Changes

Vibrac, France, Feb. 4, 2018

Our home for three weeks.

I'm standing at a window in an old stone and tile roof house looking out over a canal and farmland. It once was home to a lock keeper, who opened and closed heavy metal gates, lowering and raising the water level for boats to pass through on the Charente River. It's not my house. My wife, Paulita, and I are house-sitting for a British couple on holiday. One month ago we landed in Paris, not for a vacation, but to begin a life as ex-pats in France. 

We traveled often to France, where Paulita spent the summer before grad school as an au pair. Every few years we visited the family and she mentioned how nice it would be to move to France. I would nod and not give it serious thought. That changed two years ago when I turned 60. I loved my job as a reporter at The Columbus Dispatch and my colleagues. But I had vowed not to wait until 65 to enjoy the rest of my life. Neither my father nor his brothers saw 80 years old. I would retire on Dec. 22, 2017, the day before I turned 62 and became eligible for my company pension.

My desk at The Columbus Dispatch, where I spent
 the last 19 years of a 40-year journalism career.

I had thought retirement would involve a condo in the Columbus area and world travels. That was one option we discussed. We would be close to our three adult children, able to help them in person instead of consoling or counseling them over Skype or FaceTime. We also would be close to Grandview Heights, the small city where we lived just outside downtown Columbus. We loved walking the half mile to Grandview's main street full of restaurant, shops and the Grandview Grind where Paulita wrote several novels. Our children had attended the city school district where the total enrollment hovers around 1,000 students. France would put us 10 hours and 4,000 miles away from all of that. But if  we could leave with our children, now in their 20s, fairly secure in jobs and apartments, we'd take a shot at adventure.

Clockwise from me at the top: Tucker, Paulita, Spencer and Grace.

"So you're abandoning us," the youngest, Tucker said. With his dry wit it's sometimes difficult to tell whether he's joking. I assumed he wasn't. In a sense, he was correct. But our leaving might help them become more self-sufficient, we told ourselves. And we expected all of them to visit us in France. Tucker came around and said he would make a long visit this spring or summer. Grace, our oldest, loved our plan. A europhile herself, she has dreams of graduate school in Scotland. Our older son, Spencer, said it was cool that we were chasing our dream.

The housing market in Grandview was ridiculously hot last spring, but we didn't jump in until August. After one failed offer we closed on a second full price offer on Dec. 8. We had two days to remove the last items from the house. We pulled away at 11:45 a.m., 15 minutes before the new owners took possession. A healthy profit from the home sale means we won't need a mortgage in France, With that, and my 401(k) and pension converted into investments and Paulita continuing to teach her college English classes online, our bankers declared our France dream possible. A European health insurance policy would cost us less than $1,000 total.

Trying to look French.

After Christmas in Florida with the kids and Paulita's parents, we left Paris on Jan. 3, landing the next day. The first three days were spent on  a second honeymoon in Paris. I never tire of visiting that beautiful city. There's always something new o explore.

After Paris, we began the first of three house-sitting jobs for Brits who have re-invaded western France with their strong pound sterling. They were looking for people to care for their homes and, more importantly, their pets while they went on holiday.

Paulita with Toby, one of our charges.

With the house-sitting jobs and times spent at friend's homes we'll have paid for only two weeks at an Airbnb by mid-March, when we begin house-hunting in earnest. We've decided to rent for a year. That way we we'll have time to thoroughly vet properties and also give the dollar time to hopefully strengthen against the euro. And if we decide the expat life isn't for us, it will be easier to return home.

So stop back and see how we do for at least the next year. You'll read about house sits, French traffic, dining and social quirks (compared to our American quirks), the difference between bollocks and bullshit and my efforts to adapt to French culture and language.

À bientot,
Earl