At the time, I had a boyfriend from Lyon who had been hired by Nokia in Helsinki, Finland. I went along, not only because of him but because my parents had worked with Finns during my childhood, and had visited Finland themselves, so I was curious to learn more about the country and take the chance to live there. While in Finland I was a freelance English, French and cross-cultural instructor, giving courses to CEOs and managers at major Finnish businesses.

Two years later, in 2000, my then-partner and I decided we’d like to move back to France. He was an IT engineer, and I had started doing translations, so we agreed to move to Nice, with its proximity to Sophia Antipolis (France’s Silicon Valley) and Nice’s central location for my own freelance purposes. I’ve been in Nice since, remaining despite a difficult breakup several years ago. I still work as a translator, copyeditor and technical writer, but have been an employee since landing a job with my favorite client in 2006.

My blog actually began some time in 1995, while I was still at university in the US. A friend and I had become captivated by the World Wide Web and its possibilities in 1994, and had created a site for our university’s marching band. A few months later I decided to create an online journal, as well as a personal reference site on France (now defunct). My journal has changed along with me over the years, to what you can read now. Every few years I remove older posts that I no longer feel attached too, which is why you won’t see the entire past in my archive.

On this site I write about what’s important to me currently. At the present, that means photographing Nice and surroundings, gardening, slowly renovating the apartment I purchased in 2008, and occasionally posting about my two furballs. I don’t delve much into my personal life, since privacy is important to me, and for the same reason, I don’t often mention other people either. Writing can be fulfilling and interesting, but the Internet is not the same as a book.

While I enjoy sharing knowledge about France, there are certain things I will not address in detail: how to move here, how to get a visa, how to find a job. Anyone curious about these matters is best served by looking up their nearest French embassy or consulate. Also, while I would love to share the cultural aspects of working in France, I don’t, since I work in a consulting firm with several clients, some of whom read this site! I wouldn’t want any misunderstandings to arise.

The family tree is here, and records go back to 1308, with the deaths of Eindrid Hvit and his wife Birgit Bårdsdatter. It was fascinating to map these: their history came to life in a way. One of the main lines descended from a Swedish knight named Karl Pedersson Schanke, born in 1360, whose family largely remained in Häckås, part of Jämtland County, which was then part of Norway (now in Sweden). Then there are several people from the Rist family, who seem to have moved around Germany a lot. They and others who weren’t already in Lenvik or Flakstad eventually congregated in Trondheim, for the most part. The family from Flakstad seem to have been rather active in Flakstad church, and ancestors on my great-grandfather’s side included a few priests, in Denmark (St. Petri, a German church in Copenhagen) and Norway (Astafjord). In addition to working the land (which many owned) and sailing the seas, others included two sheriffs, a watchmaker, a legal scribe, and a diocese scribe. I suppose that makes me an internet scribe, these 700 years and 23 generations after Eindrid and Birgit passed away.

I made the map using VirtualEarth — I had to create an MSN account, but then I could create a “Collection” and save points to it along with notes for them.

The very first thing I repaired for my new apartment was my mailbox. The lock on it had twisted right from all the key turns over the years and it no longer closed — a simple wrench to tighten the lock bolt fixed that. It’s liberating to learn basic handiwork: how to drive a nail, turn a screw, drill a hole, manage nuts and bolts, and so forth. The best way to learn is to mess around with no expectations and with things that can be ruined, since you’re guaranteed to make mistakes and encounter weird surprises at first. Once you realize through trial and error that just about everything mechanical can be repaired simply by figuring out what attaches what, where and how, and that it usually consists of screws, nuts and/or bolts, life becomes much less intimidating. You then also have a better idea of what can actually be fixed, as opposed to things that are indeed irreparably broken or that require a professional.

Today my table and chair will be delivered, as well as my brand-new refrigerator. My previous, rented apartment came furnished, with appliances as well, and the apartment I shared with my ex for four years also had appliances, apart from the washing machine I chose. Meaning this is the first time I’ve ever bought a refrigerator! Nowadays there’s an excellent choice of environmentally-friendly refrigerators. The one I bought is a well-known FrenchSwedish brand, which is an important point because unlike other refrigerators made by American and German companies, this one comes with a nice rack to hold wine bottles inclined ;-) It’s 1.5m/5 feet tall, with a 208l/55gal top refrigerator and 61l/16gal bottom freezer, and only uses 240KW/h… per year! At 11 euro-cents the kilowatt-hour, that translates to 26.40 euros/year. For comparison, smaller refrigerator-freezers used between 310-350KW/h per year, which is nonetheless an A efficiency rating (excellent), and naturally, larger ones used even more.

Somewhat related through wastefulness/efficiency, there’s an interesting thread about decluttering with lots of different experiences, all agreeing that “less is more”. I too had the unchosen yet liberating feeling of satori when I left my ex and was left with nothing but my clothes. The only things I missed were my books, plants, music and my computer. (The books were kept for me, but I couldn’t exactly do anything with them. All the furniture, and the computer I’d always used — we had two — had been out-and-out taken, based on the claim they had never been mine. Mais passons cela…) I’ve never been able to do without books. I missed them so terribly in the months following that I even dreamt about them. One of my favorite dreams three and a half years ago, when I was living in a furnished motel in Nice and despairing of ever finding landlords who would rent to a single foreigner (with no guarantor) and a freelancer, was of my brother and a dear French friend visiting. They’d brought my lost bookcase, full of books, knowing how much I wanted to see them all again. (Meaning my brother and the friend as well!) As for my computer, it was not only my livelihood at the time, being a freelancer, it was also my connection with loved ones. Thankfully, family pitched in so that I could get a laptop to bide me over until I got back on my feet.

Once my landlords found me (yes, they found me, through this very site! :) ) and I moved into my now-previous apartment, I realized how much I’d missed cooking: thus my current joy in picking out a new refrigerator that I know from experience shall be used well. Losing everything helped highlight what held the most meaning for me: my cat, dependable clothes and shoes, a well-thought-out kitchen, books, plants, music, sewing, a comfortable chair to read in and a table to create on. That, bookcases, a bed, and a place for Malo to go outside and for me to grow plants are all I need to be happy. And I do love my bike as well!

Some helpful moving-in links:
o Changement d’adresse, run by the French government, to change your address for la sécu, les impôts (taxes) and other government agencies.
o Electricité de France (EDF), which is no longer the only electricity provider in France, but I preferred to go through them — their tarif bleu, “blue rates”, are great, and I’ve always found them to be fast and trustworthy.
o There’s water to take care of too; mine is through the building and a shared expense, so I didn’t have to worry about it.

Loan offers much better than my worst-case scenario are coming in, and with the compromis de vente (sale agreement, a legally binding document for buyer and seller) signed by all parties, barring exceptional circumstances, the apartment will be mine! These photos are from the advert (not mine), I’ll take other pictures when I have the chance — silly me forgot to do so when I had my handheld camera with me last time. The kitchen is a great size, and I like the bar. As mentioned before, the living room is decorated with fake rocks (which I’ll remove), and it has a cozy nook the right size for a couch. The façade is late art déco; the building is from the late 1940s/early 1950s. The arches on the upper balconies are repeated (without detailing) inside my place, over all the doorways. I love simple arches done like that on high ceilings.

As a few people (in real life and here) have mentioned, I’ve come a long way. The story, since its original telling isn’t online anymore: four years ago I broke up with my then-boyfriend of seven years. Four years before that, when my boyfriend and I arrived in Nice and found our apartment, he put the apartment rental agreement in his name only, explaining that it kept me safe from legal pursuit if anything happened. But when I broke up, he found a new place and I had no recourse on keeping the old one. As a foreigner with noone to act as guarantor, unmarried (single woman…), and a freelancer (i.e. no permanent job contract), landlords wouldn’t even consider renting to me. My ex also took all of the furniture, since without an apartment, I “wouldn’t need it.”

A few months later, I offered to take care of our cat, Malo, at my ex’s place for Christmas — I was living in a self-catering “apartment”, meublé in French, that didn’t allow animals. On Christmas Eve, I arrived at an apartment with no cat… no cat food dish… no litterbox… and no explanation. A few days later I learned that my ex had given away Malo as a Christmas present. (This parenthesis is where I gloss over my fury.)

A year after the breakup, I was still living in the meublé, whose owner was dropping unmistakable hints about renting my apartment to someone else for the summer. She started having prospective renters visit, since I had a lower rate than she could get from tourists in high season. One day in March, so depressed that I’d written about it on my blog, out of the blue I got an email from my current landlords, who read this site and so knew what was happening. They had an apartment that would be freed up soon — I visited and could hardly believe my eyes. It had a gas stove (I love cooking with natural gas), beautiful light, was furnished, and they hoped Malo would be able to enjoy it some day.

As if that weren’t miracle enough, a couple days after moving in, the “gift recipient” of Malo decided that cat fur was not something she wanted to deal with. That same day, Malo was back — and so was my bookcase, amazingly enough. Another big “thank you” to Landlord T and Landlord S, as well as family members who helped — without their generosity, I honestly have no idea how I would have managed.

Life has fallen back into place since then, accumulating my own furniture gradually, having a permanent job contract, and soon, my own home. I’m happy to say that living out of my hiking backpack in a dark, cockroach-infested hotel without my cat is now only a rough memory that I can look back on and sigh with relief. And I am so, so happy to have been able to stay in Nice. It has its quirks, to be sure, but I’ve come to love it. I never imagined while growing up in the countryside near Springfield, Oregon, that one day I’d own a place on the French Riviera.

This is my eye. My left eye with a reflection through my balcony French doors, to be precise, and bloodshot because this morning my cat pulled a stunt somewhat like this cartoon. Instead of a baseball bat, it was one of his hind legs that punched me. I’m thankful to still have my eye; he came very close to hitting it directly.

My eyes have a coloring that’s known as central heterochromia, meaning my iris has a circle of a different color around the pupil. In addition to having heterochromial eyes, I also have hair with sectoral heterochromia (I was born with a blonde streak, the rest is dark brown):
   
I have the Internet to thank for finally being able to put a name to my blonde streak and eyes.