The first conclusion that I came to in this whole exercise was that I couldn’t stay in Paris. I’d learned that the last time I was on a gap year, it was just way too expensive to live in the city of light without an income. So, after my two nights in the hotel were up, I headed not to the airport, but to the train station.
My heart was pounding hard as I got on the train to Nice, a grin pulling on my cheeks. I was so excited to go back I couldn’t believe it. It had been almost ten years…
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During my first gap year I’d headed out of Paris after two months with hardly a euro to my name, taking a job at a perfumerie in Provence. Not only did the perfumerie have a storefront in Nice, but it also had a factory that gave tours and harvested flowers up the coast in a tiny town called Eze. I’d started as a tour guide at the factory, giving English language tours to tourists from abroad, and eventually I picked up all sorts of other odd jobs, including tending to the flowers around the shop and helping customers mix custom perfumes.
Another of those odd jobs was housesitting. I’m not completely sure how I’d stumbled upon it, but after a month of living in a cramped guesthouse in Nice, one of the ladies who worked in the factory store had asked if I wouldn’t mind looking after her home in Eze while she was away. Her mother was very ill and she was going to move in with her, up in the very north of France, until things changed. A month or two turned into three or four, and soon my year in France was up and I was still living in the house. It was a gorgeous old villa with beautiful orchids in the garden and a small pool, a view of the coast from the terrace. It was just a short walk from work, and I thanked my lucky stars every day that I’d stumbled into such an amazing deal.
It was the happiest I’d ever been, that year. I was doing work that I enjoyed, living in a gorgeous villa… and my parents hadn’t done any of it for me.
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A huge grin crossed my face as the train passed through a field of sunflowers, the beautiful May sunlight streaming down on miles of untouched land. I loved France!
“First time in France love?” an older English woman asked me as I wandered into the snack car to buy a café and a sandwich.
“No,” I replied, “I used to live here.”
“I can see,” she said, “You have that awed look about you.”
I touched my cheek gently, a blush burning. “I love it here.”
“It certainly is magical,” she replied.
“Do you live here?”
“No, just visiting,” she said, “I try to spend a week or two in Cannes every year.”
“I love Cannes,” I said.
“Where are you headed?”
“Nice for now,” I replied, “Hopefully Eze.”
“Eze is… magic.”
“I lived there for ten months when I was a teenager,” I told her, “It was the best time of my life.”
“And now you’re going back to relive your younger years?” she asked, her eyes twinkling.
“I don’t know,” I said truthfully, “Maybe. I just got fired from my job.”
“Shame…”
I don’t know why I did it, but I stood and told her my whole story. Everything from how much I hate finance to my agreement with my mother.
“I think you’ve come to the right place,” she said finally, just as we crested a hill and a gorgeous lavender field spread before us.
“Me too,” I said, “I’m just hoping I can figure this all out.”
