4? I was flabbergasted at the amount- it was 40% higher that what my hubby gets, and according to locals (and we’re considered locals in that we pay our own French taxes) A gets a pretty good salary.

But here was this guy (and our friends I guess) trying to decide if they could make a living on the salary offer.

It’s prompted me to realise one of the biggest lessons we’ve learnt living in Europe.

Adapt and adaptation. You don’t need a sprawling double story, surrounded garden and swimming pool. You don’t need 2 cars necessarily. Or certainly not 2 big new cars. You might not necessarily have the same recognition in your job for a while. You don’t need private school for your children. You’ll have to do your own cleaning. You’ll have to make new friends. You’ll probably take public transport and ride a bicycle. And that’s good. You might learn to eat less meat. You will make a bigger effort to actually connect with people you might never have considered a friend. You will probably realise the world doesn’t revolve around you. (I’m not saying that we all are all such arrogant snobs, but there is so much added value to having ‘your village, your community’ that it’s so easy to forget that life exists outside that.)

The urban and rural lifestyle here everywhere in Europe is incredibly different to how we middle and upper class South Africans live. Public parks, public pools, apartment life, effective public transport, schools literally on your doorstep, South Africans can’t really begin to imagine a life like that. So when it comes to putting a value on an anticipated salary, there isn’t really a real reference point. And I honestly believe making a move like we did, like so many others have, is about addressing what you really need in your life. Because we don’t need everything we take from life.

As I write this on my new phone, I am grateful to have built up on our lives here. We started out with a reasonable space, in the city, we sent money home to cover our mortgage and retirement policies. We took a step back and we built ourselves up. Yes, my honest self will admit we have accumulated too much and that maybe another move will declutter us again, but that brings me to a question K asked- would we do it again and have we any regrets? Yes, I would do it again. No, I have no regrets.

However, our reasons for moving here were different to theirs- one of our goals was to stay here long enough to get French passports. They have European passports and they’re possibly wanting to move on account of the political climate.

Do I miss South Africa? Sometimes.

It’s summer here at the moment, and I know we have a trip scheduled in October, so we don’t miss it right now. But in deep winter, at Christmas, and our families are all hanging out on the other side of a computer screen, showing off how many teeth have fallen out, how everyone was building sandcastles at the beach, what the recent golf handicap has dropped to, those are the difficult times. And we do talk about returning. Given we have been here 5 years, we can start the process of applying for French passports. And who knows? We still have bank accounts and pension schemes ticking over. We still have property. Currently, however, we have more invested in our French salaries, so unless Ortho moves us to SA on their dime, we’ll stay here.

Sigh. I had started this blog post intending to list the various lessons we’ve learned here in the last 5 years (the impact on our family life and everything continues to be of the feminine in my French language- une is feminine, un is masculine. Un is like this random half word since you don’t annunciate the n, it kind of just lingers in the back of your throat, and I feeling silly saying it. Same for eau – water, os- bone- [they’re just vowels man!!], ) but I got wholeheartedly carried away. Maybe on the 13 July, the actual 5 year anniversary, I will write that blog!

My head is quite largely wrapped around World Cup fever this week, but it’s my last week of school term since we’re not here next week and I feel like a millions things are not being done. Let me wrap up this missive and bid you a good night (morning?) and click the publish button.

Look for me next week when I post pics from Bergen, Norway! Really looking forward to enjoying the fruits of Antons’ hard work at Ortho, and especially grateful to some very special Bostonians for trekking down here to look after our babies. (That’s one village none of us can shake off).

And that’s a wrap for now. Chat soon my lovelies, and if I have offended you in anyway, I apologise. These thoughts are mine, and are not based on anything scientific, demographic, economic or social.

Lots of love,

Moi,

Xxx

Sunset after 9, across the wheat fields. There’s no black fly in this Chardonnay.