Je ne regrette rien....?

In less than one month's time we shall be living in Montpellier.  Rue Henri René, a few paces from Place de la Comedie.  Un bijou pied à terre until we find our permanent home.  Formidable, right??  Hmmm....

I had no idea it would feel so - strange - unsettling, and sometimes just plain crazy to take such a step. I mean, it all felt idéal when we were there last year, didn't it?  We loved it, had a great time, could picture ourselves there in a heartbeat.  However, but, BUT - now that our house has been sold, our goods have been shipped, our pets innoculated and booked one way (!) Cathay Pacific to CDG, it all seems, well, very scary, very final.

Are we in for a rude awakening when we start living in France for real? Were we looking at French life through 'holiday eyes' to quote Folie Monsieur's dad? Will the nitty gritty of the daily grind quickly relieve us of our rose (or tricolore) tinted glasses? Or will being 'closer to the core' to quote Roxette's Per Gessler make up for any disappointments or difficulties?

Funny thing is, when you know you are leaving behind a place (or a person) it enables a different perspective.  A kinder, more indulgent one where shortcomings or inadequacies are overlooked. The familiar is your friend. Thus, suffocating heat punctuated by torrential downpours seems capricious now, rather than extreme.  Coles vs. Woolworths seems straightforward rather than severely restricted.  The year round ease of living in little more than singlet, shorts and thongs takes on a transcendental appeal, as opposed to a yearning for the more seasonal, sophisticated things in life.  What can this mean? Should we stay put and never have started this heady flirtation with all things South of France? Is it just the equivalent of pre-wedding jitters?

I think not. I hope not.  The older we get the tricker it is to embalk upon adventure, so it's only natural major upheaval should give us the jitters.  However, two things sustain us.  Deathbed regrets are rarely composed of 'if only I'd done more overtime, stayed with that loser and never tried anything new'.  And, thanks to the insurpressable buoyance of the Australian psyche, should we abandon our French life and return to the antipodean shores we know, we surely would be greeted with little more than 'she'll be right, mate - coldie?', and resume our normal duties like we'd never left.  A testimony to the strength of this country, the dynamism of its appeal and its confidence in its future. 

One Small step for Folie Madame et Monsieur and one Giant step for Roly, Pepper and Oscar.  On y va!