Midwestern Mash-up

It was always going to be a good idea. I had a massive deadline for 4 pm today, probably the most serious deadline I’ve faced in my professional career. Coincidentally, I had been trying to schedule with one of my Minnesotan-in-England friends a pub meet-up with a couple of other midwestern girls. The only trouble for me was going to be staying awake, after the 4 pm deadline and a 4-5 pm meeting, I was dragging at 5:30 and unclear how I would make it to the pub for 8:30. Fortunately I persisted with wakefulness and managed to go. And oh what I would have been missing had I not stayed awake.

The round up is this: I’m native Minnesotan but went to college in Michigan. My Minnesota friend is actually a transplanted southerner. The two new acquaintances were a Michigander who went to college in Wisconsin and a Wisconsinite who moved to Minnesota around age 10. And here we all were doing girls’ night in a British pub. Can you see all the conversation possibilities? Yes, it worked. Awesome. Throw into the mix that I’m having dinner tomorrow with another friend who’s actually from Illinois, and I’ve managed to cover a pretty large proportion of the midwest in a short period of time.

It’s a good question, though, why it’s such fun to hang with fellow midwesterners (I mean, not just other American women but specifically American women from the heartland) in England. Perhaps an even better question is why are so many midwestern American women in my local town? And how is it that they are all such interesting women, with interesting careers, opinions and experiences such that in all cases I’ve definitely wanted to see them again? Soon! Does this reveal something intrinsic about midwesterners, or just about the midwesterners who happen to move to England? And where are the British girls with equivalently interesting careers, opinions and experiences? How have I been here for three years and not met them, but I’ve met a whole gaggle (technical term) of midwesterners in the past few months?

Social Media and the Expat Life

I had a visitor over the summer, right before I left for America, with whom I had a lovely walk in the sunshine and a nice dinner before he succumbed to jetlag and went to bed early, leaving me to pack for my trip. We had an interesting discussion about expat life and the role of social media. I should preface this by saying that he’s an expat several times over, living now in a third country (and continent) from the one in which he was born and another in which he has lived. When it comes to social media and friends “in the computer” I’m a fan, he was not. I rely on my facebook and twitter peeps and bloggy friends to provide me with some structure. Although, as he noted, if the people are all in the computer, are they real people? Do you end up feeling MORE lonely instead of LESS since you don’t have the human connection that comes with “real” people in your life?

It was an interesting question, and one that I have pondered on more than one occasion since that discussion. Do I think of myself as lonely? I obviously have plenty of time to myself, and spend a great deal of that time sitting in front of the computer communicating with strangers. But I’m ready with my rebuttal now, a few months after the fact. Because the people stuck in my computer have, on more than one occasion, transmogrified into real people. In the last six months or so, I have met up with Kat from 3bedroombungalow, Mike from Postcards from Across the Pond (and Pond Parleys) and, most recently, Michelloui from Mid-Atlantic English. All American expats, all living here in the UK, all blogging about our collective experiences. And people who I can now consider friends “in real life” because they have crawled out of the computer and into the restaurants in my neighborhood. Pretty cool, that. So I will keep justifying my hours spent on social media, and thank my lucky stars for the fantastic friends I’ve met through this computer screen.

Ordinary world?

Came in from a rainy Thursday
On the avenue
Thought I heard you talking softly

I turned on the lights, the TV
And the radio
Still I can’t escape the ghost of you

What has happened to it all?
Crazy, some are saying
Where is the life that I recognize?
Gone away

But I won’t cry for yesterday
There’s an ordinary world
Somehow I have to find
And as I try to make my way
To the ordinary world
I will learn to survive

We all have them, ghosts in our past.  And no matter how things have changed, how we all move on, it’s hard not to stop and have a good cry for the past when big things change, even if you’re not really actually sad about the end result and you definitely don’t wish for any other outcome.  So tonight, conveniently Friday night, I will raise a glass to my ex-husband and his new wife.  Cheers.

I’ll have my beer to go

Some things about the English pub system are just too good for words. I have mentioned previously how, at the end of the night, when a pub closed down they gave us plastic cups to take our remaining beer away with us, so as not to waste it even though it was closing time. That was funny. But today I think I had an experience that was even one better. My very favorite British friend was in town, and he suggested we go get a pint before dinner. Now I believe he said something about getting the pint and going out to sit on the grass, but I was not really paying attention to the details, as I was not 100% sure which pub he was even talking about when we set out. But we got to the pub, which was directly across from a large park (with plenty of grass to sit in) and it turns out that when ordering our beer, we were asked if we wanted it to drink in or take away. That’s right, folks, the beer is available for take-out, as it’s expected that you’ll grab it and dash to the park across the street. Even better, if you bring the empty plastic glasses back when ordering a second round, you get a discount. I leave you with the image of my take-out beer, safely out of the pub and in the park across the street. This is truly an amazing country.

Thanks to the “Minnesota Connection”

Last night I had to go to a cocktail party thingy (the Brits would call it a drinks party, appropriate since it was more of a wine and cheese). The attendees were work colleagues and their partners (and in one case, a daughter) and we were all doing the chat thing, some work chat (we had a big dinner Thursday night, in celebration of some big changes around here) and some social chat. Somehow we started discussing the funny way the local paper, and the British news media in general, sometimes report things. Our local paper is hilarious, and one colleague said he bought it just to be amused by the way the reporting tended to emphasize aspects of stories that we would find less than objective. My example was the “Five Britons die in Air France crash” from a BBC story I saw on the news at the gym a few months ago–it struck me because it was so familiar. You see, any time there was a local “Minnesota connection” to anything the local news would lead with that and make a big deal about this local connection. I’ve even blogged about it before, and how I find the local news media similar. It’s a sign, I think, of some inferiority complex–Minnesota is small and its virtues seem to be only well known to the locals. Britain is, as was described in the recent story for Newsweek about the Great British decline a place that might also be accused of having an inferiority complex. I was explaining this theory to the people to whom I was speaking, and I used the words “Minnesota Connection” trying to draw this analogy. Suddenly a girl comes walking quickly at me from across the room, saying, “did I just hear you say Minnesota connection?” Yes, my friends, it was another Minnesotan. Not a Minnesota native, but someone who has lived there, has seen the local culture, and who knew exactly what I was talking about. It was like a breath of fresh air. I had a fantastic rest of the evening, mostly chatting with one of my good friends (also an expat, but German) and my new, good, Minnesota friend. I have to admit, after dealing with my mixed feelings on my return, and my jet-lag and trying to get back into my work with some degree of normalcy, it was a breath of fresh air and a good way to end the first work week back. This has been one big change I’ve noticed in the past year, I have work friends now. Both expats and even (gasp!) British natives. It took a few years, but it’s definitely one of the better things about having been here for longer than a year or two. And I can’t wait to see my new Minnesota friend again.

Home thoughts from abroad

Perceptions. I’m interested in how one perceives their adopted country from their native country. I’ve been back but 2.5 days, roughly. I’ve had meetings in the office, emails to catch up on, planning to do for the next few months at work. I had a big deal work dinner tonight in which I got to see many good “professional friends,” people with whom I work but with whom I actually have come to learn to love to play with as well. Amazingly, I’ve found that after a few days, I’ve been happy to be back. Happier than I was expecting. And more “home” than I was expecting. So the question is, why am I so pessimistic about my life in the UK when I’m back in the US, and why am I so unexpectedly happy in the UK once I’m actually here?

I didn’t expect it. I arrived back veiled in a pessimistic funk. I admit it. How could I not? Being in America was so comfortable. I felt so home-y. I was also doing my beach vacation thing, my go-to-Minnesota thing, my road-trip in a car thing. My shopping thing, my familiar food thing, my reading books about Americana thing. And it was easy to ignore the things that I do like about England. Even the things that I prefer about England. (Ask me how many times I get asked about American Healthcare Reform in my current UK existence…)

I’m interested to hear what other expats think. When you’re back in your native country, do you feel melancholic about your adopted country? What is your average level of stress on return from your native land? Are you happy to be back immediately, or does it take you (like it takes me) a few days to remember that your new life in your adopted country is pretty good? How do you strike the balance? What is too much time away, too much time in your native country such that you forget what you like about your new land?

Aussie update 2: Canberra

Well, sort of. I actually did not see any of Canberra by daylight, as I was busy workshopping the entire time I was here. But I do have some interesting photos below from the Australian Capital Territory (ACT). Canberra itself was a ghost town, I have never been someplace so sterile and free of people. But I’m getting ahead of myself in the narrative. Let’s go back to the beginning. The timetable was this: I arrived in Melbourne from Singapore on Saturday morning for a brief 36 hour stay. I had to fly into either Melbourne or Sydney from Singapore, because Canberra is not an easy place to get to from outside Australia. So I planned to fly into Melbourne, catch the footy (which I did) and stay one night with local friends (from my trip last Christmas) before taking the short flight from Melbourne to Canberra. I arrived after dark Sunday night, for my Monday-Tuesday workshop. Gave my talk on Monday morning, had a nice workshop dinner that evening, enjoyed a fantastic set of talks and really liked the workshop–these smaller events with 40 or so participants are so much more fun than speaking in front of a large but impersonal audience.

Part of the “deal” in my travelling to this particular workshop was a promised nature walk in the Australian Alps. We thus spent Tuesday afternoon, after the workshop closed, at Tidbinbilla Nature Reserve in the ACT, about 40 minutes outside of Canberra. The area had been decimated by bushfires in 2003, and it was still obvious.

The nature reserve was amazing, in that there were native Aussie animals out and about, in large natural habitats, and you could wander around and see them. For this reason, you did not get a close-up perfect look at the animals, they way you do in a zoo, or in the Healesville Sanctuary where I went in Melbourne in Dec. The rangers, in fact, keep watch for the more elusive animals and leave laminated placards on the pathways to indicate where visitors might want to look to see a koala. And we saw one. After climbing around through some scrub, standing on a downed tree… Woo-hoo!

I was totally kicking myself for bringing only my point-and-shoot camera and not my digital SLR–I’m just going to have to come back.

The other thing that I saw at Tidbinbilla, which I most certainly did not see in Healesville, was kangaroos and wallabies actually HOPPING. They were meandering around with the “pentapedal walk” (using the tail to stabilize walking on all fours, since the front and back legs move in pairs instead of alternately) in Healesville, which was interesting in its own right, but I’m guessing was a symptom of a relatively small enclosure. This was not the case in Tidbinbilla, where the animals had free ranges of many, many acres. But doesn’t everyone want to see a kangaroo hop? Here you go

Driving out of the park, after our visit, we saw kangaroos on a corner. As in, kangaroos in the wild. Not in a zoo or nature reserve. Just hanging out in their native environment. My local hosts explained to me that ‘roos are like deer in the states, they’re just out and around and (if anything) likely to be obstacles on the highways when driving at night. Thus the iconic kangaroo crossing signs. Travelling is so educational.

But back to our regularly-scheduled narrative. Tuesday night found me back in Canberra, we went for a walk into town for dinner, and on the way back ran into whole bunches of possums hanging around the bases of trees. So more interesting wildlife, and my overall impression of having been in the ACT thus revolves around two things: the town was amazingly sterile and there were no people walking about, but it was quite easy to find interesting animals in their natural habitat.

Several loose ends to tie up. Why do I keep saying “we”? This workshop ended up being so much fun for many reasons, one of which was that my host was amazing, but also one of my “professional friends” (people in other places that you meet through work but start to like much, much more than just as colleagues) was at the meeting, which gave me a fantastic person to hang out with throughout the workshop. More on that next time. I’ve arrived in Sydney and have much to report and many photographs to share, but that will have to be tomorrow’s effort.

I’ve missed my calling

Really, I blame authorblog. It was he who posted this story about a little old lady, past 100, and her use of facebook and twitter. Google around and it turns out this has been all over the recent British news. And I love, love, love it. I’ve followed her on Twitter, and had a great look around her care home’s website, which looks really cozy and like someplace I would love to hang around. Thus, my thinking I missed my calling, I’m spending all day every day with the wrong aged people. See, I adore “little old ladies” especially if they’re feisty, as this Ivy Bean appears to be. And my nonagenarian grandmother certainly is. I had at one point in my life entertained thoughts of being a doctor specializing in geriatric medicine; I suspect I made a better choice for me in that engineering is a bit less emotional, and I doubt I could have handled losing patients that I had grown attached to. But it’s certainly true that I look wistfully in the windows of my local care home when I walk to the gym, as I wonder if perhaps the little old ladies sitting there alone might like company. I’ve always been the girl who would rather hang out with the elderly and who is not so interested in the babies as in the stories about the 30s and 40s.

But hey, Britain has a cure for this: you can register as a volunteer on the “Help the Aged” charity site with the category “befriending”. That is totally the right type of volunteer work for lonely me, even better if I can make a “friend” who can teach me to knit! Fingers crossed that they do need a “befriender” in my area, as I really would love to hang around someone like the fabulous Ivy Bean. In the meantime, I’m trying to convince said nonagenarian grandmother to get on facebook, we could totally play long-distance scrabble (although I know she’ll always win).

Friendship, community and commentary

This weekend, I had the awesome privilege of getting to meet fellow American-in-the-UK expat blogger, Kat, from 3 Bedroom Bungalow. What an awesome experience. I got to escape my little urban bubble and get out into the English countryside, something which I don’t often get to do. I got to meet some of the other “characters” from Kat’s blog and life. Go have a read if you haven’t already–I don’t want to spoil any of it here! I got to see inside the day-to-day life of an expat who is here in very different circumstances in terms of job and family life, but amazingly that does not seem to matter so much. The expat experience proves to be somewhat general as I have noted before, there’s a subset of things that seem to amaze, amuse and surprise us all. (I did, in fact, lend Kat my copy of Mike’s book…) Kat and I are close in age, have a lot of coincidental similarities in background, and thus had an immediate ability to talk for hours on end, both about expat and non-expat things. Overall, I had a fantastic time, aside from a little rebellion on the part of my sinuses, who were quite taken aback by all the fresh air, pollen, animals, etc. that are not normally part of my sheltered urban bubble.

How great to find out that a fellow blogger is within striking distance and thus a real-world friendship can develop out of this forum, not just a “Yes, I have friends, they are all inside my computer” circumstance. And it is for that reason, the connections with real people, that I continue to blog, even though I think the last few months have seen a bit of harsh and unfounded criticism in the comments here, and at times, even personal attacks. I believe the problem is mostly the very crux of the Brit-American communication conundrum, in that subtleties of language in tone and humor are missed when a literal read is made of every thing that gets written, be it by me or by others. Without tone of voice and eye-contact, it becomes easier to misunderstand the intentions of the writer. I shall carry on, but with a more careful eye to both what I write and also on the new comments, with the aim to keep the discourse open and free from personal attacks. (Although I think you’ll find that I most often comment on “the locals” as a group, whereas some recent comments have been directed solely at me specifically, not American expats living abroad.) The idea is NOT to remove dissenting views, in fact, I continue to particularly welcome input from UK locals on the questions I have and puzzles I encounter, as well as expats who have resided in other locales. However, more than one person has recently mentioned being put off by the negativity in the comments, and I’d rather have more opportunities to meet fellow-bloggers, both here and in the US, by more carefully fostering the sense of friendly community that shows itself here on occasion. I don’t *actually* set out to be provocative with what I write, really my intention is no more than mildly ribbing or on occasion genuinely venting frustration, but clearly that is not coming across. And for the readers, try to read this (or any expat blog) in the spirit in which it was written; an outlet for frustrations, a desperate cry for help to find others in similar circumstances, and a genuine desire to try and understand the things going on around a befuddled transplant. The average expat writer is likely both homesick and substantially outside the comfort zone associated with typical working and family life, and if you feel the need to attack that writer personally, perhaps you should stop and think about why you’re so angry at someone you’ve never met.

Problems

I know, somewhere deep down in my heart, that my problems are relatively small. Although I blog incessantly about the little annoyances of expat life (along with the great parts too!) they are not real problems in the grand scheme of things. Nothing brings this home more than finding out that one of your high school friends is in a nursing home after having suffered from serious health problems for the last few years, including organ transplants and brain damage. Nothing puts life into perspective better than realizing that, although annoying, your problems really are nothing more than annoyances.