A Romance with France

December 7, 2025

Oui WE ! (Still !) DO !

We had been planning our next-life chapter for over a decade. The strategy? Leave our careers (retire) and sell everything—which meant downsizing from a large home and small ski condo to a 10×10 storage unit in Colorado and a 7-meter camper van we bought in France.

Like our storage unit, we arrived in France with way too much sh*t and WAY too little French. Sadly, the challenges of transitioning overseas didn’t come with a honeymoon phase. C’est la vie! We packed up Sif, our small home on wheels, and drove on—not into a dreamy “la vie dolce” sunset, but into the hard-earned reality of life on the move.

We had many déjà vu moments from past overlanding experiences. For me, saying “au revoir” to daily showers, blow-dried hair, and always-clean everything. But also “hello again” to incredible moments that just don’t (and can’t) happen living a conventional lifestyle. I told Karl this next chapter wasn’t really a spiritual journey for me—but au contraire! As a former therapist, I should’ve known better.

C’est romantique. C’est typique.

I think people romanticize, glamorize, and glorify life on the road. And why not? Most of what we see are the pretty snapshots—because really, who wants to post the bad ones? (Guilty.) Yes, it’s a privilege to travel this way. And when it’s good, it’s really good. But when it’s bad? It can be really bad. Not having an anchor meant being at the mercy of open water. And we were.

There were unexpected logistical snafus (hello, insurance claims en français) and small disasters, like the French vet who jabbed Oz with a rabies vax before his pet passport was activated. Little things, big stress. Unlike our Panamerican expedition, our early days in France didn’t pack enough punch to soften the daily jabs.

Thankfully, we did have some good experiences. We started our journey in the charming village of Noyers Sur Serein, known for its half-timbered houses and preserved medieval town. From there, we wandered through the Burgundy region—Chablis, Champagne—sipping bubbles and eating escargot as our nerves slowly un-frazzled.

Oui WE ! (Still !) DO !

What always impacts me about overlanding is the breakdown of routine. Ironically, routine can create sanity or insanity. At home, our life was full of healthy habits—but not enough adventure. On the road, it’s all adventure. No structure. That truth came back fast, just like it did two months into our Panamerican trip. Once again, we remembered the holy grail of long-term travel:

Location.
Season.
Time to settle.

We’re just now working out the logistical kinks, charting a better course, and fine-tuning this chapter of full-time travel.

Our romantic vision of “la vie dolce” quickly dissolved into a reality check. It’s the constant small challenges—the vet visits, the claim forms, the endless Wi-Fi and parking hunts—that pile up. Without enough knockout adventures to offset the rolling punches, we’ve had to actively practice three essentials (over and over again):

Pin the compass to the big picture.
Surrender control.
Let go of the illusion of normal.

We traded the predictable for the unpredictable—only to realize we still need a bit of both. Freedom isn’t just the open road; it’s the conscious choice to create sustainable rituals within the chaos.

This romance with France? It’s really a romance with life—complex, challenging, and imperfectly beautiful. As we raise a glass of champagne, we’re reminded: everything is workable with the right mindset. Because the biggest adventure isn’t the destination. It’s in answering Mary Oliver’s simple, profound question:

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”