The Final Unplug
From America and Portugal to France
As a Bay Area native, San Francisco has always held a special place in my heart—like good cashmere. It also marks stop number 12 of 15 on my journey, which spans four countries and ends with the big move to France on September 1.
This visit to the States has been filled with tracking down old documents, securing apostilles, visiting dear friends and family, closing accounts, deciding what to take, sell, or give away. I´ve experienced reverse culture shock at the “oh, just throw it away” mentality, along with the enormous size of packaged snacks. There have been moments of emotion as I released treasured heirlooms and said farewell… again and again.
I keep referring to this four-and-a-half-month, one-carry-on-suitcase adventure as The Final Unplug!… which sounds like a 1980s rock band's farewell world tour. I imagine the likes of U2 or Judas Priest retiring to their English country estates with a 23-year-old model girlfriend and a desire to raise chickens.
Nothing can prepare you for unplugging from two countries—Portugal and the United States—as you simultaneously prepare to immigrate to France while traveling. Fwehh! It’s a surefire way to throw any sense of routine out the window. There are days when my speaking skills become a mishmash of English, Portuguese, and French; my own personal brand of gibberish. There are also days when I´m sooo sick of wearing the same bits of clothing and four pairs of scanty panties. A shout-out to the local Salvation Army thrift store for Fog City-worthy sweaters.
Although the emotional and logistical roller coaster will continue for a while (thank you for your patience with my erratic writing schedule), there’s a deep sense of peace in knowing this is the right decision.
You may recall that when I arrived in Portugal over three years ago, wide-eyed and full of hope, the plan was always to secure dual citizenship and then permanently immigrate to either Italy or France. When Portugal’s nationality laws changed in early 2026, making citizenship out of reach, it was time to move on.
I will miss many things about Portugal. First and foremost, the dear friends—and women I’m proud to call sisters. Together, we have talked each other “off the ledge” of immigration insanity, and cheered each other’s successes with the Portuguese language, usually over copious amounts of fresh seafood and booze. Try saying “Azulejo” after three glasses or wine.
So, how did France win out over Italy? That’s an upcoming article on what to really consider when deciding to move abroad… from someone who is immigrating… again.
For now, let’s just say taxation played a role in determining what kind of financial lifestyle I could realistically enjoy abroad. And small details like the cuisine, art, lower housing prices, and a nagging desire to call France… home.
This visit to the United States feels different from my previous eight. There’s a sense of finality. I feel like a foreigner in my native country. Of course, I’ll return for life’s milestone events—both joyful and difficult—but I’m ready to purchase a home in France and immerse myself in the language, culture, and everyday rhythms of French life. I foresee many a visitor to my French cottage. I can hear the conversations now: “Hey Sandi, heard you are living in the south of France. We are thinking of, err, well, venturing across the pond to explore France and are wondering if you have a, err, well, guest room?” What a compliment that will be.
As one girlfriend recently told me, “Sandi, you’ve been living in other people’s spaces for more than eight years now—quirky rentals, pet sitting, and even living on a boat. It’s time to cut some cords and start putting down roots for your life. Make this trip to the States about you.”
Her words have echoed in my mind ever since, even now with an attention-seeking kitty pawing at my leg for a treat at my San Francisco pet sit.
For the first time in years, I’m genuinely excited about creating a permanent home and building a sense of community. Being able to afford a charming cottage in France is certainly a bonus. I’m looking at you, Portugal, with your out-of-reach housing prices.
My first introduction to France came in 2006. I remember arriving in Nice and being completely captivated by the pace of life, the food, the architecture, and the people. What surprised me most was how instantly (and oddly) I felt at home. That feeling was so strong that I creatively rearranged my itinerary, rented a small apartment, and settled into daily French life for a while.
It was during that visit that I quietly promised myself that someday, somehow, I would live in Europe. Twenty years—and four more visits—later, living in France will become a reality on September 1.
“Sandi, where exactly will you live?” Not sure yet. However, I do have a spreadsheet that’s distilled my priorities into neat little boxes. It’s surprisingly sexy… beckoning upcoming scouting trips.
Now, please understand: I will always be a proud American.
It was an honor to vote in the primary elections during this visit, and I will always care deeply about my native country. There will always be a la petite American flag in my home—I even brought two with me to Portugal.
Seeing any country through a wide lens is essential to immigration success. Not only is this true for the United States, but it also rings true for France as it faces its own challenges.
Some people mistakenly assume that when an American chooses to live abroad, they’re fleeing a political climate or—my favorite—running away from life. Both assumptions miss the mark. For this little traveler, living abroad stems from a deep desire to expand my world and build a life that’s richer in experiences while living more simply and comfortably on less money.
As our nation approaches its 250th birthday, I’m especially grateful for the freedom to choose where I live, work, worship, and experience life. Will France be perfect? Of course not. Will there be days of ecstatic joy, frustration, and hope all in the span of five minutes? Yes. Will it be worth it? “Oui, Oui!”
Celebrating America’s 250th in San Francisco, a city known for its diversity, ridiculousness, and extensive blend of cultures, is like diving into a 4th of July buffet. Where else can you enjoy Cambodian noodles for an early lunch, relax with a foot massage in Chinatown, a Puerto Rican late lunch, and finish the day with an Irish coffee while watching the World Cup in a neighborhood pub—all after walking 12,041 steps through steep hills and some of the best people-watching anywhere? Thank you “R” for an adventurous visit.
There’s nothing quite like four and a half months living out of a carry-on suitcase to throw your life delightfully off balance.
Spending 45 days pet-sitting in “the city” is a most-welcomed break. It feels wonderful to rest my head on the same pillow for more than five nights. Here in San Francisco, I’m slowly rediscovering a sense of order—paying bills on time, daily French lessons, making progress on my first book, and appreciating the simple joy of celebrating our nation’s independence. Pork ribs are marinating, corn on the cob is ready to be shucked, and I am determined to find a freshly made-to-order Churro. There will be feasting, fireworks, and prayers for my native nation as it faces new challenges, failures, and successes.
As I gather the final documents, take a deep breath, and prepare for my immigration appointment to France here in San Francisco, thank you for your patience and prayers during this season of transition.
The Final Unplug is almost complete, with the next chapter on the horizon. Until then, I say God Bless America.