Just in case we haven’t met yet - I’m Diane, and I’m a Francophile.
If we have met, you are probably laughing right now and saying something like “oh you think??!!”

Let me start with a bit of background information.

Way back in say 2011 (ish…I’m not great with dates), I was watching House Hunters International with my new husband, Neal. I said something like “would you ever move abroad?” and he said something like “sure”. I’m not even certain if it was an enthusiastic ‘sure’ or just a ‘sure, whatever’ kind of response. But in my mind, the wheels had already started turning.

The next thing you know, I was signing us up for French lessons at the Alliance Francaise in Denver, where we lived at the time. See I thought since I had taken French classes in high school, that I had some sort of foundation for the French language. Oh how wrong I was.

Let’s take a step (or several) back in time. France wasn’t exactly a new concept for me. My first experience was when I was somewhere around 30 years old (also not good with ages of when things occurred). My friend, Jay, asked me if I would like to go to Paris. I think my response was something like “hell yes I do!” but I’m not certain on those details.

We were young, and neither of us made a whole lot of money, so Jay bought the ‘Paris on $30 a day’ kind of book that was out at the time. My first memories of Paris were all the cliché things that one thinks Paris is like: people riding bikes with baguettes in their baskets, the markets with old French men selling roasted chickens (everyone seems old when you’re 30), the awe-inspiring architecture everywhere we turned. And of course the museums. Oh and the food. My god, the food! Even though we were on a very strict budget, I remember having ham and cheese galettes with cider, creme brulee, warm pastries...and walking down the street with a warm Nutella crepe wrapped in paper one chilly evening. Maybe…just maybe, that’s when I fell in love with France.

Louvre museum in Paris France — Le Louvre, Paris

No description of one’s first interaction with Paris can be complete without including cheese. In France, cheese is like a character in a play. An important leading role, certainly not just a supporting character. They love their cheese. And I love the French for that.

Jay and I wandered into a cheese shop, looking to taste the local delicacies. Little did we know just how many options there would be. We had absolutely no idea what we were looking for or at, and spoke no French (see those high school french classes were useless). So we grabbed a couple of options to try out, and walked back to the hotel.

Collective of cheese in France — French cheese in all its glory!

We carefully placed our purchases in the tiny refrigerator in our room, and made our way to the next destination on the list.

When we returned and opened the hotel room, we wondered what had died in there. It was unbearable. How a cheese that strong and that stinky can taste good, I’ll never know. But it can. Seeing as the room was not livable with our new roommate (the stinky cheese), said roommate was banished to the balcony. For all I know, that cheese is still out on the balcony.

Fast forward around 14 years…

Neal and I are learning to speak French and fantasizing about living there one day. (OK I was the one mostly fantasizing, he was along for the ride and being a good new husband I think).

Fast forward another couple of years, and we were living in New York City (I know, it’s hard to keep up), working at incredibly stressful jobs, and REALLY fantasizing about a slower pace of life. I traveled for work, and one night in a hotel room in Saint Louis or somewhere, I started researching. I mean when you’re stressed and want a different life, the internet is where you go, right?

I found a blog - Afford Anything, by Paula Pant. She talked about a very different path than we Gen X’ers were programmed to follow. She talked about location independence, and making a living online. She talked about NOT working at a 9-5 (or more) job with 2 weeks vacation until we retire in our 60’s (if we’re lucky). I was intrigued.

So intrigued, that I created a PowerPoint presentation to show my husband a possible new path for us that involved - you guessed it - moving to France. See I knew that I couldn’t just throw out there “hey, life is too hard let’s just move to France” - because he’s way too practical (having also grown up in the Midwest as a Gen X’er). In the presentation, I pointed out what our life looked like now, and what it could look like if we quit our jobs and moved to France. He would be a writer, and me a photographer, earning money remotely.

After viewing said presentation, his response was to look at me as though I had just told him I quit my job to become an exotic dancer. But then the next morning he said “I couldn’t sleep last night. I think we should do it.” (move to France, not become an exotic dancer)

So the planning began. And more French lessons. We researched where to live, and for how long, and what our life there would look like. Toulouse was the chosen city, and about a year and a half later, we were there - living the French dream.

While we lived in Toulouse, we started our blog - Breath of French Air. Yep that’s where it all began. And of course if you’d like to find out more about our experience of getting ready for the move and living in Toulouse, you can read the blog posts and see some fabulous photos in our book with the same name. (e-book, real hold-in-your-hands book).

Whew! I started writing and words just kept coming. To keep my posts on the ‘just short of snoozer’ side, I’ll stop here. But Part Deux is coming soon!
(Spoiler alert: we only ended up staying in Toulouse for one year…but that is definitely NOT the end of our French adventure. Pas du tout.)

À bientôt !