Ever thought about jacking in the 9-5? Obviously, yes.
At the end of January I left my editorial job and life of over-spending in London for France. Aside from needing a change, I’d reached a point where I knew that if I wanted to learn French again it had to be while I was able to up sticks and leave, but for too long the practicalities of making that happen were all too overwhelming. Lots of ‘I can’t just leeeeave?s and fretting about never finding work again. The usual.
I’d nearly given up on the idea when when my friend suggested The Leonardo Programme – an EU-funded scheme to help graduates and ‘others’ (me) improve their language and work in foreign country, that she’d done two years prior. Flights, accommodation, food, insurance and lessons paid for, it took the ordeal out of physically moving. Sixty hours of lessons and then a two-month internship, which wasn’t confirmed until arrival in France. Slightly strange to tell people I was leaving the country with no idea what I would be doing…
When you say you’re going to France, people generally dream a clichéd haze of pastel macaroons, café society and windy cobbled streets. They also assume that you will be moving to Paris, which I did not. Here I am in Alès. Fiercely loved by the locals and snubbed by pretty much everyone else, it’s not exactly the enticing mistress I left London for, but it is in the south which means plenty to a soggy anglaise.
This isn’t a ‘How-To emigrate’ (or if it is, it’s a twenty-seven-parter and I’ve no idea of the outcome), more a venting platform and excuse to type/think in English. AZERTY keyboards are plain ludicrous.
I’ve been here a month and more, so this is very tardy, but I’ve been communicating a lot with my hands and eating cheese. But as a preview, there’s a ton of this…
…likewise…
…and of course…
