I was 32 years old when I arrived, exhaustingly jubilant, on French soil with my petite black cat, two oversized suitcases, and my desktop computer. My expansive book collection remained in transit. Seventeen cardboard boxes were suspended above and over the Atlantic Ocean, just as I had been. Thirty-two years quickly transformed into an age of two. With my sense of wonder heightened, I began the chapter I define as “my second childhood.” I’d be role-playing as a toddler this time—and a French one at that!
I’d experience the amazement of discovery, the introduction to new foods, the learning of social norms, and a self-built version of the French language. Life was beginning again, almost as if from scratch. Dedicated to helping me assimilate and feel at home was my sweet husband, who, at the time, held the title of ‘boyfriend.’ We serendipitously met years prior, thanks to the Eames House, where I worked as an architectural guide and occasional conservationist.
Enthusiastically, we remained in touch, and after COVID restrictions closed and reopened borders, I bought a plane ticket from the West Coast US to Paris. I had never been to Europe, and this fact scratched at me incessantly. Plus, I was a year into my serious Duolingo French language streak. France and I—we were overdue for our rendez-vous.
Enchanted and wide-eyed
The handsome and kind man in question whisked me away from Charles de Gaulle airport. We spent our first date eating razor clams in a jazz café in Montmartre and then visited Le Corbusier’s Villa Savoye with wide eyes. I was busy checking off so many bucket list items in one day while feeling the tingling of love—both for this person and this new-to-me culture. I was absolutely enchanted. A year and a half later came my across-the-globe move. Not to Paris, but to the South of France, to a rose-tinted city called Toulouse. Oh, the dramatic, soul-replenishing things we do for love, language, and exploration!
Image credits: Watching jazz in Montmartre, Le Corbusier’s Villa Savoye, Le Centre Pompidou,
eating at Bouillon Julien, the Eiffel Tower as seen from the steps of Le Musée d’Art Moderne de Paris.
All images copyright Kelsey Rose/author.
Navigating the unfamiliar
What came along quickly after the move were the little things: understanding meters and grams, navigating the unfamiliar rules of the roads on a vintage Honda scooter, learning how to mail a letter at the post office, attending doctor appointments topless, or confusingly converting Celsius to something that made more sense to me. The big things thunderously rumbled me after a few months passed: mostly the loneliness of being separated from 98% of the people I love dearly. Complaining that you’re gloomy while residing in France—to Americans—is unfathomable, even to the one who was living the experience.
Scenes from life in Toulouse. All images taken by the author.
…and two years after
Exactly two years after moving countries, I am not quite a four-year-old French person yet. Being an immigrant doesn’t allow you to grow in a linear way like a “normal” life does. I continue to oscillate between feeling like a stumbling, goofy toddler and seeming linguistically twelve. On my best days, I am more akin to the peaceful, self-assured version of me—beaming and soaking in my good fortune. We two lovers planned and experienced a tiny, warm-hearted wedding in the Basque Country. Then, we moved to that region of France, settling in a small seaside Basque village called Ciboure. I am continuing my Duolingo streak (4 1/2 years without one day missed!); I abandoned my strict vegetarianism for chorizo and paella; and I am constantly amazed by the kindness and patience of every person I encounter. Quelle aventure !
Scenes from life in the French Basque Country. All images taken by the author.
All of my moments of learning include taking mental and physical notes of the cultural differences between America and France. My knowledge of art, architecture, and design has heightened and sharpened itself through a French lens—a cherished realization.
In my future writings here, I hope to share more about the above-mentioned Villa Savoye, Audrey Hepburn exploring 1960s Paris, and how I am enveloping my days in curiosity and growth in this enticing, perplexing, trés incroyable second beginning at life.
I’d love to hear whether you’ve moved to France from elsewhere and how that experience changed your perception of your inner and outer world. Please share in the comments below.
Introducing Contributor, Kelsey Rose
Immerse yourself in all of Kelsey Rose’s articles on her Contributor page.
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