Words to Live By, from a Small Bear

Some of my favourite quotes come from a book about a very wise and simple bear, Winnie the Pooh.

'Promise me you'll always remember: you're braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think'

It was this particular quote, spoken by Christopher Robin to a trepidatious Pooh, that I held in my mind as I sat in a realtor's office in the French town of Narbonne last week, signing a 3-year lease on an apartment that will become my new home on May 1st. I was doing my best to understand the pages and pages of French terms and conditions while trying to remember the long list of questions that the website Just Landed: A guide to Housing and Rentals in France said I should ask before signing, while also trying to understand whether I was eligible to rent property in France at all given that I am not a resident and have no revenues in the country. Since they let me sign, took my deposit from me and gave me keys, I assume that I am.

Those who've been following my blog for a while now will know it's no secret that Switzerland is not a land I am enamored with. It's a beautiful country with much to offer, but there have been one too many aspects that, while fun to make fun of, have meant that I've never quite felt it's a place I want to call home. It's not just about the lack of vegan-friendly food, really it's not. There are a multitude of factors that led to the decision to move on, and the one year mark seemed as good a time as any to pull the plug. And I suppose that yes, everything being smothered in Gruyere hasn't helped.

The decision to leave Swtizerland is accompanied with a second, more difficult decision. On May 1st, Michael and I will part ways. He is heading north to Munich to pursue an MBA, and I am heading south to pursue my dream of assimilating into French culture in a quiet corner of the country and, with a little time, holding my own in a passionate French sidewalk cafe debate.

When I set off on a road trip last week to find a new place to call home with nothing but a Michelin map, a Lonely Planet guide and a print out of a list of every triathlon club from from Nice to Toulouse to guide my route, one voice in my head was telling me 'this is crazy' while the other rejoined 'it's the things that you didn't do, not the things you did do, that you'll regret most when you look back on your life'. Over the din of those bickering voices, I kept reminding myself of Christopher Robin's words to Pooh as I drove from east to west, from town to town, looking for something that I couldn't quite articulate but that I hoped I would recognise when I found it.

I can't deny that it doesn't complicate things when looking for a place to live when you are a) vegan, b) training for an Ironman, c) know nobody and d) can only conjugate verbs in the present tense of the local language. To take care of (a), I had decided that being able to find a decent selection of vegan-friendly places to eat and shop is near the top of my criteria list, and having people to train with would take care of (b) and (c) in one shot. I'm hoping that said people will be kind and patient as I overcome (d).

I passed through dusty Provence with high hopes I might find some of what I was looking for in the region to it's west, Languedoc. Languedoc is a bit like Provence, only a little greener and less overrun by the English renovating farmhouses in droves. It's a region of vineyards, lakes, gorges, tiny villages, antique shops and slow-moving trains. The coastline is considerably less populated than the Cote d'Azur, and with my own eyes I saw miles of white sandy beaches with no waterfront development whatsoever (this seems to be a well-kept secret of France, so please don't tell anybody).

When I drove into the town of Narbonne on my second to last day, I had a seen a lot of pretty towns, met a lot of charming people, but had not found one locale that had that je-ne-sais-quoi that I was looking for. I knew that Narbonne had a triathlon club, but I also thought that at a population of 50,000, it was going to be too big to have the French quaintness I was looking for.

Was I ever wrong. I arrived on market day, and the long canal that runs through the heart of the town was lined with fruits, vegetables, pottery, antiques and designer clothing knockoffs. The market, it turns out, is an extension of a large daily covered market that runs every day - a whole covered area serving an overwhelming selection of fruits and vegetables, not to mention mountains of olives, right in the heart of the town...

I was already in love.

When the third vendor engaged me in friendly conversation about where I was from and what I was doing in Narbonne, I was sold. Then I walked through the heart of the old town - narrow streets, a beautiful old cathedral, boutique stores. Hang on, I should just stop describing and post some pictures (the lazy blogger's solution):

The Main Square:

The Canal:

An old town street:


The Cathedral:

Where I'll be buying my shoes:


And last but certainly not least, one of the best outdoor Olympic size swimming pools I've ever seen:


I proceeded to wander into realtor office after realtor office, asking if they had any one bedroom apartments, and I stammered through my long list of criteria (must have balcony or terrace, must not smell like backed up plumbing - so common in older buildings in the south of France). On the seventh time, I got lucky beyond my wildest dreams and was prepared to pay just about anything for the light and airy old town apartment on a pedestrianized street with a new bathroom, new kitchen, terrace and over-height ceilings. Again, luckily, it was in my price range and I thus found myself signing papers and handing over a deposit the very next morning.

So there we have it. I am actually going to live in France. One chapter is drawing to a close for me and another one is just beginning, and all it took to make it happen was a roadtrip and a bit of gusto.

I'm reminded that it is sometimes the thought of doing something scary that is more scary than the doing, and fear of the unknown seems to diminish when you embrace the unknown and pull it close. I think Pooh knew this, too:

Piglet: "Supposing a tree fell down, Pooh, when we were underneath it?"

"Supposing it didn't," said Pooh after careful thought.

Piglet was comforted by this.