Arrive, Survive, Thrive

Here's a thing. Recently, I've been having a funny feeling. A good one, mind you.

We ARRIVED in the Languedocalmost four years ago. It was bloody awful. I spoke fluent French, had a new job to keep me busy, a supportive partner, a new wicker basket to be filled with organic veggies at the colourful local market and all that gubbins, but it was, nevertheless, PANTS. Once the honeymoon period had worn off (ie. once the winter set in - we arrived in September, just as the grape harvest was beginning), reality set in. I was miserable. Living in the countryside bored me rigid. Vineyard views are all well and good, but they're no substitute for (say) the London Institute of Contemporary Art, a shopping spree at APC, or an afternoon in Liberty fingering fancy fabrics and sniffing Dyptique candles. You get my drift.

We survived the first two months by drinking vast quantities of local wine and plotting our escape to a larger town (bigger, better market), where we rented a soul-less modern villa for eighteen months and considered our options. This was SURVIVAL time. It was OK, and even, like a curate's egg, good in parts (the Friday market run, the Saturday morning cafe and croissant fest). But man cannot live by bread alone (not even crusty banette), and I found myself pining for urban thrills.

Reader, you'll be unsurprised to hear that we got the hell out of Dodge and finally settled in the Big Bad City (aka Montpellier), where dog shit is copious and binners are free. Only the night before last I had to call the SAMU because some poor dog-on-a-string person had apparently taken an overdose and was expiring on our doorstep (I kid you not.) Well, waddaya know? All big cities have their downsides. I don't care. I love living here. Four years on and we've met some PLUs (People Like Us), I've got some close women friends who I really click with (big up yourself, HB! and before you ask, they're a mix of Brits, Americans and Frenchwomen), I'm getting my fix of contemporary culture thanks to the Diagonal cinemas, the Panacee art space, Sauramps book store, the Montpellier Danse festival, the Corum theatre - you name it, I'm checking it - and we've found the best beach bars, the nicest Thai restaurant in town, and the magnificent municipal library. Finally, Life Is Good. We are thriving.

So to anyone out there who's not sure about their new life in France: hang in there. It gets better with time. For some, it's only a matter of months. For me, it took a lot longer. I met a woman last week who moved to the Tarn 15 years ago: it took her five years to start feeling happy in France, she told me.