by Spike Wyatt

Created on: November 30, 2008

I still remember being about ten years old and telling my father that I never wanted to go abroad. We'd been discussing holidays. The family had always holidayed in the UK, mostly because I'm one of five children and we weren't rich, so I was explaining that I didn't mind: there was nothing special outside our country. Just a bunch of foreigners, that's all. So when I moved to Paris, some fifteen years or so later, we were both equally surprised.

I've always been a bit of a minimalist, so the practicalities of the move were fairly simple. I was headed to a job and to a woman (who is now my partner), so I had somewhere to stay until I found an apartment and a regular income for expenses. With two or three boxes of goods tucked neatly into my tiny little car, I headed off into the unknown.

Looking back, it's clear that the job and accommodation were a boon. The fact that I was working for an American company, for whom the standard business language was English, saved me having to jump in at the deep end with my schoolboy French. My then-girlfriend's home was nicely situated in the centre of the city and her knowledge of French bureaucracy and culture were invaluable during the first few months of my stay.

The most important decision to make when living in another country, in my opinion, is whether one wishes to submerge oneself in the culture or to construct (in my case) a 'little England' for a feeling of security. Personally, I went for total immersion - drinking coffee from a bowl, croissants for breakfast, baguettes, working long hours, enjoying the city and buying primarily French goods. I did, however, work with some people who chose the opposite and entering their homes was like stepping over the English Channel. Tea, crumpets, sliced bread and the BBC World Service. While they obviously felt reassured by all these familiar things, I think they lost out on a lot of rewarding experiences.

It took a while to pick up the language to an extent where I was reasonably comfortable conversing with colleagues and even longer for strangers. The trick is to never give up and always try one's best. Accompanying stuttered half-phrases with a big smile and a willingness to learn works wonders in most situations, especially if the French person involved is having an equally difficult time with piecemeal English. Hilarity often ensues, provided one doesn't take oneself too seriously: I have a wonderful memory of a night in a local restaurant where between my partner (French),

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