Why I Don’t Live in France as a French Woman

This unusual time gives us the opportunity to reflect on our choices that led us to where we are now, especially when we can feel stuck in the place we chose to call home.

For the majority of my life I called Paris and its surrounding my home, and in my heart there was no possibilities of a city ever topping it. As any Parisian could tell you, the French capital is unmatched in terms of culture, it is certainly not the only culturally rich metropole, but one that makes it accessible to everyone. Most museums are free for European residents under 25, which gives you a fair amount of time to get a good look around. And even if museums aren’t your thing, the architecture of the streets and the diversity of ethnicity are invaluable.

I still believe those words as I write them, however I now see those arguments as proof that Paris makes for a great trip destination rather than to live in. With some hindsight after living in Canada, Australia and now Ireland, I am convinced that the Parisian quality of life isn’t idyllic. For starters, the rent is outrageous, I used to pay €618 each month (roughly $675) to live in 11 square meters (120 square feet), and if you ever wish to buy a piece of property in the city, be prepared to pay a high price, around €10k per square meter. Thinking about this, I am grateful everyday for my move to Ireland, I would have gone mad in my old studio if I had to stay there on lockdown.

Surely it’s different in other part of the country, you’d think? And you would be absolutely right, but the catch is that most of the career opportunities are in the capital, which makes it hard to avoid it at one point or another to reach the next stage. This explains how the city has won the title of the most densely populated one in Europe, with the whole region population culminating to more than 12 million people. Safe to say that finding a piece of quiet is a difficult task, even with the many charming parks.

But the most important reason for my departure is the lack of safety. As a young woman, walking home at night was terrifying, I was always on high alert, clinging to my belongings, and ready to hit the ground running at any point. I wasn’t being overly dramatic, my fear came from experience of threatening men who felt appropriate following me home on several occasions. In addition, I have been robbed twice in the span of a year. The first time, a pickpocket felt like my smartphone was rightfully his so he took it peacefully on our way out of a metro station. The second time, I was leaving work at 7pm, it was in May, the sun was still bright and I could hear the children playing in the playground on the perpendicular street. I was oblivious to the two men sprinting towards me, grabbing my bag, and throwing me on the floor when I didn’t let go. In this whirlwind I gave up their prize, finding comfort in my phone and keys left in my pocket. On that day, I realised I could never build a home in a city where I always felt I risk.

The added bonus of moving around a lot is the opportunity to meet new friends everywhere, I’m getting better at spotting “my people”. I mean by that other souls, wandering the world like me who own a piece of my story and from whom I have something to learn at each step of the way.