Let's move to Brittany

 

Hayter article for July 28, 2024

Moving to Brittany?

 

 

 

          Last week, Kay met a gentleman in the parking lot of HEB who was British. Kay said she thought he was Aussie. I was unaware that if the Brits stay in the U.S. long enough they start to sound like Australians.

 

The man and his wife have lived in the USA for the past 20 years, but want to return to Europe. He said that there has been a change in the America he used to know. He thinks we’re more argumentative than before. We can find something dire in practically everything. That and things have gotten a lot more expensive.

 

          He and his wife were encouraged by friends to move to Brittany.  Like you, I thought Brittany was in Britain. It’s in France! It seems like Henry II or one of those other Henrys took it over for a short while. Brittany is a peninsula in the northwest of France. It’s northern part borders the English Channel and the southern part borders the Atlantic. – Sure, get a map. I’ll stall.

 

          While his friends admit that Brittany doesn’t have all of the amenities of Paris, they’re still going to love it. There are no big grocery stores, because meat and vegetables are grown locally. I picture people eating fresh lettuce, cucumbers, squash, and… uh, sheep and goats. To me Europe seems more sheepish than beef-ish. And, along the coast, Brittanians eat a lot of fish. And, considering the number of grape vineyards, they drink a lot of wine, too.

 

          The HEB Brit said that he and his wife are buying a house in Brittany that costs a little over $100,000. I found pictures of some homes in Brittany, and sure enough, they’ve got a bunch for sale. The less expensive homes have been there for a long time. Napoleon likely slept in several of them. I imagine they have air conditioning, but no garbage disposals. Just a guess.

 

          While it may sound like I’m pooh-poohing the place, I don’t mean to. It is just different from Montgomery County. Half of the people speak French and the others English. And people seem to get along well.

 

Kay and I only know the names of two families on our cul de sac. The rest of our neighbors probably have all the friends they can handle. In Brittany people make it a point to know everyone. Kay said the gentleman at HEB was eager to take part in the Brittany experience.

 

After Kay told me the man’s story I asked if she wanted to move to Brittany. She doesn’t. She would prefer Scotland. I lied and told her I’d love to move to Scotland, but we can’t because I’m too dependent on my eye doctor and dentist who lives much closer. That, and my ears have developed selective hearing. Those Scots don’t sound right. It’s probably the fog. I have never seen a movie filmed in Scotland that didn’t have a bunch of fog in it.  

 

          If I had to choose between Brittany and Scotland, I’d visit Scotland for a week, and spend the rest of my life in Brittany.  I doubt anybody in a little town in Brittany has as nice of a refrigerator as we do. It’s got an automatic ice maker and dispenser! The bathtubs in the small town might be deeper, but I doubt the bathwater can get as hot as it does in my tub. Television? I don’t even want to think about it. That and I’d probably have to learn French. I’m fairly sure that some of the French can pick up on my English as long as I speak it with a French accent. That’s a piece of cake for me, monamie. (mo-nah-mee)

 

          The good thing about Brittany is that they actually urge foreigners to move there. Kay mentioned several places that urge tourists to stay away. Kay and I used to watch a detective series filmed on the island of Majorca off the coast of Spain. A beautiful place to visit. Unfortunately, Majorcans are trying to discourage tourists, and I can understand why.

 

Someone wanting to spend time on a beautiful island near Spain off the Mediterranean coast would have to be in-the-money. Unfortunately, the citizens of Majorca can’t afford to pay the same prices for going to restaurants, buying groceries or items in retail stores. Parking has got to be a mess. And to rent a home would have to cost a fortune. The tourists in Brittany don’t have that problem.

 

          The people in Barcelona, Spain, also don’t want us to visit.  Nor are we welcome in Machu Picchu, Peru, Venice, Italy, Amsterdam in the Netherlands, the Acropolis in Athens, Iceland, and a bunch of other places worth seeing. And the National Park Rangers aren’t that eager for more of us to visit the great American traffic jams.

 

          Bottom line, I’m not going anywhere for a good while. I don’t seek the displeasure of being a tourist. Which is good, because I can’t afford any of those places… except for Brittany. If the place has good TV programming and reception, fewer stairs, more restaurants, a great hospital, an HEB, and a professional football team, I’d talk Kay into letting us move there.

 

Whoa! I take that back. France has professional football, but it’s really soccer. Talk about tricker-people. The game requires some of the best athletes on the planet, but it’s as boring as waiting for the Popsicle Man to arrive in Bristow, Oklahoma. A flyswatter is mandatory.

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