Someone once claimed that we all have a strand of crazy. But how much do you have to have to want to retire to the South of France? Let the adventure begin!
To those who wanted more specifics, we explained that we wanted our retirement to be completely different from anything that we’d done before. We had fallen in love with the country and its people on previous visits and besides, we really were crazy. By the time we completed the applications, provided stacks of required documents, been interviewed and paid our fees, we were pretty giddy. A few months later, an official letter arrived granting us permission for a one -year stay. As we danced for joy, only the weight of our shoes kept us from floating right off the planet.
The moving truck brought a freight container and took all of our household goods and our dear little car. One day, if all went well, we would see them again. Now all we had were our dog and cat, their carriers, a guitar, a laptop and our jam-packed suitcases. For the next week, we slept on an air mattress in the empty house and ate simple meals. Final bills were paid and services canceled. We checked, re-checked, and triple checked that we had every bit of official paperwork needed to enter France correctly.
Finally, we set off on our long-imagined journey. Only one hotel near the airport permitted pets. Sadly, it was a grimy and possibly flea-ridden pre-fab. Memory has since blotted out the aromas. In our elation, we shrugged it off as one of the hardships of travel with pets. We spent the evening taking several walks with our animals. We had a pizza delivered so as not to leave them alone. That would come soon enough. Finally, sometime after midnight, we settled in, set the alarm, and fell asleep from complete exhaustion.
Morning came and, as pre-arranged, the professional pet handler came to take our animals to the airport for special loading. She was wonderful and calm. She re-assured us that their flight, in the roomy carriers that allowed them to stretch out, would be more comfortable than ours. The lady reminded us that the animal hold was pressurized, well-lit, and heated. My husband and I watched as she drove away and hoped it was all true. We drove the rental car to the airport and checked in for the flight.
The butterflies in my stomach threatened to lift me off the floor with every step I took and it was a relief when some time later we boarded the Air France flight. The service was excellent and the food amazingly good for airline fare. Mercifully, we were far from the two babies on the flight. Hours later, we stepped out on French soil, well - airport floors actually, and followed the crowd to stand in line.
At passport control, we presented our papers and asked the official in our best French, “S’il vous plait, Tamponez-les pour notre cartes sejour.” (Please stamp these for our long-stay cards) “D’accord,” (okay) the man in the rumpled blue uniform yawned. As we walked on through the stile, I looked at my passport. The date was illegible. I ran back to the official to ask if he would re-stamp it and he yawned again, shook his head, and said, “Pas besoin, Madame.”(No need, lady). Suddenly, I knew where the phrase, “laisser-faire” (let it be) had come from…Welcome to France.
And so the adventure began, and we had made it half-way around the world in one piece. Next, we would have to find our way south - just the two of us, our menagerie, and 20 million French drivers in Nous Sommes Fous - Part 2.
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