I left Cornwall for France – the scenery is better but life is extortionate

Around half a million people leave the UK to live abroad each year. A survey by the British Council showed 72 per cent of 18- to 30-year-olds would consider living and working overseas, with cold weather, the high cost of living, extortionate childcare, a lack of work-life balance and even poor romantic prospects among their motivations for leaving the country. The i Paper’s Expat Files follows Britons who have taken the leap and settled elsewhere, detailing the ups and downs of their journeys In 2021, Anna Richards, now 33, previously based in Cornwall, quit her job as a travel agent in the UK and moved to Lyon, France to freelance. Here, she reflects on her new life. There’s a common misconception that France is cheaper than the UK. For visiting Brits, it’s probably to do with the price of wine, and the fact that for years, retired British immigrants have bought up ramshackle houses in the French countryside for a pittance. The French believe it too, and my colleagues and friends here are always telling me that the UK is “so expensive”, but that’s because most of them only ever visit London. I lived in Cornwall before moving to France five years ago, and while I couldn’t be happier to have made the move, life here certainly isn’t cheaper. Quite the opposite, in fact. Shorts Although a part of my heart will always be in Cornwall, I love life in France. Everything feels less chaotic, and there’s more of a focus on work-life balance. The best part for me is the scenery right on my doorstep. When my father died suddenly, it sparked somewhat of a quarter-life crisis. I’d studied French at university, and I desperately needed to escape. Everyone in our Cornish town knew my dad, and the condolences were well-meaning but stifling. So I packed up the car and drove down to Lyon to set up a new life and all the post-Brexit admin challenges that came with it. By travelling just two hours or less, I’ve got a smorgasbord of different landscapes to choose from. The Alps, the Jura Mountains, the Ardèche River or extinct volcanoes in Auvergne, or even Paris or Marseille if I’m travelling by train. Each weekend, regardless of the season, has the scope to be an epic adventure. In winter, my partner and I regularly take a bus from Lyon to go skiing for the day, or we strap on snowshoes, saddle up the dogs and hike to a remote, unmanned refuge to eat fondue cooked on the camping stove. In summer, we hike to alpine lakes and pitch up for the night. Around 70 per cent of land in France is privately owned, which sounds like a lot, but in the UK, that figure rises to over 90 per cent. That means that wild camping is more widely tolerated here, and the mountains that we have in the UK feel tame in comparison. France’s trains are also so much faster than in the UK, and much more efficient, so I can get to lots of these spots really easily. I love having real seasons too: hot summers and snowy winters, even if all the heatwaves this summer left me dreaming about Cornish mizzle. There’s a price tag on it, though. I lose more of my salary in tax and social security payments than I ever did in the UK, and unlike any French person in my situation, I’ve got a Plan 1 British student loan to pay back too, which accumulates interest almost as fast as I can repay it. Healthcare is great here, but unlike the NHS, where many treatments are completely free, the French state only refunds 70 per cent of healthcare. It means that most of us have private health insurance to top up the excess, which typically costs in the region of €40-50 (£34-44) a month. ‘My work takes me all over the country, and with two dogs, by car is often the most practical way to travel. I didn’t expect it to cost so much is owning and running a car,’ says Anna (Photo: Anna Richards) Wine is much cheaper and higher quality, but my weekly food shop costs just as much, if not more, than it did in the UK. Restaurants are often cheaper in France too, although as I quickly learnt, they’re only cheaper at lunchtime. Prices at the same restaurant often double for an evening meal. One element of life in France that I didn’t expect to cost so much is owning and running a car. My work takes me all over the country, and with two dogs, by car is often the most practical way to travel. But motorways in France are subject to tolls which often cost as much as, if not more, than what I spend on fuel. Fuel is also more expensive here, so when we visit my family and friends in the UK, we fill up the tank right before taking the ferry back. It’s impossible to find a crackpot second-hand car in France for less than several thousand euros. In 2020, I bought an extremely reliable second-hand Fiat Panda for £500 in the UK. The Renault Clio III that I bought in France in 2023 cost me €4,500 (£3,800) and it’s broken down several times. In addition to this, the seven years of no-claims bonuses I’d accumulated in the UK weren’t recognised in France, so I was considered a new driver, and my insurance went through the roof. Other unexpected areas of my life in France are infinitely cheaper, though. My partner and I started the adoption process here almost a year ago, but with adoptive parents far outstripping the number of children available for adoption, we’ve had to be realistic in that we may never be able to adopt. In the UK, it would cost thousands to freeze my eggs so that we can decide if we’d like to be biological parents later, but in France, it’s completely free (albeit the waiting list is two years). Other areas of healthcare often deemed non-essential in the UK are also covered for me. I have a history of sprained ankles, and here, I’m able to access fully reimbursed monthly physio sessions to strengthen them. When I bemoan the amount of my salary that I lose each month, I remind myself that it’s going to good use. The most challenging part of moving abroad, though, is that my loved ones are now split across two countries. I’ve no one to blame but myself for the cost involved in coming back for weddings, hen parties and to meet new babies, but even though I come back multiple times a year, there’s so much that I miss. I can’t pop into London for dinner or nip out for a dog walk with a school friend, and sometimes I really feel this distance. My British friends and I have even started having different cultural references. We don’t always watch the same TV series any more, for example. In emigrating to France, I’ve had to accept that for everything I love about life here, there will always be things I’ll miss. I was fortunate and I made friends quickly when I arrived, and two years after moving, I met my French partner. I’m very lucky to live between two countries, but neither of them will ever be one 100 per cent home either.