Receiving the Warmest of Welcomes in France

‘Aren’t you worried that you’ll be lonely when you move to France?’ a few friends asked me as I packed boxes ready for the move of a lifetime.

I furrowed my brows in confusion and replied quizzically, ‘Of course not, I’m going with Colin! You know Colin? EVERYONE knows Colin!’

It was true, it wasn’t possible to walk down a street in Edinburgh with him and make it all the way from one end to the other without meeting someone he knew. It was so common we used to make bets that he couldn’t. Why would it be any different in France?

I was right not to have concerns as now, ten years later, we have the same ‘problem’ here.

Before we moved, we’d popped over several times for a recce and been put up in the stunning bed and breakfast of a French chap called Lionel. He was the ‘ex-lover’ of a friend of mine in Edinburgh, and welcomed us so warmly, never allowing us to pay for our stay and encouraging us to help ourselves to anything we liked from his cupboards!

Lionel introduced us to loads of his friends, both French and English, including Boris Williams whose name might ring a bell as he was the drummer for The Cure in the 80s (This will honestly be the only name drop in this post!)(Oh, and remind me to tell you about the time that Colin found himself playing in a cover band in front of Boris, with ‘Love Cats’ being on the playlist. Awkward!).

We found a rental in a little village that had a population of just 750 and we were soon the talk of the town, so when a letter arrived at the local post office addressed to: Colin Usher & Julia Douglas, Francescas, France, it found its way to us in no time.

Marie-Claire, the postie, asked Olivier who lived in the town centre if he knew who it might be for and he made an educated guess. There were two new foreigners who’d moved into the rental just past the village exit sign, perhaps it was for them?

The next day, following confirmation of his guess, Olivier came bounding up to our front door proclaiming that he spoke English, LOVED Scotland, and would be delighted if he could help us in any way. He was a gem of a man and made all those awkward phone calls, where fluent French is more than just an advantage, helping us set up our WiFi and electricity packages.

Before this, Colin had had to drive 15 minutes to a larger town where he could get on the WiFi at the local café bar to work remotely. He (naturally) made friends with a ton of people there, including Cockney Mike, who treated the place like his office, meeting clients about building work whilst drinking rosé and smoking roll-ups in the scorching sun (‘water is pour la douche mate, pour la douche’), and the eccentric Belgian owner of La Taverne who immediately recognised Colin from past visits. This guy seemed to be running the place for fun, as he was plenty rich, allegedly having inherited a small fortune from his father, who was one of the inventors of the mechanism that whips cream in an aerosol can using nitrous oxide (or skooshy cream, as we call it in Scotland).

It was so brilliant to have Olivier’s help in those early days as we got to grips with the language. We were only beginners then (neither of us had learned French in school, so were only a few months into our podcast lessons), but we threw ourselves bravely into all local events to make friends and show that we weren’t the sort of expats who just stick to what they know (the Daily Mail and Fish & Chip brigade!).

We attended a historical march for victims of the 2nd World War, shopped at the weekly farmer’s markets, and went to every festival and party going. Man, we would even have been spotted at the opening of an envelope had there been one!

The truth is it was Colin’s ability to say ‘yes’ to every invitation and his confidence to chat to new people that got us there. I’m actually rather shy and introverted (though I think I hide it well?). For me it was a massive challenge!

We arrived in April, and throughout May there seemed to be fête after fête after fête!

The ‘Fête de la fraise’ celebrated the best strawberries we’d ever eaten, so sweet and juicy, and included a five-course meal with strawberries in every dish (the strawberry jelly with pork pâté was a tad weird, mind you!). We got chatting to a lovely guy at the bar, ‘Steve the Gardener’. He became a massive part of our story.

Cockney Mike’s 60th birthday ‘fête’ threw us into the thick of around 100 people from all walks of life and nationalities, including Steve the Gardener, who turned up with his brand-new puppy, Micky.

And the ‘Fête des voisins’ (Neighbours Day) was such perfect timing for us. It’s a national annual event that goes back to 1999, when a man called Atanase Périfan heard the story of an elderly woman’s body being found in her Parisian flat four months after she died. He was so moved by this tragic story that he started a survey asking one simple question: ‘What makes an ideal neighbour?’ He was shocked and saddened to hear the most popular response: ‘A neighbour you never see’.

Deciding to change this lack of community spirit and mutual support among neighbours, he initiated the Fête des voisins, bringing people of all ages together for a potluck dinner in a public space in their town or village. It was an immediate success and is now supported each year by town halls across the country.

I put on my big girl pants, took a deep breath, and dived right in, taking dishes of smoked salmon and mackerel pâté on oatcakes to add a Scottish twist to the starters. Everyone seemed delighted to meet us, excited to find some new faces in the village, and inquisitive about what had brought us to the region.

We were so proud of our conversational French (most importantly, we were trying and seemed to be making ourselves understood… mostly), until the conversation moved on to politics.

Time to get our coats and take ‘French leave’, we agreed.

What I’ve realised since coming here is that most stereotypes collapse when you meet real people. It’s true that the French do tend to be particularly direct when giving their opinion (‘Your dog is fat’, I was once told candidly), but overall, we’ve found them to be polite, generous, and helpful. We’re constantly surprised when teenagers step aside to let us past on the pavement with a ‘Bonjour messieurs-dames’ and strangers say ‘Bon appétit’ to you at midday, even if you are nowhere near any food! But how lovely is that?

The French around here in the southwest tend to value a slower pace of life and prioritise spending time with family and friends and meeting new people, whilst enjoying good food and wine around a table.

That suits me just fine!

I didn’t discover that the French are rude. I discovered that people, wherever you are in the world, usually welcome you into their community when you make the effort to become part of it.

Just show up and remember to say ‘Bonjour’ and ‘Bon appétit!’

Most photos by Colin Usher

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Thanks for stopping by. Incase you don’t know this I’m Julia, a mixed-media artist and web designer from Edinburgh Scotland. I moved to France in 2016 with my husband, Colin, to buy a house and open an artist residency. I’m not a trained writer, but I love to write and hope you enjoy my stories, tips and ideas.

Find me at www.juliadouglas.co.uk
and on Instagram @juliadouglas or Facebook @JuliaDouglasArt