journey to france

My Journey to France Part 2

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In case you missed Part 1, I’m sharing my unique journey from I’ll-never-live-abroad to nearly-10-years-in-France-and-counting. 

I’m often asked how I did it — and while several of my articles on TAIP touch on how I’ve been able to stay, I wanted to write it all out in a way that could be copied by anyone reading. Okay, maybe not anyone. It took a lot of hard work to build my life here in France, and it isn’t over yet. I’ll be starting my journey to citizenship next, which promises to be full of paperwork and even more determination.

But, I’m getting ahead of myself. Below I’m picking up where I left off on Part 2: I was an au pair, didn’t want to continue on as an au pair, but didn’t want to go back to the US just yet. Here’s how I figured out a way to stay.

Back to School, It Is

I was always one of those people who said, “Never again!” after finishing my undergrad. It wasn’t that I didn’t like school — on the contrary, I’ve always enjoyed learning — but I was sick of papers and tests and all of the other coursework that went along with it.

Famous last words. As I finished up my second year as an au pair, I didn’t have many options other than the easy-to-obtain student visa. I decided I wanted to get my master’s degree. Public education is cheap here and I knew I’d regret it if I didn’t. This time, however, I was going to study something I was actually interested in, not something that would lead to a job one day.

I settled on French Literature. I’ve always loved reading and writing and I figured I might as well study the greats while I was in the city where many of them worked and lived. The only wrench in my plan? I still, after 2.5 years, could not speak or read French. In my defense, I came over here only knowing the basics, and as an American au pair, I was required to speak English with the children I took care of. At this point, I knew could understand about 75% of what was said to me, but I couldn’t speak back. It was a combination of a lack of vocabulary and confidence.

What’s more, I knew I wanted to go to a public school (again, cheap), and to do so as a foreigner I had to have a certain level of French, with a certificate to prove it. So, I looked around for some programs that would meet the student visa requirement of 20 hours per week. I found two: one at the famous La Sorbonne and one at the also famous Université Nanterre. I missed the deadline for La Sorbonne so that left me with Nanterre.

I applied, got in, looked for housing (and found the deal of a lifetime: I traded 10 hours of English lessons per week for a 9m2 sardine box in the sky), went back to America for a few weeks, got my student visa, and returned to home to Paris. Back to school, I went.

(Finally) Learning the Language

And so began my year-long journey to learning French. I loved my program — and recommend it to anyone who wants to live here long-term — I was the only Anglophone and so the only common language my classmates and I had was (broken) French. Our teachers also insisted that we speak in French instead of our native language. It was difficult, but it also felt like the best place to do it. Everyone had an accent, and everyone was trying to learn.

I met some very kind people, finally learned French, and also discovered more about French culture. We went on field trips in Paris and the Île-de-France region and ultimately all became quite close. Spending 20+ hours per week together will do that.

With my B2 certificate in hand, I was finally ready to apply for my master’s. I still wanted to study French Literature, and so started to look at those kinds of programs. I had a couple of informational interviews at various universities in town, before sitting down with one guidance counselor in particular. 

She looked over my resume and experiences and asked why I didn’t want to study English Literature instead of French. At this point, I had started dabbling in freelance writing and had indicated that on my CV, and well…the whole “native English speaker” thing. I told her it felt silly to come all the way to France only to study English. Mais non! she assured me, and encouraged me to look into English Literature programs instead.

The meeting piqued my interest, and soon the curse of the missed deadline struck again — but it was for the best. Nanterre University, where I completed my French course, had a bilingual English Literature master’s program. Because I was already in their system, it was very easy to apply. I was accepted almost immediately (again, native English speaker), paid my tuition (400 € for the year), and began.

I loved my teachers, loved my program, and bonded with my peers. No, I never wanted to go back to school, but completing my master’s at a French public university was one of the best experiences I’ve ever had. I’ll never regret it. 

But Wait, I Don’t Want to Leave

After my two-year program, spoiler alert, I still wasn’t ready to go home. I met my now-husband about halfway through year one and things had gotten very serious very quickly, in true French dating fashion. We were making serious plans for the future. But…what about my visa?

I obtained the APS visa, which gives you a year to look for work after you graduate from a French institution. I did look for a job but I knew I wanted to work in English (even to this day I can’t write in French beyond simply texting), and finding a job that aligned with that was difficult. I had no issue finding Anglophone clients, but there wasn’t a need for full-time English writers in Paris — or at least, the jobs that I found didn’t pay very well.

The APS visa was quickly running out, so what’s a girl in a relationship with a French person to do? The marriage conversation happens. I’m lucky that I was with someone who I knew I wanted to spend my life with, visa issue or not. So, we made plans to quickly marry at the town hall so that I could obtain the vie privée et familiale visa.

Long story short, I did get that visa and so my future in France was secured for life. I’m not saying that everyone needs to meet a French person and marry them in order to stay here (indeed, there’s an entire shady trade in this which we may write about in the future) — there are a lot of other options out there including the profession libérale visa, or even a long-stay visitor visa if citizenship isn’t important — but in my unique situation, my husband is the reason I was allowed to stay.

That’s the gist of it — a couple thousand words on my journey to France. I hope it will serve as inspiration for anyone else who may find themselves thinking, but wait, I don’t want to leave too.

Photo by Salomé Watel on Unsplash

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My Journey to France, Part 1

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I’ve lived in France on and off since 2014. I’m often asked, “How did you do it?” The short answer is a lot of determination and a refusal to take non as an answer. But, I know a lot of our TAIP readers hope to live in France permanently one day (or are already here and want to know how to stay), so I want to share, step-by-step, my own journey to France and how I made it all work. 

Let’s get right into it.

How it Started

I never imagined I’d ever study abroad, never mind live abroad. One day, when I was still in Rhode Island completing my undergrad, a friend of mine had to pick up some paperwork from the study abroad office. We had plans after so I decided to tag along. While I waited for her, an advisor approached me and asked if I was interested in learning more about my options. I shrugged and said, “Why not?” (if you’ve been in France a while, you’ll also find that this is a very frequently used idiom that indicates French willingness to try something new…another topic for another article) and joined him in his office.

I was studying fashion merchandising at the time, so after taking a look at my transcript he told me that my best options would be Milan or Paris. Was I interested in leaving for an entire semester? (no). Okay, how about the J-term in between the fall and spring semesters? (maybe…). He started pulling out pamphlets and I absentmindedly leafed through them. 

At the time, I had a steady job at a local boutique and a long-term boyfriend. I thought all of that was way too important to leave, even for just a few months. But, as the advisor continued to sell me on my options (do these people get a commission on sign-ups or something?) I slowly started to warm up to the idea. He asked me again, “Milan or Paris?” Without really thinking about it I said Paris — I’d seen movies, read books, heard about the French capital. I knew what it looked like at least, as compared to knowing nothing about Milan — a few taps on his keyboard as he took a closer look at my transcript and he told me that if I wanted to graduate on time, a full semester was my best bet. “What do you think?” 

Again, without really thinking about it I said, “Okay. How do I sign up?”

I didn’t even have a passport at the time and thoughts of my job and boyfriend fluttered through my mind; to be honest, even to this day I don’t know what made me say yes. Unlike some expats, I never had a lifelong dream of living in Paris, and yet, something urged me to do that semester abroad back in 2012. 

I ended up having the best six months of my life, completely fell in love with the city, French culture, the food… I’m sure half of my readership knows exactly what I mean. A group of four of us even ended up staying for an extra month down in Cannes because none of us were ready to leave. Alas, I did have to go back to the US to finish my undergrad, and that I did. Dreams of living in France full-time slowly but surely disappeared as I slipped right back into my former life. I graduated, got promoted at the boutique, and moved into a new apartment with my best friend. Life was “good,” though I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.

A Rare Opportunity

In the winter of 2013 I was still working at the boutique and was, to be frank, miserable. So what do miserable people do when they’re bored at work? They scroll through Facebook, naturally. A message popped up — it was from a girl whom I studied abroad with who had never left after our semester. She decided to stay to be an au pair with a Franco-American family because she wasn’t ready to go back to the US.

We were just chatting, catching up, when my curiosity got the best of me. “How were you able to stay?” I asked. Was it difficult? I can’t stop thinking about Paris myself…

She filled me a bit and then told me that in fact, she planned on leaving her au pair position in May of next year. She loved the family (and had been with them since June 2012. It was November 2013 at this point) and was helping them find her replacement. She ultimately wanted it to go to someone she knew — she really cared about the kids — was I interested? I hesitated. Maybe. I told her I’d think about it.

Life got busy with the upcoming holiday season and I soon forgot about the conversation. Fast-forward to March 2014 and my friend messaged me again. Did I have time to think about coming back to France as an au pair? The family still hadn’t found a replacement. Like most young women my age, I had plenty of babysitting experience and I even nannied for a few summers when I was a student. 

Just like that fateful moment in the study abroad office a year and a half earlier, without really thinking about it, I said, “Okay. What’s next?” 

A New Experience

While I’m the first to admit that I stayed in my English-speaking-au-pair bubble for longer than I maybe should have, living and working in France was much different than studying abroad. I had to navigate French culture much more often (I was living with a French person and French children, after all), and learning how to adapt was difficult at times.

I was often homesick after the first six months and the initial excitement wore off — I also struggled to find a core group of friends. But, I did adapt, grow, learn, and eventually, thrive. My years as an au pair were some of my favorite that I spent in Paris and when I did find my people I felt like I truly belonged.

The caveat(s)? I still couldn’t speak French, my au pair contract was running out, I knew I didn’t want to work in fashion anymore, and I also knew I wasn’t ready to go back to my life in Rhode Island.

I had to figure out a way to stay. 

Well, I did figure it out, but that story will have to wait until Part 2.

Photo by Clément Dellandrea on Unsplash

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