From Dublin to Burgundy — A New Chapter

It’s hard to put into words, but I feel the need to get this out of my system.
Ireland, and more specifically Dublin, was my home for 27 years. It’s where I spent most of my adult life, where I tried to figure out who I was as a person, and where I went from an enthusiastic teenager who loved playing music to a professional musician. It was a school of hard knocks, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

  For a good quarter of a century, I was a small part of the sound of Dublin.

  But the pandemic changed everything. The city changed, and I watched it happen from my apartment window in Temple Bar. The change was already in the air long before COVID. Airbnb took over long-term rentals. Property and rent prices spiraled, something I had already seen before the 2008 crash. I could feel the pressure building again. Would the bubble burst, or would it find another way to release? This time, I didn’t feel like sticking around to find out.

  Playing music seven days a week in pubs was also taking its toll. It started to feel like I wasn’t playing music anymore, I was selling beer. I understand the basics of the job: entertain people so they stay longer and order another pint. But somewhere along the line, I felt I was losing something I loved dearly: the music itself.

  In 2022, my partner Nathalie’s sister was diagnosed with breast cancer. We began traveling back and forth to France a lot. She felt the need to be closer to her family, and both of us felt that our time in Dublin was coming to an end.

  I won’t go into every detail, but my last six months in the city were tough. I saw two dead bodies. Our windows egged twice for no reason. Constant drug dealing outside our building. Fights and blood on the cobblestones becoming a weekly occurrence. There was a heaviness in the air. So when the opportunity came for us to move to the countryside in Burgundy, I didn’t hesitate. Where do I sign?

  In April 2023, we packed everything into a removal truck and flew from Dublin to Lyon, where Nathalie’s dad picked us up. One chapter closed; another began.

  It took us a while to ground ourselves and really take it all in. We stayed in the apartment attached to Nathalie’s parents’ house, renting it for a fraction of what we had been paying in Dublin. But even then, because of what we were used to in Ireland, we didn’t allow ourselves to dream too far ahead.

  While living there, I planted a garden and started growing food. The house was big enough, but I still felt strange making noise with my music. So we bought a 1970s caravan. With Nathalie’s father guiding us, we tore it apart and rebuilt it into my little caravan studio, the place where I rediscovered my love for recording and making music.

Then things got interesting.

  We soon realised that rural French property prices weren’t the fantasy they would have been in Dublin, they were actually within reach. Our bank was supportive. And almost exactly one year after arriving in France, we made an offer on an old country house just outside Tournus.

It had been derelict for two years and needed a lot of love. With the help of Nathalie’s family and the guidance of her dad, we took on the biggest project of our lives. I spent the next year working nearly every waking hour renovating our home. There’s still work to do, but it’s no longer a building site. Every morning I watch the sun rise over the fields from our kitchen door. The caravan studio is now permanently parked at the back of the house, and I have an even bigger garden to grow food.

Now that the renovations have slowed down just a touch, I’m getting back to music. I release a new song from my caravan studio every three weeks. I’m slowly returning to live performances. I don’t want to go back to the intensity of my Dublin schedule, but I still love playing. I’m also hoping to connect and collaborate with local musicians here in France.

Life feels more grounded here.
I eat locally sourced food.
I spend more time outdoors.
I create more, both musically and with my hands.

And as I write this, our five-month-old kitten Chaya is asleep beside me.

Some of you have been following this journey from the beginning. Others may have wondered where I disappeared to. So I wanted to share this story and say: I’m fine, better than fine.

A new chapter has begun. And I’m grateful.

J.P.