Living in a French sea village of 6,000 inhabitants
Experiencing the charming Basque Country as a big-city American.
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I have only lived in large cities and liked it that way. I was born in Phoenix and then carried myself (as quickly as I could) to New York City, San Francisco, Los Angeles, and Seattle. In my early thirties, I hopped over to one of France’s biggest cities: Toulouse. I was introduced to the enchanting Basque Country on an Easter Sunday, thanks to my then-boyfriend (now-husband) and his family roots in the region. I was immediately enamored! We made the incredibly easy decision to get married in this corner of the world, so naturally, it meant that our visits increased. During a walk on the sunny beach in Hendaye a couple of months after the wedding, my husband and I promised each other we’d officially move. A couple of days later, we were spontaneously touring a historic apartment on the beach.
Of course, there was a bit of apprehension. I surprised myself for wanting to relocate (again!!!) to a tiny town. Every bit of me was saying: “follow this gravitational pull!” We are sooo, so, so glad that we did. I’ve never felt so strongly about living in a place forever until now.
Specific moments in small-town France that make me think, “I’m sure not in Kansas Los Angeles anymore!”
The history of everything in sight. My town was founded in the Middle Ages, and most buildings and homes in the center are from the mid-1500s. Imagine the stones of the roadways, the humbling cracks in the buildings, and the patina!
The sound of bells echoing off of aforementioned old buildings. At the center of town (and my street) lies the church—and its bell is truly massive. When it rings while you’re within a close radius, you vibrate with it. At noon on a Sunday, which is when the town farmer’s market is at its peak, the bell chimes out a longer song. Its sound bounces off of the various stone surfaces of the city and truly feels like we’re all in a charming 1940s France-based musical.
Really getting to know the shopkeepers. One of the market’s vendors gives me extra boxes of food, and I’m convinced that it’s because he knows that I’m new to being an omnivore. And maybe he likes my accent? The sunny woman at the boulangerie knows I will likely order “deux festives, s’il vous plaît” every few days. Two delicious baguettes made from their special house recipe!
You’ll find unexpected baguettes everywhere. You'll find bread at the tabac, on the counter at a bar, and in shops unrelated to food. It’s a staple for survival. If the boulangerie is closed (weird hours are a thing here), someone else can help you solve your lack-of-bread problem.
The mixture of languages—that everyone somehow knows. The Basque Country is home to three languages: Basque, French, and Spanish. Every now and then, I’ll hear an English voice walk past me. It sends me into a fit of excitement. People can easily transition between the languages, and I am forever impressed by it. When arriving at the boulangerie, expect to hear bonjour, kaixo, egun on, salut, and a host of other delightful welcomings. Sometimes, I like to throw in a little hello! after my bonjour or kaixo.
Legs as primary getting-around material. Everything is 15ish minutes away by foot, and in the tiny streets, you’ll find other people walking on their daily adventures. I love sharing a little road with an old Basque person in their traditional clothing, someone in church garb, or tiny little kids walking home with their afternoon goûter (snack).
Locally famous neighbors. It didn’t take long to realize that the mayor’s family lives next door and the priest lives across the street. I guess I have to behave now.
This writing will transition into a post for paid subscribers mostly because I am writing specifically about where I live, and it feels very, very personal!