Lay of the Land

For those unfamiliar with Paris—or with how the city fits into the wider map of France—it helps to know about our layered public transit system, which is constantly being remodeled and expanded. The three main layers of rail travel here are the Paris Metro, the TER, and the TGV.

The Metro is without question the most iconic. Just saying the name conjures images of white-tiled tunnels with arched ads, and well-worn subway cars rattling through the dark while the Eiffel Tower’s spotlight swings its nightly arc over the city, keeping watch.

But the layer I want to focus on here is the TER—Transport Express Régional. While the Metro stretches out to some of the nearer suburbs, the TER carries you much farther. These larger regional trains run regularly—typically every half hour—and unlike the TGV, they don’t require reservations. Best of all, they accept the same Navigo card used for the Metro.

In other words, for the cost of a metro ride, you can step onto a proper train and be whisked out of one of the most densely populated cities in the world and into the French countryside—in under an hour.

For my wife and me—Parisians who love our little apartment but occasionally need to escape the noise and concrete—it means something even more: freedom. If we can find a home in the countryside within this outer TER ring, we can leave on a whim. No reservations, no expense to worry about.

And for visitors, it means getting here is easy. No rental car. No complicated journey. Just a swipe of a metro card, a short ride, and a new kind of coffee experience waiting at the end of the tracks.

So we’ve begun our search. Each day, we scroll through listing after listing. Most are tragic: plastic flooring, neon paint, collapsing roofs. Forgotten corners of forgotten places.

But we’re hunting for the Goldilocks place. The one that fits our budget, our rhythms, and this dream.

Something else still surprises me about the French countryside. Having grown up in California, I’m used to the idea that living in the country means being far from everything. But here? Villages are sprinkled across the land like dice tossed from a cup—clustered, scattered, nestled in hills. You can live rurally and still have a bakery nearby. Still be a short train ride from Paris.

Some friends invited us to visit one of these towns. So we packed a small bag, hopped on the TER, and headed out.

She read her book while I stared out the window. Yellow fields of colza, thick patches of forest, old churches rising from sleepy villages. Then—a glimpse. A house, just beyond a village. A crumbling barn beside it. Quiet, worn, waiting.

I turned away from the window and thought to myself, we’re getting closer.

We’re getting closer.