I started this blog with two questions: 1. After a decade abroad, how do you come back home? And 2. What does it take to bring a foreigner with you? I'm pleased to say that we're finally answering question #2. On October 4, Nicolas's green card was approved. After that, the days seemed to crawl by, waiting for the final milestones to get ticked: Nicolas's 30 days notice. My roommate swap that finally took me from a the living room to a proper bedroom with walls and a door. The goodbye parties. The packing. The flights.
Since I'd already booked a flight to visit Nicolas for Thanksgiving and his family had all reserved the date to celebrate, we realized we had to put up with a few weeks' more than the simple 30-days' notice period. It made most sense for me to still fly out and then take Nicolas home with me after Thanksgiving. Those November days crawled by. Eventually, about three weeks ago, I boarded the plane that finally ended out nearly-11-months of long distance. It wasn't exactly the celebratory homecoming I'd anticipated on the other side— Nicolas had a dentist appointment that ran over, and I wound up napping on a bench outside his apartment— but it was a fitting end to the dark comedy that has been the trajectory of our marriage thus far.
 |
| En route to Paris, Nov. 22-23, 2018. The end of a nearly 11-month saga of forcible separation due to immigration. |
One nap and two t-shirts later, we were ready for Nicolas's going-away party, titled
"Nicolas Part Pour Trumpland." Though to California's credit, he was hardly headed for the heart of it.
 |
| Dressed on point for Nicolas's going-away party. |
No time for jetlag: the following morning, we were up and at 'em, and soon headed off to Versailles, to crash Nicolas's sister's kitchen for the frenzy that is the Thanksgiving preparations. The task was significantly eased thanks to my father-in-law, who'd spotted a Blue-Apron-esque offer for a Thanksgiving meal, which he had the foresight and generosity to pre-order after passing it by us. All the ingredients were conveniently waiting for us in the right proportions, with recipe cards in both English and French. (It was no secret that this deal was marketed to a specific Parisian expat community.) Several hours, bumped elbows, and piggy-back rides later, the table was served (and the kids strictly instructed to stop climbing their Tonton Nico).
 |
| The French family around the Thanksgiving dinner table |
 |
| Thanksgiving 2018, a (hopefully) new Kouzan family Parisian tradition |
The next week rolled by in a blur of jet lag and remote working, punctuated by a few wanders across the Marais and the highlight: a trip to the Salon des Vins, one of my favorite Parisian past-times. It's an event with effectively free entry filled with literally thousands of French wine makers lined up to serve you more wine, Champagne, and cognac than you could possibly consume, all for free. Why more people outside of French haven't caught on to this event, I'll never get.
 |
| The magic of the Marais, Pierre Hermé, and the Salon des Vins. A week in Paris spent working remotely (me) or not remotely (Nicolas). |
Finally, without much of a proper visit to Paris and hardly a moment to relish our reunion, we were packing Nicolas's bags and cleaning out his dad's apartment where he'd had the good fortune to spend the past 11 months rent-free. With just a quick pit stop for a cascara infusion at Caféothèque to humor his beleageuring wife, Nicolas said goodbye to Paris and headed off with me to Orly Airport for what would be the longest flight that either of us have ever taken, direct from Paris to San Francisco. After a brief detainment at customs, we were free to go and finally resume our life together, hoping for better luck on this side of the planet.
 |
| Nicolas's big move to SF, complete with a celebratory beer at our local Beer Hall. |
Since then we've been settling in to life in San Francisco, checking out local bars and ice cream shops and enjoying coming home to each other each evening. With the price tags hovering over this city, we haven't been treating ourselves to much out on the town, but it's often enough to just settle in to a beer and a Netflix episode on our futon in the mini-living-room I've built under our lofted bed. It's been surprisingly easy to settle back into our routines.
 |
| Us beginning our new life together in San Francisco! |
Still I've avoided answering the question: what did it take?
- 322 days living on different continents, punctuated by just two trans-Atlantic visits
- A guesstimate of about 100 hours of video calls
- Adjusting to a nine hour time difference, meaning never being on the same wavelength when we did electronically connect
- Countless texts and photos shared, most especially of meals gone unshared
- 3 moves (on my end) into and within San Francisco
- About 500 pages of paperwork providing various US government agencies with every possible shrapnel of proof that we're legit
- Mad admin skills (+1 for the woman whose held non-tourist visas in 4 different countries and tourist visas in a handful more)
- Resilience
- Trust
- Patience (still not my strong point)
- Open communication
You'd think I'd have a better answer after a year to think about it, but that's what it took to bring Nicolas to America. Now a better question might be how this foreigner and I will adapt to life in a country that doesn't quite feel like home. But first we've got another adventure on the docket: Senegal. T-8 days.
