I left Paris for Luxembourg on a whim. Here’s what no one really tells you.
Leaving your country to work abroad — is it a good idea? The honest answer: yes, if you know where you’re stepping. Here’s my unfiltered take on the struggles, the surprises, and what ten years of distance have clarified — without nostalgia or regret.
On Instagram, expatriation looks like a sunset over the ocean, with captions like “best decision of my life.”
In reality, it looks more like a 6:45 a.m. regional train crossing wet fields while you wonder whether you’ve completely lost your mind.
Spoiler: you haven’t. But you only find that out later.
A New Year’s Eve, a map, and two adults playing generals
December 2015.
Paris felt emptied out. Restaurants were closed, the streets unusually quiet in the aftermath of terrorist attacks that had shaken the country. Against that backdrop, something more personal was playing quietly for me: a life that felt like it was closing in — a house 25 kilometers outside Paris, a job with no horizon, and that vague but persistent sense of having run out of options. Add to that long daily commutes on the suburban train network — packed, unforgiving — and you get the picture.
The attacks didn’t decide everything. But they did what sudden shocks often do: accelerate a desire that was already there — to change direction, and maybe even change countries.
Leaving, yes — but not recklessly. With a partner and two children, I couldn’t afford to play the adventurer. Luckily, my husband requested a job transfer to eastern France. The decision came mid-February. We had six weeks to decide: go or stay?
Double or nothing, on a holiday night
Somewhere between Christmas and New Year’s, in a moment not exactly known for rational decision-making, we unfolded a map on the table. Like generals — minus the ranks, but with a half-empty bottle of Champagne, which in our minds more than compensated.
We started with Nice. Of course. Sunshine, sea, an easy life. The dream of the French Riviera lasted exactly as long as it took to ask a simple question: what happens to my career there? My career, built step by step in the demanding ecosystem of large cities, wouldn’t transplant easily to a seaside town without consequences. Nice was out.
So we looked north. Annemasse, near Switzerland — higher salaries, multinational companies, a solid package. Or Brussels, just an hour from Paris by train: working abroad without really leaving: tempting. And then, almost by accident, our eyes landed on Thionville, a small town near the border of a tiny country wedged between Germany, Belgium, and France — a country we barely knew and that didn’t exactly scream adventure: Luxembourg.
Luxembourg? Why not.
That’s often how big decisions begin. A casual “why not” over a glass of wine. That night, I sent out dozens of applications. In every direction. Let the best option win ! Luxembourg replied first.
What followed were train trips back and forth for interviews, then offers. One month later, I signed a permanent contract. On April 4, 2016, I walked into my Luxembourg office for the first time. Life had decided.
The inventory no one prepares you for
What no one tells you is that this is where everything actually begins. Once you’ve signed, things accelerate at a pace that should probably be a warning sign. Because speed, in this context, is reality catching up with you before you’ve had time to prepare.
First challenge: finding a place to live remotely, without a network, in a saturated housing market. My pragmatic solution: live in Thionville, in France, and commute 1 hour and 15 minutes each morning by train. I had escaped the overcrowded Paris system. I had inherited the regional train instead. The difference? Calmer passengers and views of green fields. A small win.
Meanwhile, 400 kilometers away, the rest of my life continued without me. My husband was still waiting for his transfer approval. What if it got rejected? My eldest was gearing up for the exams that would close one chapter and, my youngest was next in line. And me?
I discovered that eating dinner alone in a rented room on a Wednesday night has a very particular taste — somewhere between freedom and absurdity, with a hint of “what exactly am I doing?”
This phase lasted three months. Then my family joined me in Thionville. We moved into a 110-square-meter apartment — about 50 square meters more than we had in the Paris area. It wasn’t Luxembourg yet. But after months of living apart, simply being together again, in a space that felt almost oversized by our previous standards, felt like pure relief. We would only move to Luxembourg itself three years later.
Luxembourg — user manual for an unlikely country
The brochure version
Luxembourg has one of the highest GDPs per capita in the world. Salaries and purchasing power are among the highest in Europe. Unemployment sits around 6%. Public transportation is completely free, which, after years of paying into Paris transport systems, feels almost unreal. Taxes are still there — this isn’t Monaco — but compared to France’s heavy tax burden, the difference is noticeable.
The reality
Life is extremely expensive. So expensive that over 220,000 people live across the borders and commute daily. A 20-minute drive off-peak can easily turn into an hour and a half in rush hour. That’s the price of opportunity.
The weather is often grey. A fine, persistent drizzle that feels like it signed a long-term contract. Nothing dramatic, but enough to build a close relationship with blankets and warm drinks.
As for Luxembourgers, they are polite — but integrating into their circles takes time. Real connection often comes through learning the language.
Expats all say the same thing when they arrive: three years, maximum. Just enough to make good money, then we leave. A surprising number never do. Some even end up applying for citizenship. That’s how the country gets you — the way it got me. Slowly, without drama, before you even realize you’ve stopped wanting to leave.
What ten years taught me
Expatriation never looks exactly like what you imagined. You deal with a different job market, unfamiliar rules, opportunities you wouldn’t have had otherwise — but also trade-offs. There’s always something you didn’t anticipate: the cost of living, the time it takes to settle, the strain of building a life while another part of it continues elsewhere.
Expatriation amplifies what already exists. Strengths and weaknesses alike — in a couple, in a project, in your relationship with yourself. It doesn’t fix anything. It reveals everything.
And there’s something else. Distance creates a strange form of detachment from the country you left. I now live less than ten kilometers from France, and yet it sometimes feels like I’m thousands away — as if the perspective itself has shifted.
If I had to do it again
I would sign again immediately, without hesitation. With the trains, the grey skies, the months of commuting — and yes, avoiding a few logistical mistakes along the way, thanks to hindsight. Because what you gain from this kind of experience cannot be measured in salary alone.
It’s a different way of seeing your own life. Capabilities you didn’t know you had. A form of freedom you didn’t realize you were looking for — for yourself, and for your family.
We always underestimate what it costs to leave.
But we underestimate even more what it costs to stay.
If the idea of leaving won’t let you go, maybe that’s not a coincidence. If the map is starting to take shape in your head but you’re not sure how to read it yet, let’s talk. Together we’ll put words, options, and above all a direction on what, for now, is still blurry.
And maybe this project, instead of staying just another possibility, will finally become real.
