In less than three weeks time, we'll be back in the UK, our petit sojourn in France having come to an end. The title of this blog is a little misleading as our 'year in France' became nearly two, thanks to a bit of crafty contract extension, but all good things must come to an end, and Scotland is calling us back.
As we start packing up and saying our goodbyes, I am being asked a lot: 'Are you looking forward to going home?' In truth, it's a time of mixed emotions. Yes, I am very much looking forward to going back, but there are many things I will miss about living here. Life in France has very much lived up to the idyllic image I had hoped for, much of the time. Take today, for example, when I cycled along to the park in beautiful sunshine with Alec sitting in the seat on the back pointing out the cows along the road, as I looked across the valley to Mont Blanc in the distance. Earlier, we sat on the terrace looking up at the mountains, both of us without a care in the world.
Part of the reason our stay here has been so wonderful is down to the fact that I haven't been working (at least for the most part). I had a relaxed pregnancy, during which I went to French classes, joined a needlework group, went swimming regularly, and met lots of other lovely women in the same position. And since then I've been fortunate enough to spend 16 blissful months with my son, in what is certainly an extremely generous amount of maternity leave. But the friends you make when you have a baby are really important: you share with these people perhaps the most important experience of your life, you talk with them about things you would never discuss with other people, and you build up a closeness with both them and their children that it will be hard to replace. (Just have another one then, my friend said to me the other day...) The people we've met here are, without a doubt, the thing I will miss most when we return to the UK.
And as for the weather... yes, this is number two on my list of things that I will miss. Closely followed by the pastries and the bread. And the wonderful seasonal fruit. And the markets. And the mountains. And in a funny way I will miss speaking French every day too. When I arrived with my rusty GCSE French, I could do little more than order a coffee and a croissant, whereas now I can get by in most situations - give or take a few too many d'accords and a rather liberal use of the verb faire. It would have been interesting to see how Alec responded to speaking two languages too. I had assumed that his two half days a week at the local French creche wouldn't have made much of an impact, but today he surprised me by saying his first word (or words, in fact) and it was French: 'a-va' (au revoir) to the French children in the playground.
But as rewarding as it has been, speaking French has also been one of the most challenging parts of living here too. Not being able to express yourself precisely the way you would like to, not having any 'chat' and not being able to pick up the phone and know with confidence that you'll be able to ask the questions you want and get the answers you need - that has been frustrating. It sounds lazy to say I'll be pleased to go back to an English speaking country, but it will certainly be easier.
Neither will I miss the expense of living here, which far exceeded what we expected. And while I admire the gesture towards quality family time, I'll be happy to live again in a country that considers Sunday a viable 'doing things' day too (nothing - by which I mean nothing except bakeries - is open here on a Sunday). I'll be pleased to have a reliable source of bacon again, not to mention the soft white bread to put it in, and it will be nice to be able to buy a crumpet or a tea cake without any fuss, instead of having to venture out to the British shop and pay five times the price for a little taste of home. And don't get me started on a decent cup of tea... (A note to the French: a cup of hot water and a tea bag does not a cup of tea make.) I'm also looking forward to going back to work properly, and for Alec to start at his new nursery. And best of all, I'm looking forward to returning to our friends and family in the UK, who we've missed a lot while living away.
As we drive away on that final day, I expect I will feel a little bit emotional to be leaving things behind. But most of all it seems strange to me that there will be a little corner of France (and also a little corner of Switzerland) that we will know really well, that will continue to go on as normal, but we won't be a part of it. That in years to come, we'll look back at photos of our time here and of Alec's birth and first year, and say 'Do you remember when we lived in France?' 'Do you remember that house we lived in, and our little village?' That we'll forget the names of the roads we knew so well, just as I've forgotten the names of the roads I walked along every day in Cambridge, now more than a decade ago. And that Alec won't have any memory of this funny little period of his life. ('What do you mean, you're Scottish, but you were born in Switzerland and lived in France?'). When I started this blog, the idea was to give my view of life in France from the perspective of an expat. I wanted to write about all the things - big and small - that I found strange and surprising and novel about living here, having come from the UK. And in the early days, there was a whole rush of things to write about: What do you mean you have to eat lunch between 12-2pm? Why can't I get milk on a Sunday? And what is this priorité a droite rule all about (OK, I discovered that one a little late, and got beeped at for the best part of a year before I realised my mistake...). But the reason the blog posts have slowed down in recent months is not just because I have a small child taking up most of my time these days, it's also because life in France doesn't seem so strange anymore. In fact, I really can't remember the feeling of alienation that we had when we first arrived, nor put my finger on why life here is any different from anywhere else.
And so now we reach a quandary: what to do with this little blog? A Year in France: Life as a CERN Wife is a rather specific title to write under, so I either pass on the baton to another willing CERN wife, or this CERN wife starts blogging about going back to life in the UK (I've heard it's strange there, you know. The shops are even open on Sundays!) and the prospect of a Yes vote in Scotland. Ok, Ok, that's another topic for another blog. Until then, this is not goodbye....
