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I moved to France 8 years ago. The first few months were filled with challenges and surprises — especially at work.

by with No Comment Xpandfy

In 2017, I quit my job as a paralegal, packed up my life in England, and bought a one-way ticket to Paris.

The new chapter was full of surprises, and though most of them were positive, I was in for some unexpected challenges in those early months — from navigating the notoriously tricky French bureaucracies (and supremely unhelpful bureaucrats operating them), to the weird and wonderful world of the Parisian soirée.

However, the strongest culture shocks came in the workplace, and even now, after eight years in France, I still find aspects of French office culture surprising.

Adjusting to French social norms was harder than expected


Woman standing in front of eiffel tower at dawn

Many traditions in France differ from what I’m accustomed to back in England.

Jodie Hughes



Getting to grips with office etiquette was my first major challenge — and the most urgent to overcome. I was starting a completely new role, in a completely new company, barely three days after arriving in France.

My title was still paralegal, but even there, my remit couldn’t have been more different. To say I had a steep learning curve ahead of me would be an almighty understatement.

I had, at least, anticipated some difficulty addressing people correctly, but that didn’t make my (frequent) blunders any less embarrassing.

In French, there are certain words for “you” and different versions of verbs depending on the level of politeness/deference needed. The rules around who you “tu” and who you “vous” feel nebulous at best — and a total minefield for a (foreign) new recruit.

Meanwhile, social norms I wasn’t expecting included greeting everyone who joins you in an elevator, and then wishing them a good day/evening when they/you leave. (People do this in medical waiting rooms here, too. I still haven’t gotten used to it.)

In England, people mostly awkwardly avoid eye contact at all costs in these situations. And if you do accidentally acknowledge someone else’s existence, at the very most, you offer them a tight (also awkward) smile.

You absolutely do not, under any circumstances, talk to them.

Mealtimes are sacred here, and I couldn’t believe the food — or bubbly — on offer in my office


Woman smiling in front of Seine river with lit up boats at night

In France, I’ve found that it’s not uncommon to pop open some bubbly at work.

Jodie Hughes



It didn’t take me long to realize just how seriously the French take enjoying the enjoyment of mealtimes.

Even my office cafeteria felt like a foodie’s dream with a rotating menu of things like duck, salmon, and paella; desserts hand-crafted by a professional pastry chef; fresh bread from the local boulangerie; and literal mounds of cheese

My lunches were so heavily subsidised by my employer that, unless I wanted a three-course meal or a glass of wine (a girl’s got to treat herself occasionally), they were almost always free.

And, yes, it’s apparently perfectly acceptable to have an alcoholic drink in the middle of the workday in France.

I also quickly learned that mealtimes, like baguettes, are sacred in this country, both for socializing and for savoring.

It’s frowned on to eat at your desk, scarfing down a sandwich while you work (I’m looking at you, England). Here, you sit down around a table, and you enjoy your food.

Accordingly, a two-hour lunch break is also customary; The French are often baffled as to what you’re supposed to do with “only” an hour.

My colleagues use their breaks to take or teach classes, exercise, or enjoy a leisurely meal in a restaurant — none of which had ever been possible with the 30 to 60 minutes I’d grown used to back home.

Remember how I said it was acceptable to have a drink with lunch?

Apparently, it’s also acceptable to have a drink before lunch, after lunch, and at essentially any time of the day, if there’s even the smallest occasion to celebrate.

I was served more champagne in my first two months in the office than I had been, cumulatively, in my entire life until that point.

One time, several bottles were opened for a colleague’s going-away breakfast at 11:30 a.m. It was tough going, but I adapted to this particular culture shock as uncomplainingly as I could …

My new vacation allowance changed my life


Woman standing next to blue water at Côte d'Azur

In France, I’ve had more paid vacation time than ever.

Jodie Hughes



Another early discovery was that work-life balance is everything in France.

The culture of competition I’d experienced in England — the peculiar bragging over who was arriving at the office earliest and leaving latest (read: burning out fastest) — was completely absent.

Leisure time feels ferociously protected here, to the extent that employees legally have the “right to disconnect” (ignore job-related calls and emails outside work hours) and the French are not shy about enforcing their rights.

Additionally, when I was informed of my vacation allowance, I was sure I must have mistranslated something: I had over five weeks of annual leave in my first year, and that’s not including the 11 public holidays.

In France, workers are generally required to take at least two consecutive weeks’ vacation. These breaks often falls between July and August, and swaths of employees disappear for an entire month.

It’s quite a contrast to the situation I’d left behind in England, where taking two weeks’ vacation in a row was considered a real extravagance. This is perhaps unsurprising, given I was never entitled to more than four weeks total annual leave.

That means everything pretty much grinds to a halt in the summer — pretty inconvenient when you’re in the middle of a project and all your colleagues are OOO until September.

But it also opened my eyes to just how life-changing that kind of balance can be, and has been one of the most incredible parts of relocating to France.

Adapting to such starkly different workplace norms from the ones I’d known in England has been a real roller-coaster ride — but there have definitely been plenty more ups than downs.

Ultimately, the experience has been as enjoyable as it has been surprising. Champagne, anyone?




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I moved from Spain to Florida 21 years ago. My first marriage fell apart, but I met the love of my life.

by with No Comment Xpandfy

Twenty-one years ago, I faced the difficult decision to move from Spain to the United States with my 3-year-old daughter and 4-month-old baby to follow my then-husband, who had lost his job, in pursuit of a new position in Florida.

I was being asked to leave behind my family, friends, and an established writing career. I was to start over at 41, with no connections, no guarantees, and an already shaky marriage.

My family thought it was a terrible idea, yet my husband’s family felt it was a great opportunity. So, after some soul-searching and many promises of a better life in Florida, I decided to uproot my kids and take the chance.

As I boarded the plane to meet my children’s father (he had come to the US ahead of us), I had mixed feelings: I could feel the excitement of my eldest to see her dad again, but I also feared the unknown. I kept asking myself whether it was really possible that we could fix our marriage and thrive in a different country.

My worst fear came true

Going from living in a penthouse in the old part of Sevilla, where I could walk to just about everywhere, to being cooped up in a tiny apartment in a gated community in suburban Florida, where I needed a car to go anywhere, was brutal to my nervous system.

I felt trapped in suburbia without my own car. And with a history of major depressive disorder, I started having panic attacks and depressive episodes. One day, while driving my children to find a preschool for my eldest, I had to pull over to sob.

A few months later, my husband lost the job we had moved to Florida for. And so began one of the most difficult periods of our lives.

In four years, we moved several times within Florida, always because of his new jobs. I found work freelancing for newspapers and magazines and wrote more books for publishers in Spain. But our relationship was always floundering.

As our marriage crumbled, we took a time-out under the same roof. We went to marriage counseling, enrolled in self-improvement seminars, and so on. Trust, respect, and admiration had been completely lost, and in 2008, when the Great Recession hit, we had no money, no savings, and no jobs.

I walked away from my husband with my laptop, my books, joint custody of our children, and the huge regret of having moved so far away from my family and friends. But I stayed in Florida, because I didn’t want my children to be far from their father. From one day to the next, I found myself a single mother on food stamps.

I met the love of my life

Nearly a year after separating, 16 years ago, I met the love of my life. We had many similarities: we were both newly single, bilingual and bicultural, and had children of a similar age. We were writers focused on creating a better life for our kids and ourselves. The best part was that neither of us had given up on love despite the tough times we’d lived through.


Family posing with kids

The author fell in love again in Florida.

Courtesy of the author



For nearly two years, we dated long-distance, spending only weekends and holidays together. One of us would drive two hours to meet the other, sometimes with the children, and when the kids were with our respective former spouses, we met alone.

We were both trying to rebuild ourselves personally and professionally, and together we made a great team. I once again moved for love, but this time with no regrets. Four years later, we married at sunset on the beach, surrounded by our children and close family.

Our kids are all in their 20s now, and we’ve been through the highest highs as well as some pretty rough times. But our relationship was never in question. We’ve cheered each other on and thrived together.

Whenever I think of past regrets and how I shouldn’t have moved to the US 21 years ago with my ex, I realize I would have missed out on finding true love. And I would never have built the stable and dependable family I always wanted.




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I moved to a small beach town in another country. My new home felt like paradise, but I struggled to belong.

by with No Comment Xpandfy

In 2017, I moved from Los Angeles to Panama to teach English.

My first year in the country was filled with excitement. I was based in Panama City, and I found it easy to make friends through the many dance classes and meet-ups.

My social life felt full, and most weekends were spent wandering through Casco Viejo (the downtown area), trying to find the best rooftop bars and underground nightclubs playing a mix of Reggaeton and pop music.

Soon, though, the fast-paced lifestyle, combined with the constant traffic and sweltering heat, became overwhelming. I grew tired of living in a city of millions and craved a slower pace.

So, I relocated to a small coastal town called Playa Venao, which is about 200 miles and a five-hour drive from Panama City.

I hoped I could quickly build a community there as I did in the capital, but it didn’t come nearly as easily to me.

At first, my quieter town felt like paradise


Surfers on beach at sunset

Many parts of Panama have a rich surfing culture.

Kiersten Brown



Although Playa Venao is now more developed, at the time I lived there, it was primarily a handful of hotels, hostels, and homes scattered along the shoreline.

A single road split the town: real estate on one side, jungle and cow pastures on the other. Only a few hundred people called Playa Venao their full-time home.

I was living in a place where there were more trees than buildings. In fact, I could pick and eat papayas, coconuts, and mangos straight from the trees on the property of my rental.

The school I worked at was quite small and, because of our remote location, nature often became our third instructor. Children shared their outdoor play area with centipedes and howler monkeys, and splashed in the nearby stream and waterfall.

Between teaching, I spent my days peacefully walking along the beach and hiking near the river. I was no longer overwhelmed by the sounds of honking horns and revving engines. Instead, I was soothed by the songs of exotic birds.

My social life wasn’t bustling like it was before, though at first, I enjoyed meeting people from all over the world who were in the area on vacation.

But once the novelty of being somewhere new wore off, I started to see the downside of living in a place that felt like paradise.

Unfortunately, I didn’t feel like I fit in with most of the visitors or locals


Waves at Playa Venao

I didn’t have much to say about surfing — a popular topic among tourists.

helivideo/Getty Images



I struggled to find my place in a community that felt largely split between locals and tourists.

I was a bit of an in-between: I’d only been in the country for a year, so I wasn’t a local … but I’d been living in this beach town for a few months, so I wasn’t a tourist, either.

Building community with transient tourists seemed impossible.

Many tourists I met spent their time surfing or talking about surfing, not surprising given Playa Venao’s reputation as one of the best surf spots in the world.

Unfortunately, as a beginner, I couldn’t keep up with the experienced surfers during conversations or out on the water.

Whenever I’d meet someone who had more to talk about than waves, we only had a week or two to get to know each other because they were vacationing where I was living.

I felt I never had time to share more about myself beyond surface-level topics, like work, hobbies, and where I was from. These limited interactions made my relationships feel shallow and made me feel like I didn’t have any real friends.

Over time, the loneliness ate away at me, and I grew tired of reintroducing myself to a new tourist every other week. So, I tried connecting with the locals. This wasn’t an easy task.

The director of the school I was working at had warned me that locals were often closed off to newcomers. I felt it.

One night, I managed to play a game of pool with some locals at a nearby bar. I thought I’d made a breakthrough, but the next morning, the same people who had been friendly the night before wouldn’t give me the time of day — it hurt.

I could understand why a tight-knit community of people who grew up together might be wary of trusting outsiders. However, it was hard being treated like just another visitor in the place I lived.

After weeks of failing to make lasting connections, part of me wanted to call it quits and return to the city. I missed feeling like I belonged and having a calendar filled with dance classes and happy hours with friends.

However, I’d committed to working through the whole school year, and I didn’t want to walk away from the children — some of the only people I had created bonds with.

Finally, one conversation with my mom helped me reevaluate and give my new home another shot.

Focusing on gratitude and living in the moment helped me feel more at home


Cloudy day shot of beautiful Playa Venao

Panama has several famous beaches.

Piero Zanetti/Getty Images



After listening to my sorrows, my mom reminded me that life wasn’t happening to me, it was happening for me.

I needed to embrace each moment, even the not-so-great ones, and treat my situation as an opportunity. So, instead of ruminating on what I lacked, I focused on appreciating more of what I had.

To ease my frustration of not being able to pop over to a movie theater or hop into a nightclub like in the city, I found entertainment within nature.

I’d wake up early to enjoy the colorful sunrises and collect different rocks and shells along the shore. I’d pass the time by going for a swim or setting up my speaker and dancing barefoot in the sand.

Focusing on my internal peace helped me to stop forcing connections, and I allowed them to form naturally.

I stopped viewing relationships as temporary experiences. It didn’t matter if a friendship lasted five days or four months — I cherished every connection made.

Soon, routine visits to the local coffee shop led to casual chats with the barista. I ordered the same dish so often that one day, they wrote out the recipe for it and gave it to me — it kick-started our friendship.

More connections began to blossom as I prioritized attending community events, from kayak races to surfing competitions. As time passed, locals could see that I was consistently making an effort, and perhaps they started to view me as less of a tourist.

Meanwhile, I was forming stronger relationships with the parents of the children I worked with, and they helped advocate for me to the other locals. I’d also started to build a strong connection with my coworker, who became one of my first real friends in the area.

With a little bit of patience and a mindset shift, I eventually found the community I craved and ended up staying in Playa Venao for about a year.

In that time, I learned that sticking through uncomfortable situations — and staying present for both the good and the bad — can lead to unexpected peace and happiness.




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