Why France? part un

Our 10-year anniversary in Paris is around the corner. I’m often asked how we ended up here. In a series of stories, I am sharing our journey to the City of Light and the lure of salted butter.

Image credit: Kathryn Ivey

Why France? Did you move because of your career? Is it because of US politics? Is it because you like cheese that much?

I am frequently asked this question by visitors and French expats. Some ask with pure curiosity, some with admiration, and others with an undertone of wondering why we would be crazy enough to leave the US. My husband and I are certainly not an anomaly to have chosen to live in a different country than our native one, and even I turn the question on other expats I meet because it’s fascinating to hear the stories of how one ends up where they are, right?

Image credit: The New Yorker

I recently met an American mom at the park whose husband is French. Naturally, I asked her how she ended up here. She shared that 15 years ago, she was heading to Amsterdam for vacation when she was a youthful 22- year old, and the cheapest flight she could find connected through Paris. However, when she arrived in Paris she discovered the airline had lost her luggage. She was “stuck” in Paris waiting on her bags and yet all the while fell in love with the city. She never made it to Amsterdam. She decided to stay in Paris and never went back to the US.

Our move to France didn’t happen after an overnight flight, but rather it was a slow journey marked with signposts along the way. My love of Europe started at a very young age, which is ironic being that I didn’t own a passport until I was at university and took a trip to the Dominican Republic. It wasn’t Europe, but I was excited to experience a culture different than my own, practice my college-level Spanish, and obtain my first stamp on the fresh pages of my passport.

When I did dream of Europe, I always pictured myself in France. Maybe I was seduced by the French joie de vivre and fashion I consumed in films like An American in Paris or Funny Face, but I also credit my love of France to my grandmother, who was a high-school French teacher in North Carolina. She passed away when I was at university, but I recall her sharing stories about her trips abroad and teaching me the song Frère Jacques. I wasn’t astute enough during my adolescence to realize until after she passed how much I could have learned from her. But I believe the francophile in me was established through my interactions with her.

Image credit: Kathryn Ivey – My grandmother at her desk in her classroom

Fast-forward to my twenties, now living and working in Washington, DC, an international city with an urban plan designed by the French architect Pierre Charles L’Enfant. A college internship initially led me to D.C., and I fell in love with the “human-size” city that felt European with its architecture and historical roots. I decided to make this my next stop after graduation.

I ended up meeting my husband in D.C. who also grew up with wanderlust despite being from land-locked Oklahoma. A year after our wedding, we decided to throw caution to the wind and planned a two-month European adventure. We considered it a sabbatical of sorts, as I was in between leaving one job and starting a new one, and my husband’s company was refreshingly supportive of this 8-week leave of absence.

Does Kathryn’s life experience about her move to Paris resonate with you? There is Part two to come… Share your thoughts and experiences in the comments below

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