Moving to France ...

Retirement can herald a Golden Age. It affords many people the opportunity to pursue something unattainable during their working life. For me, it is the long-held dream of living in France, conceived 40 years ago on a July day in Paris, walking around wide-eyed in broad, sunny boulevards with trees in summer leaf, overlooked by Haussmannic architecture of five storey buildings whose apartment balconies featured wrought iron lace underscored by ornate corbells. I was a 20 year old country Queenslander wandering aimlessly through narrow, cobblestone streets with nineteenth century stone facades rising from footpaths that were part-blocked by cars parked nose to tail.  Some of these cars were small and odd shaped and had names such as 2CV and R4. Everywhere there seemed to be exotic food shops with mouth-watering creations. Smart outdoor cafes had small circular tables with wine-red tops and matching wicker chairs. Bakeries were window-dressed with beautifully crafted pastries, the like of which I had never seen before.  Wherever I looked, there was beauty and style. It was overwhelming, this first impression of Paris, this first experience of France. It cast a spell that changed my life. It's been that way ever since, through these intervening years, every time I go back.

Now, health and super permitting, I want to live out my days there.