Why Do You Really, Really Want To Move Abroad?

Knowing why you want to live in a foreign country will help when the novelty wears off. Trust me, it will

Madrid, Spain (author’s photos)

I’d been in Madrid for less than three hours — the time it took to get from the railway station where I’d just arrived from Montpellier, France, to the Mercado de San Miguel, where the tapas were, ‘oh my god, I want to live here.’

“I know, I do too,” said my daughter. She and her husband had flown in from Seattle just the day before. “Can you believe it?” she said as we passed stall after stall of amazing displays. I said, no, I couldn’t. I’d never seen anything quite like it — and bear in mind that I’d been living in France, not exactly a slouch when it comes to amazing food.

And, probably for the next ten days of our visit to Spain, the food — whether in restaurants, neighbourhood markets or high-end purveyors, was what we talked about the most. And while a perfect baguette or incredible cheese and wine aren’t enough to persuade everyone to pick up sticks and move abroad, I bet it’s often an inducement.

No better way to start the day

A couple of years ago, I wrote about the importance of examining your reasons for wanting to move abroad — neither food nor politics should top your list. Some excerpts.

Walking with the dog this morning along one of the rutted roads that crisscross the vineyards, I had the sudden sense of seeing everything for the first time. It all looked so beautiful and tranquil — the low hills of the Cevennes, the distant view of a hillside village, an olive grove — fruit not quite ready to pick.

Eleven years ago, when I first moved to this region of southern France, I saw everything as I did this morning. New and exciting. Nothing escaped my attention — a beam of winter sunshine on the honey-coloured stones of houses built long before I was born, the sense of history in narrow streets. A tray of just-baked bread set out to cool on the boulangerie windowsill, women at the weekly market, shopping baskets on their arms.

Sometimes just the brilliant light that gives the land the look of a watercolour painting. I’d never thought of taking up art as a hobby until I moved to France — it still hasn’t progressed beyond the thinking about it stage, but it’s a good thought.

Languedoc, France

Back then, full of excitement at the newness of life in France, I’d capture the details in my journal and vow never to lose the sense of wonder. But, of course, it happens. The realities of daily life compete for attention, and the freshness fades. Until moments like this morning.

Last night, on the phone with my friend Kit back in California, she mentioned a couple considering a move to Europe. They aren’t sure where exactly, but France is on the list they’ve made. Kit asked if I’d mind her giving them my e-mail address, and perhaps I could offer some advice. I agreed, of course, and then after we finished talking, I thought a bit about what advice I’d offer.

High on the list would be: Don’t lease a place sight unseen — mostly because that’s exactly what I did. But there are so many other considerations, almost all falling under the heading:

Be sure this is really what you want to do.

Knowing, without a doubt, that I wanted to move to France was invaluable in overcoming obstacles and difficulties, big and small.

Languedoc village, France.

Life in a foreign country is not for everyone. The tiny village that looked so appealing during a two-week vacation can quickly lose its charm once you’ve said, ‘I do’ — kind of like marriage after a too-brief courtship. Or, as the poet William Congreve put it: ‘Married in haste, we may repent at leisure.’

And small villages, while charming, can be a bit dull, especially in winter — Lotto at the multi-purpose hall on a Saturday night, or an amateur dance performance may not be your idea of excitement.

I see teenagers in my village huddled in the bus shelter, eyes glued to mobile phone screens and think of myself growing up in an English seaside town, restless for excitement. Perhaps if I’d moved here a few decades earlier, the shuttered villages would have had the same effect.

Although I’ve never, for a moment, regretted my decision, France — just like any foreign country — has its downsides, its frustrations and irritating quirks. Maybe, just maybe, it would be nice to go to a restaurant at whatever time I feel like going, rather than between the holy hours of noon and two or seven and nine-thirty.

Or let’s say you’ve imbibed a little too much of that delicious and amazingly inexpensive red you picked up to celebrate your new and exciting life. In the cold light of sobriety, you wake up with a hangover and no pain relief. Wouldn’t it be helpful if you could pick up aspirin at the supermarket as you did in the States? Of course it would, but over-the-counter meds — pain relief, allergy pills, Band-Aids, antiseptic ointment, etc. — can only be purchased at a pharmacy. And almost all pharmacies are closed on Sundays.

Short of euros? You might wonder why you can’t get cashback at a supermarket the way you once did. Even after thirteen years, it still annoys me that I have to drive fifteen minutes to find an ATM — which, infuriatingly, is sometimes out of money, but hey ho. Why, I wonder, can’t the Tabac put one in — next to the lottery tickets and tobacco products?

The answer: That’s life in France.

Transhumance, Languedoc, France

I could go on, but I won’t. Obviously, the decision to live abroad involves numerous considerations, including visas, finances, health issues, etc. But this piece is intended mostly to address the emotional issues of deciding to take the risk.

Most things can be accomplished, and obstacles overcome if the desire and motivation are there. Again, I go back to my strongest piece of advice about moving to a foreign country. Be sure it’s really what you want to do. And, to return to my marriage analogy, if you’re sure this is what (who) you want, remember that things won’t always go smoothly; true love seldom does.

Keep that in mind, be willing to compromise (just like marriage) and see your new life as an ever-unfolding adventure. Do that, and even after thirteen years, you’ll look around and suddenly see everything as if for the first time. And you’ll give yourself a little pat on the back because you’ll know there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

Mercado, Madrid

And don’t be lured by the food. Man (or woman) can’t live on bread and cheese alone.