It has been a couple years since my last entry. Life happens. Spain did not work out due to ridiculous and expensive bureaucracy and a process thwarted by a global pandemic and Brexit. When one’s immigration attorney recommends giving up after multiple failed attempts, one listens. One also must make difficult choices when broke and defeated. Time to reboot, regroup, reassess…and refill the coffers. Hello again, US.
I had five American cities on my list I was considering when confronted with returning. I made pros and cons for each, but I returned to Portland, although it was not my first choice because of all the shit that went down in my absence, and I thought I might like to start over in a completely different place. However, I already have a vast network of good friends and chosen family in Portland, I don’t need a vehicle, and I already know how to navigate the city and culture. Plus, the progressive mindset, abundant green wilderness and ample water supply. The bottom line was cost of living and Portland was the least expensive on my list. I find that laughable now as I write this in a high-rise swank apartment with spectacular views of downtown and the surrounding landscape…and $2500/month rent for the privilege.
Returning to the States also meant I had to once again find work after globetrotting for years and any job I found had to have health benefits. I refuse to be in the US without health coverage. Although I’ve rarely needed medical care in my life, one serious injury or illness in the US without health insurance and I’d be forever bankrupt. Not a risk I’m willing to take at this point in my life.
Within six weeks of returning and reacclimating to life in Portland and the US, I was once again employed and thriving. It was a job I normally would not have considered, but the pay was decent enough and the benefits, including healthcare, were exceptional. The work itself is satisfying and the people I have met are interesting. The workout has been great and I became even more lean and fit (despite sustaining a work injury getting my biceps tendon ripped off requiring surgery to reattach it and three months rehabilitation). I can now add “unionized school custodian” to my wide range of former job titles, and also added another pension for my future, in addition to great stories and enough odd characters to write another unfinished book. Speaking of…
My future? I’m moving to France, May 31st. To retire. To write. To paint. To live.
The immigration process has been much easier than Spain…by a landslide. It also helps to do the research ahead of time instead of winging it and hoping for the best. Back in March, all documents were acquired and prepared. Purchased the premium service at the consulate in San Francisco, and two weeks later received my long-stay visa sticker attached to my passport. Once I get officially stamped in at the local prefecture, I can live in Europe legally without needing to pop in and out every ninety days out of 180. My residential visa is renewable each year without leaving France, and after five years continually living and immersing myself in France, I’m eligible for permanent French residency. I’m in it for the long haul. Je suis fatigué.
Even more remarkable, after three months as a legal resident, I qualify to be part of the universal French healthcare; one of the best and most affordable healthcare systems in the world.
An added bonus is that I already speak French, albeit rusty. My French got a decent workout while traipsing around Romania, but I’m far from fluent and I really want to immerse myself…and it is required as it should be. I’m going to take more French classes and avoid English. I also want to develop some dynamic French friendships.
As much as I love Paris, I don’t want to live there. Too big. Too expensive. Too aggro. Too cliché. Plus, I’m avoiding the Olympics mayhem this summer at all costs. Instead, I’m going to start out in southwestern France, in the Nouvelle-Aquitaine region, close to the Atlantic and the Spanish border, at the foothills of the Pyrénées.
I’m landing in Pau to begin my next adventure. Interesting city. Two kings of two royal dynasties were born there. The Wright Brothers developed flying in Pau and most WW1 fighter pilots were trained in and around the area. The widowed Mary Todd Lincoln settled there. It has Europe’s oldest golf course. It has a mild climate and was a popular health and spa destination for the global elite a century ago, evident by the stately mansions and manors lining the streets . Napoleon loved the view of the Pyrénées and created a boulevard in Pau with spectacular views. Pau is one of the greenest cities in Europe offering exotic flora in abundant parks and greenspace. Pau also is a frequent passage on the Tour de France and there is also an annual grand prix through the streets of Pau.
Within an hour from Pau, I can go to Spain or the Atlantic coast, or go hiking and skiing in the Pyrénées, or head to Biarritz for some of the world’s best surfing. By train, Paris is five hours away, Toulouse and Bordeaux only two, and Bilbao, Spain a mere four. Not to mention all the wee towns and villages throughout France I intend to explore. Thus far, I’m digging the location.
The latest American experience has humbled me. Not only have I realized and accepted that I’m getting old, but also that I’m not a superhuman or immortal…or that life is sustainable as it is financially. Physically, I am falling apart. I just can’t endure the physical labor to which I am accustomed and have relied upon to get me through life. If I continue working as I have been my entire life, I’m going to end up seriously physically impaired…and possibly unemployable, and employed I must be while living in the expensive US. It’s time to scale back considerably and shift my focus.
In addition to further exploration of life in a new French environs, I want to write. At first I was compelled to write a book, and I have several unfinished books to finish writing, but at this point I’m content with writing stories, both autobiographical and fictional. I’ve seen and experienced a lot in my sometimes double life as an American and immigrant elsewhere. So many stories to tell, some not for the squeamish, but definitely part of who I am and what I became as a global bon vivant hedonist, living life one step at a time.
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