Article on the Irish Times today
Au revoir France
They say moving house is one of the most stressful things you can do,
after death and divorce. We made the decision early this year to leave
our beloved France with our two children and head back “home” to
Ireland, a country where we haven’t actually lived in for over 16 years.
The decision was a difficult one as France has been good to us and we
have no regrets. Where we are living is probably one of the most
beautiful places in Europe, with the Med and the mountains within
spitting distance.
Yet, at the end of the day, it’s just not home. We have a close
network of expat friends whom we get on very well with, but most will
eventually leave here. We are constantly saying goodbye to good friends.
We swear we will stay in contact, but rarely do.
Our French friends are equally lovely, but they never really let you
in. We’ve had hundreds of nights out with them, perfectly staged dinner
parties with exquisite food and wines to match, but at the end of the
evening we’d often realise we had had little craic.
Our decision to leave was made in the depths of a very bad French
winter. Personally and professionally we both felt held back and
unfulfilled. Trying to run a business here in France is like beating
your head against a brick wall while the French bureaucrats watch,
mocking and deriding you. It really is that bad.
You realise pretty quickly that France only plays lip service to
Europe and in reality does it’s own thing which reeks of protectionism
and cronyism. On one occasion as we tried to get a business off the
ground, our Irish MEP, Brian Crowley, took our case to the Minister of
Justice because he felt we were being discriminated against as they were
refusing to recognise my accountancy qualifications. France’s answer to
the problem was to change the law, so I had to have a French
baccalaureat (equivalent of Leaving Cert) to work in my chosen field.
All that aside, life in France has been mostly good and we have been
extremely happy here. Now, as the mercury begins to rise, the doubts
about our decision, in direct correlation, are too. I’ve had sleepless
nights wondering are we doing the right thing for the children, now aged
six and eight, who are now completely and naturally bilingual. Will
they fit into the Irish culture? How will they cope with the drinking
culture in Ireland when they reach their teenage years, and will my
daughter want to start dressing like a pop star once she hits Irish
shores? Will we be able to handle the terrible weather?
Our beautiful house with it’s happy memories of all the people who
have visited us and the fun we have had, has gone under the hammer and
we must leave in a couple of days.
We will miss the sunshine, the wine, the food, and our circle of
lovely friends, but for all that, Ireland still beckons. It takes time
living away from Ireland to fully appreciate how warm, lovely, helpful
and genuine Irish people are. “There are plenty of assholes in Ireland
too,” my father warned me when I broke the news of our return, and we
know that we’re not going to have 320 days of sunshine. Yet, we want our
children to be Irish, to have that Irish sense of humour, to have a
healthy working mentality and to be surrounded by our extended family.
We want to be there for the good times and the bad. In a morbid way, I
want to be there for funerals, for sicknesses and the tough times as
well as the celebrations and the good times.
It’s au revoir France for now. Yikes!
.jpeg)
