From Fado to French Wine
How Portugal grew me — and France is calling me home.
Since last November, rumors have been swirling like extra cream in a latte. Quiet whispers over lunch and a whole lot of research to confirm my decision was the right one. A promise to make the news public.
What decision, you ask?
I’m happy — and deeply proud — to announce that later this year, I will be immigrating to France.
As many of you know, Portugal was always designed to be a stepping stone in my life. A beautiful one. A necessary one. But knowing where to call my final home required research, a big dose of intuition, careful timing… and yes, courage.
Over the years, I have visited France multiple times. And when my visits came to a close, there was a tug at my heart.
Was it the food? The cuisine? (Yes, I realize that’s redundant. Blame the cheese.) The architecture? The kindness shown to a solo traveler navigating markets and train stations alone? Note to self: I still need to write about my last visit when a group of French musicians and friends took me home with them for a long, full day of food, friendship, and singing my heart out to Queen´s Bohemian Rhapsody.
Maybe it was the pace of life. The way I constantly found myself awe-struck. Or maybe it was the way France smelled, tasted, and felt like home.
Whatever it was, it never let go.
And before I go any further, I want to say this clearly: Portugal has been extraordinary to me. The friendships, the sunsets, the long coffees, the patient clerks who tolerated my botched language skills — all of it shaped me. I arrived wide-eyed and unsure. I leave profoundly grateful. Portugal didn’t just host me. It grew me. I am blessed to call many fellow expats lifelong friends and soul sisters. There will be tears and anticipation for future visits with vin rouge.
The Timing and Plan (Lord hep´ me!)
Now for the logistics — take a deep breath.
I vacate my apartment in Portugal on April 10. Then I’ll pet sit locally and visit dear friends before heading across the pond to the U.S. in late April.
New Jersey. Virginia. Oregon. Reno. The East Bay. A month-long pet sit in San Francisco. All with one carry-on suitcase. Because apparently I enjoy living like a minimalist monk.
Then comes the grand finale: 21+ hours of travel, including returning to Portugal from San Francisco with eight large pieces of luggage from my U.S. storage unit in Reno.
Eight. Large. Pieces. Of. Luggage. Plus my trust carry-on and backpack.
Yes, I know. I, too, have questions. Somehow, I will figure out how to get all this luggage from Reno to the San Francisco airport. Oh… details.
After landing in Lisbon, there will be a long transport ride to the Algarve to deposit said luggage into storage. A few recovery days, then fly off to England for a pet sit in August.
And in September, the south of France.
Here’s the bureaucratic twist: to avoid spending weeks in Madrid, Spain, I´m choosing to immigrate to France from a non-EU country. Thankfully, I can apply for my visa in San Francisco, then fly to Portugal and from there to England and France for the critical initial passport visa stamp. (Insert visible sigh of relief and perhaps a celebratory croissant.)
Needless to say, it’s going to be a whirlwind summer of travel, French language lessons, securing housing, jumping through immigration hoops, working on my first book, and checking off logistics lists that are currently longer than the entry line at the Louvre.
The Emotional Side of “Going Home”
Immigrating from one foreign country to another takes patience, skill, thick skin, knowledgeable legal counsel, money… and prière (prayer).
Emotionally, I’ve started to unplug from Portugal. Extending invitations. Having meaningful farewells, but not good-byes. Sitting a little longer at the café. Letting it all soak in.
There will be waves of anxiety. I expect them to be short and sweet. After all, I’ve already immigrated successfully to Portugal. This isn’t my first rodeo — it’s just a different horse.
Still, when a recent wave of anxiety crept in and that internal dialogue started chattering, I marched myself into the bathroom, pointed a finger at my reflection, and said:
“You need to decide what France is to you right now!”
I stood there, closed my eyes, and listened. And then, softly spoke:
“I’m going home… I’m going home.”
Since leaving the U.S. in 2019, and after eight years of apartment living and perpetual motion, being able to say “I´m going home” felt like wrapping myself in a warm blanket. That’s when the tender bits of excitement began to sprout. I started dreaming about what my house might look like. I enrolled in French language lessons. I drilled down my criteria.
Something shifted. The anxiety loosened. The excitement took root.
The Bigger Conversation
According to The Wall Street Journal, this year is slated to be the biggest yet for Americans emigrating abroad. While the headlines can feel dramatic, perspective matters: only an estimated 4 to 9 million Americans live overseas, out of a population of roughly 349 million.
This isn’t a mass exodus. And it isn’t a new trend. Since COVID, more people have been quietly exploring opportunities abroad — for study, work, retirement, or simply adventure.
Countries like Ireland and Italy continue promoting accessible paths to citizenship. Digital nomad visas are flourishing in places like Thailand, Malaysia, Indonesia (hello, Bali), and Taiwan, offering long-term stays and new possibilities.
The media often presents emigration as something people do when they’re dissatisfied with their home country.
Not so! Many people immigrate for positive reasons.
Recently, I was chatting at the bus stop with an emigrant from Scotland. She asked:
“What was it about the U.S. that you didn’t like that made you leave?”
I paused. It was an interesting question — one with an assumption on her part.
“I still believe the U.S. is an incredible country,” I told her. “I can’t pinpoint what I don’t like except the cost of medical insurance and care.”
“Then why did you leave?” she asked.
I put my face toward the sunshine and explained:
“Not all people leave for negative reasons. I left because in 2006, when I first traveled to Europe, I felt like I was home. I left because I want to experience other cultures. I want to broaden and deepen my understanding of people globally. But I will always be an American.”
Continuing, I said:
“How blessed we are to live such a big, beautiful life.”
And I meant it. She was disappointed in my answer and went on to rail against her native country, the U.S., Portugal, and life in general. Needless to say, I distanced myself from her negative energy.
I applaud everyone who drums up the courage to live in a foreign country. To choose to call it home. To brave languages, cultural differences, bureaucracy, and forge a new life filled with unexpected joy, crippling exhaustion, courage, and deep friendships.
For This Little Immigrant…
It’s time to go home to France.
To purchase a home. To greet neighbors with “bonjour” and maybe even pronounce everything correctly (including those French R´s). To build something. To set down roots, volunteer, and contribute to society.
As I navigate the next four months of trains, planes, red wine, French verbs, and to-do lists that could qualify as short novels, I will take time to rest — not just my mind, but my soul.
I want to enter France with clarity. With gratitude. With an open mind and heart, ready to explore everything new, including the food. Can you say, bon appétit?
Thank you — for cheering me on, for reading, for traveling alongside me in spirit. Hopefully, you are inspired to dream, risk, and go discover the pearls of your life. This community has been a steady anchor in seasons. I do not take that lightly.
Here’s to courage.
Here’s to growth.
Here’s to going home.