lundi 7 février 2011

What Is An Expat?



Nice, France google images

Who am I?


What am I? Expat? Refugee? Immigrant (certainly felt that way living on the weak and erratic dollar for the past 8 years)? Artist? Gringo? Defector? Adventurer? Long time resident of the French Riviera? An American who enjoys living France?


Below are two definitions of Expatriate that I found interesting:


*one who lives outside one’s own country; One who has been banished from one’s own country; To banish; to drive or force (a person) from his own country; to make an exile of; To withdraw from one’s native country; To renounce the rights and liabilities of citizenship where one is born … en.wiktionary.org/wiki/expatriate


*ex patriate – A person who has abandoned his or her country of origin and citizenship and has become a subject or citizen of another country. http://www.irishclaims/

Most of the Americans I have met, proudly call themselves Expats! The word itself has come to represent glamour, exotic choices, worldly intellegencia, café life… But you see, my problem is with the prefix!

EX-!

When I think of “ex”-something…I think of EX-husbands, EX-friends, EX-boyfriends, EX-roommates…EX-change…uhh …oh…never mind… but I think you get the point.


In the mid eighties, I took a vacation to visit the beaches of the French Riviera. I fell in love….no… not with a Frenchman, I was already happily and firmly married…with the light and colors of the Mediterranean. From Monaco to Saint Tropez. I was captivated by the foods of the region, the markets, boutiques, the souk of Nice (the Old Town), the laid back pleasures of the South. The politesse of the population. I kept coming back to the area until my husband and I were able to move here in 1999. I sold my business, published my first novel, my husband retired, and we left Dodge City (New York City) to move to the sunny Côte d’Azur.

Permanently?

Who knows.

Am I an Expat?

I am an American.


An eighth generation American, female of African, Irish, Native American ancestry, who lives in France with my American spouse of Russian, Scottish, English ancestry, because we love the food, rocky beaches, cheaper travel options…and the National Healthcare System.

samedi 5 février 2011

Trompe - l'Oeil Niçois

















Sometimes you find that it’s just time to move on.
In our case, living this laid back life in the South, we’ve become so provincial that moving on simply means moving closer to the sea. The weather this winter…and actually last winter as well… has caused us to feel that we were living more of an Alpine experience than a Mediterranean coastal one.
So yesterday, since the sun has reappeared and folks here are actually eating out in the sidewalk cafés (either Scandinavians or folks in serious denial…I’d surmise… despite the sunshine and all)), we decided to embark on our first New Year’s resolution: find a place somewhere not far from Nice where there are more palm trees and bougainvillea than thickets of pine.

Driving along the coast brought back memories of our early years of living here where we actually lived on the coast... smack dab in the middle between Nice and Monaco. Heavy handed urbanization, of proportions we could never have anticipated caused us to be catapulted up hill into the arrière pays de Nice! Eventually, urban expansion stalked us by constructing numerous luxury housing blocks connected by various jitneys and expanded bus lines to the long awaited Tramway.

Several people told me not long ago that Nice, over the years, had evolved into a “proletariat” town. Nevertheless, despite this theory, what I notice is massive housing projects involving the construction of “Grand Standing” and “Standing” apartment complexes, and real estate listings which reflect the income levels of Fairfield Country, Connecticut back home…or Beverly Hills. Imagine an area whose major industry is tourism competing in cost of living prices with New York City, Washington, DC, Los Angeles and San Francisco!
Now, we have found that we escaped the rat race of the banking, government and communications industries of California and New York City only to find that everyone has decided to emulate the kind of lifestyle depicted in a Jay McInerney novel. I still can’t get over seeing ads for “Wall Street English” classes. What kind of political agenda is that for a European population?

But, I digress…

One of the few neighbourhoods that retain the flavour of the Riviera I fell in love with years ago is around the area called Maeterlinck. The views are breathtaking and rival the vistas of Villefranche Sur Mer, Eze and Cap d’Ail. I won’t bother to offend anyone by discussing the asking prices of property here. Let’s just say that they are certainly the explanation as to why this superb area feels so desolate and devoid of human spirit. I mean Nice is a “Proletariat town”…so they say. Perhaps developers are planning another huge housing project… who else could possible afford these prices per square meter… or perhaps there is some sort of plot more insidious in operation here à la Stephen King.

Maybe I’ll find that this search for a coastal abode will prove to be fodder for some future novel of mine.

I’ll keep you posted.