Forty-four years after graduating from high school, forty after graduating from college, I’m getting my year abroad. Or maybe more.
When I decided to retire early from my job as the managing editor of a national business newsletter, I knew I wanted to travel and to try living outside the U.S. My son and I had hosted a series of six foreign exchange students, each staying with us for a year of high school, and my son had spent a year in Switzerland as an exchange student. I figured now it was my turn.
So I started investigating the possibilities. Europe was the dream, and with the value of the euro tanking, it looked increasingly doable. But where? The choices were overwhelming, and I flip-flopped from day to day and week to week. I knew I wanted to avoid cold winter weather, so that meant Mediterranean. Greece? No chance I’d ever learn Greek. Scratch that. Southern Italy? Maybe Sicily? Very tempting. Malta? No problem with language there, but it’s basically just a big rock in the sea. Not much green. Still, worth investigating. Portugal? Spain? Southern France? All were attractive options.
By the time I retired at the end of 2014, my bags were packed — literally and metaphorically. I rented out my home in Baltimore to a visiting scholar at nearby Johns Hopkins Univ. I stashed my beloved Mini Cooper with a nearby relative. I had investigated visa requirements. I had made a huge spreadsheet of possible places to live, trying to narrow down my “phase one” trials: weather; easy transportation to elsewhere in Europe; feasibility of learning the language; affordability; good food; mid-to-large city with historic appeal, etc. I rented an apartment in Valencia, Spain for a month and another in Montpellier, France for two. And I arranged to stay with friends in Germany while I completed a course to become certified as an English language teacher. Within a month I was on a plane to Europe with no return ticket.
So now I’m here testing out the expat life and checking out some possible new places to call home. I may find I hate living abroad. I may find I miss my friends or the creature comforts and familiarity of my home too much. I might even find I’m more of a diehard American than I think. But before I get much older or the pitter-patter of grandchildren’s feet beckons me home, this is my chance to find out!