I’m writing this from a bed and breakfast in the town of Mireipesset, in the southwest corner of France. We flew here from Vancouver on Valentine’s Day, and plan to live in this part of the world for the next year or so. An old friend of my wife’s has a house for rent in the nearby village of Argeliers. They’re just putting the finishing touches on the renovation, so we’re squatting in the B&B for a few more days. Then we’ll move on in.
I suppose it’s a bit ironic that, after a year of living Canadian, I have fled the nation for foreign shores.
We’re hoping that our year in France will be much like our year in Malta. We’ll enjoy life at a slower pace, and have a chance for some reflection and renewal after a hectic five years in Victoria and Vancouver. Even if you work as much as usual, living abroad affords you the luxury of a lot of extra free time. Until I lived in Malta, I never realized how much of my time was occupied with the, for want of a better word, bureaucracy of my life.
About a month ago, I realized that I hadn’t “announced” in any formal way the fact that we were leaving the country. Not on this site, nor on Facebook or Twitter. I’d wanted to ensure that our ducks were all in a row, I guess, and then I became particularly busy.
As a kind of experiment in discretion, I decided to just hold off on telling the Internet (I know, what a strange world we live in where that’s even a consideration) that we were moving to France. What, if any, are the results of that experiment? I’m not sure yet.