On travel

If you are an expat, you travel internationally by definition. I get back to the US a few times a year, both for work and for play, and I also go to other interesting places (Australia, Singapore last year and China in a few short months) again for a combination of work and play. So nothing makes my heart drop into my gut like a new round of “increased security measures” for international air travel, especially to the US. There has been plenty written on the subject, both before and since the most recent triggering event. Most of what happens in reality is nothing more than “security theater” and manages to punish innocent travelers without catching the bad guys. On my last trip into the US I was selected for random screening of the sort that they are now doing for everyone leaving the UK for the US–pat down, shoes removed a second time, carry-on bag hand-searched. At the time, I muttered an off-hand comment about how this was worse than in the US, where I have never had to remove and replace my shoes twice in two different locations prior to boarding a plane. The defensive BA employee noted that it was the “US requiring these random searches” and of course that is the case currently. Of course, I’ve had particularly bad timing in the past and been right in the midst of strange new rules. Back in the aftermath of the 2006 liquid bomb plot, when I was returning to the US after my UK job interview I almost lost my shoes: as in, the airline nearly confiscated them. They were sandals with heavy bottoms (I can’t recall if they were Doc Martens or Chacos but it was one of the two) and the airline employee kept lifting them a foot off the ground and then dropping them, over and over. To this day I don’t know what she thought, but my barefoot self learned an important lesson standing there, and I have never again flown in sandals. On that same trip I had to check my DSLR camera and laptop, which was an altogether uncomfortable experience as well.

The frustrating thing is that this latest event should have looked suspicious and been queried for reasons that had nothing to do with the new “security measures”–buying a plane ticket with cash for a two week trip abroad with no luggage? Seriously, people, that didn’t raise any red flags at all? Scary. Of course, having just passed through the Orlando, Florida airport I spotted all sorts of amazing and crazy things, mostly in the form of excessive and bulky carry-on luggage, shopping bags, and people who clearly never travel and had no idea how to comply with current security requirements. The Orlando airport did not have the new expert traveler lines working due to overcrowding, but eventually that might help those of us who know the drill and never travel with more than one carry-on and one suitcase, no matter what the trip.

I did not travel internationally prior to 9/11, so I don’t know how different it was back in the golden age before security theater increased in prominence. And my good friend Kat posted a scary premonition of where we might end up. It does feel that way–oddly naked in public, when you are stumbling through the magnetometer stocking footed, with no jacket or sweater and holding up your trousers because the belt is on the x-ray line. I try to roll my eyes and get on with it, accepting this as just another pain in the arse that comes with the many positive adventures of a life spent far from the place of my birth. And I am fully aware of the overall risks of air travel, and how they compare to other modes of transport. And I do willingly take on those risks by flying much more than the average person. But it is entirely true that when I have a bad day, and I’m drawing up my list of pros and cons of living in the UK, you can bet the security theater of flying from Heathrow back to the US ranks fairly high on the list of cons. And it just got a whole lot worse this week.

Dear so-and-so, procrastination edition

Dear Self,

You have had a serious procrastination problem this week. All rage will thusly be directed inwards.

I’m only trying to help, NFAH

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Dear Self,

Stop going to bed so late. You know you’re not going to want to get up. The internet is really not that interesting, not compared with sleep.

It’s like I’m a naughty 13 year old again, NFAH

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Dear Self,

You set your self a goal to get to the gym 8 times in a certain period. You made it 5 times. Better than 0, but not as good as 8.

Things still need to improve, NFAH

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Dear Self,

I know some of the work that needs to be done is remarkably boring. That goes for housework too. But you still have to do it, just buckle down and get it over with. These little bursts of energy and inspiration to do things at 10 pm are nice, but are contributing to the “not wanting to go to bed problem”… just work normal hours like a normal person and go to sleep on time.

Tired of the “living alone means there are no rules” syndrome, NFAH

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Dear Self,

I know you just found out that your ex-husband got re-married, but really stop writing about him. That was a long time ago, and you don’t actually miss him or feel nostalgic.

(Shaking head at self in disgust), NFAH

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Dear Self,

You do realize you have to be in a car on the way to a plane in just under 12 hours and you’re not packed. Stop writing Dear So-and-So letters and go to bed!

You’ll thank me in the morning, NFAH

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Ahh winter

There was a massive winter storm in Minnesota this week, and people are just starting to dig out. Funny that, it makes me nostalgic. I don’t miss the realities of Minnesota winters, but I do miss the romance! I lived most of my pre-England life in really snowy places (Minnesota and Michigan) and when the Christmas songs start playing, I start dreaming of a white Christmas. Even though I am almost never in a white Christmas kind of place these days. Last year in Australia I was definitely not in that place, and I quite enjoyed the cognitive dissonance of being in a sunny clime over the holidays. And seeing a gigantic Christmas Pelican with presents in its beak. And eating Christmas dinner outside by the pool, with freshly grilled fish as the centerpiece.

Now I’m heading for Florida, and I’m guessing there will not be a white Christmas there. I don’t miss the realities of it all, and I quite like that my window is open to air out my flat here in England where it’s been quite temperate. But Christmas really is the season of nostalgia, isn’t it? Dreaming of idyllic childhood holidays and happy times. Bing Crosby dreams and all of that. For this, I think the most appropriate thing I could say is in the lyrics of the Tori Amos song ‘Winter’ which was also my ex-husband’s favorite song of this season. He loved the part about putting hands into the father’s glove. I love this part:

When you gonna make up your mind

When you gonna love you as much as I do

When you gonna make up your mind

Cause things are gonna change so fast

Things do change, so fast. When I was with the ex whose song this was, I had never been to Europe. I’ve now been living in the UK for nearly 10% of my life, which is a scary thing to contemplate. And I’m relatively settled, I have plans for the future and they don’t involve much but continuing on with my current plans and existence. I will have to deal with an application for residency in the next 1.5 years, and I will have to continue to work hard and live up to my foreigner status as a net contributor to the UK economy.

But I’m sure I’ll always feel nostalgic for snow at this time of year, even when I know that a storm such as the one that hit Minnesota would bring my life here to a standstill. I don’t miss owning a house in Minnesota. I don’t miss shoveling the driveway. I don’t miss worrying about parking when Snow Emergencies are declared. What I do miss is the beauty of the snow, the break in time that takes place when things shut down because the weather really is that bad. So I guess I have to learn here in the UK to take a break and enjoy life, Christmas, and the whole thing.

Dear so-and-so, random rage edition

Ooh twice in one week, I’m on fire!

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Dear Bicyclists who ride straight at me when I’m walking to the gym,

It seems so easy to me. The pavement is split in half with a white line and even a ridge down the middle. There is a picture of a pedestrian painted every few meters on one side of the line, and a picture of a bicyclist painted next to it every few meters on the other side. So why the £%&(^%$ do I keep having to jump out of your way when I’m walking on the pedestrian side?

Thinking if you can’t figure this out maybe you shouldn’t be riding a bike in public, NFAH

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Dear hopeless French chef,

I know you disagree with the concept of being a vegetarian or pescetarian, but do you even try the food you prepare for us? I’m guessing not, because tomato and basil sauce on roasted parsnips really did set a new low.

Unapologetically not about to start eating game and thus destined to leave dinner hungry, NFAH

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Dear Brits around me who have lived abroad,

You continue to amaze and amuse me with your comments about Britain and the British, which often voice things that I dare not utter myself.

Increasingly serious that living abroad should be a requirement for a University degree, NFAH

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Dear recently unfollowed Twitter peeps,

You can’t say you weren’t warned. (See previous Dear so-and-so for details)

Apparently more snarky than ever, NFAH

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Dear ladies with science PhDs who are some of my favorite people in the world,

I am SO looking forward to seeing you at the conference next week in an undisclosed sunny location. I suspect that you can tell from all of this rage that I could really use a break from my current surroundings.

In anticipation, NFAH

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This year’s party effort

Following up on the success of last year’s Christmas party for my group from work, I did it again. A few things were different. First, the gauntlet had been laid down over the bake-off, so as you saw earlier this week I made Krumkake. Let’s just say they were a hit. I have 9 cookies remaining, after having made literally dozens. Given the fact that there were 10 people at this little soiree, and I did not have any once I started seeing how popular they were, I think the team averaged 4-5 eaten cookies each! Second, I also cooked something hot in addition to providing cheese and crackers (all American ones, Triscuits, Club and Saltines, from my cracker bounty!) and nibblies. When I was in the US last summer with one of my colleagues, she had remarked after several different hot dips at restaurants that she loved them and did not remember having seen them on British menus nearly as often as they appeared in American restaurants. So I made (what I thought was) an enormous vat of crab and artichoke dip (think three packages of cream cheese and four containers of crab meat to get the scope of the scale of this thing) and I swear they left nothing behind, the entire thing went–and quickly! Finally, in addition to my contribution to the bake-off, one of the temporary visitors to the group offered to make and bring a Tiramisu. We nearly polished that off too. (I swear, I am am not a slave driver and I have no idea why they were all so hungry!) The best, though, was when people discovered that the hollow centers of the Krumkake were the perfect place to put the Tiramisu. Like me, my team is largely made up of expats and so clearly this sort of fusion had broad appeal!

Photos of the before and after:

(The dip was not out of the oven, nor had the Tiramisu arrived yet).

The Christmas miracle was that I ended up with more and better wine than I started with. Aside from a few generous creatures bringing a bottle each, one of the gang found an import wine merchant that had oaky Californian Chardonnay and brought me 6 bottles! Enjoying a lovely glass now… Happy Friday Night!

My slightly unusual T-day

I have quite a few, perhaps too many, good American friends in the UK. But the sad fact is that it was impossible for me to participate in any traditional Tofurkey day rituals. There are many reasons for this. One of my good American friends is back home in America for the week, for obvious reasons. Two of my good friends have babies less than six months old. Another (Kat from 3bedroombungalow) was celebrating, but inconveniently located over 20 miles away and NOT on a major train line. My living in an urban center and having no car makes this a bit tricky. Especially since I had to work straight through until after 5 pm, so no big ‘dinner at 2 and the Lions on television kind of day’.

So my T-day feast ended up looking more like the meal Peppermint Patty shuns in the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving special. (And props to fellow expat rheaj for Twittering the YouTube link for the Charlie Brown special, made my expat holiday.) I had a team meeting this afternoon. My team is a bit of a mini-United Nations and we’ve been having a bake-off. Today was Italy’s turn to provide treats, which meant amazing hard cheese with crackers, and some positively sinful bite-sized chocolate treats made with ricotta cheese and coconut. So my big T-day meal was Italian snacks around a table with my team, while I spoke on using web 2.0 features for engineering, including using blogging software to make simple websites and Twitter to gather technical information.

After that I went to the gym (which was open, since no one here seems to think it’s a holiday!) and grabbed a bite on the way home. I know I’ve ranted about sandwiches before, but this is different: no soggy factor since it’s made fresh to spec, and frankly something American seemed appropriate for the day. A subway veggie patty (toasted) sub:

Happy Tofurkey day to expats and natives, where ever you are. And if you have kids in the car, I hope they sing a rousing chorus of “Over the river and through the woods” which we definitely always sang en route to Grandma’s house. Happy memories of Thanksgiving from when I was a kid. This one will perhaps be memorable in a different way.

Unexpected Celebrity Sighting

I was walking in an English town today, wearing jeans and a red hoodie and carrying a very large cup of Starbucks coffee (i.e. looking as much the hapless American as is humanly possible) when I saw something up ahead. A police motorcycle, blue lights flashing, was waiting in a zebra crossing. I looked up the road and saw more blue flashing lights. Several more police. They started moving towards me. Then a fancy black car. Funny, it had a flag on top. I peered in the large car window (not even frosted–perfectly clear) and saw an elderly couple sitting there in the back seat. She had on quite the outfit, a peach hat and matching jacket. No, it couldn’t be… yes, yes it was.

I had accidentally stumbled on the Queen’s motorcade.

A few more cars, a few police, and it was over. And I was shellshocked. I had a stupid grin on my face for at least the next five minutes. The locals I spoke to later in the day were impressed, none of them had seen her in person before. (Contrary to popular belief, not all Brits actually know the royal family.) And yet there I was, minding my own business, walking down a random street being all American, blissfully ignorant of what the royals were up to. (I now know that there’s a website where you can find out where they are and what they’re doing.)

Of course, when I emailed my sister with the “you won’t believe what I just saw” news, her retort was almost as incredible:

I ran afoul of Obama’s motorcade in Seoul today. Good day for us.

The blogosphere abuzz

Actually it was probably more the Twitterverse. Regardless, either way the breaking news earlier this week was that sex-blogger and author ‘Belle du Jour’ was a PhD scientist about my age. Not a professional writer. Suddenly the lines about how it was so well-written make sense–in this business, doing science or research is only a small piece of the pie, we have to communicate our results both in person and in print. So I’m not terribly surprised that she is an academic type in the sciences, we have to be able to construct sentences.

Overall, my interest in the story should be obvious: blogger, female, PhD, similarly-aged, in the UK, etc. Although I confess now, I am not, nor do I ever intend to be, a sex-blogger OR a prostitute. There we go, you’ve heard it first. I promise that my semi-anonymity on this blog has nothing to do with a secret life as a lady of the night.

What interested me most about the ‘breaking news’ was the apparent contradiction that I saw in how Belle du Jour, now Dr Brooke Magnanti, was described. In the above-linked article, she was in one paragraph “an obscure research scientist” and a few paragraphs later “a respected specialist in developmental neurotoxicology and cancer epidemiology in a hospital research group in Bristol.” Surely there’s a contradiction in being both obscure and respected? In order to be respected, someone must know of your work (and I mean the science kind, not the other thing) and thus by definition one could not be obscure,

relatively unknown: as a : remote, secluded b : not prominent or famous

Although when I entered her name into the search engine for finding academic publications (the mark of respect vs. obscurity in the research world) alas there were only a few, which tends towards ‘obscure’ in the general community (although perhaps respected by immediate colleagues).

The obvious mind-game that an expat in this situation must play is to imagine what would happen had the same thing transpired in your own country. Here in the UK we saw lots of press and a great deal of publicity for bit-players related to Dr. Magnanti (her father was apparently not happy, but I don’t link the story here as it reeked of spotlight-gathering). Other ousted sex bloggers took to the ether in the form of twitter, blogs, and daytime chat shows. There was commentary about the glamorization of prostitution. Apparently Dr. Magnanti is supported by her employer and work colleagues. And here is where we see the big difference between England and America.

If anyone, as a PhD and engineer/scientist with a good job in research, were to come out as a former prostitute while living in America, they would not be in the position of Dr. Magnanti. They would be in hiding. They would not have supportive colleagues or a job anymore. They would most likely have ruined their professional careers for life. Now some time will have to pass before we can ascertain whether Dr. Magnanti does or does not go on to have a fulfilling and productive career in research (and given the leaky pipeline we can guess that the odds are against her). Regardless, the fact that this is even an option is what makes England different from America, and makes me happy to be here in the UK as this story unfolds.

Guest post–The accidental expats

I have answered some questions about my strange expat life in an interview on ‘The Accidental Expats’ site. Please do go read the link and see some interesting factoids about how I ended up here as a stranger in a strange land! And note, thanks to Twitter I am finding intriguing expat blogs faster than I can add them to the listing, so please do not stop checking and please do remind me if you need to be added!

On crackers

The word ‘crackers’ means different things in the US and the UK. In the US, it’s my favorite snack food, much better than potato chips (crisps) and often either cheese flavored or used as vehicles for cheese or other nice savory foods. Here in the UK this meaning is mostly the word I find confusing, ‘biscuits’ which can can be either like crackers or can be sweet and essentially like cookies. I am well-known on this blog for being obsessed with the American crackers called Cheez-its, which are my favorite snack food ever. They are amazing on their own, or are even better in a double-cheese configuration when dipped in cream cheese. This was the subject of my recent shock contest win from another blogger in the US, where I won a box of boxes of crackers mailed to me. The resulting bounty of snack foods are pictured here:

Yum. I’ll be busy for a few weeks with these, although as they arrived more than a week ago, I am already down one box of Wheat Thins and one of Cheez-its. Crackers don’t last long in my carb-craving household.

But as I was walking home from work today, I saw the seasonal British crackers in a shop window. I actually experienced this for the first time in Australia last Christmas, and there are pictures of me wearing a paper crown hat. Thank goodness for semi-anonymous blogs, as I have the perfect excuse not to post the image. But you can get the idea at the ‘Christmas Cracker Shop’ website. I looked downright silly. I can see how this is one of those holiday traditions that one retains from childhood, and I thank my Aussie friends for sharing their tradition with me last holiday season. Maybe I’ll even buy some this year to acknowledge my increasing adaptation to my adopted country. But on the balance, I think I prefer Cheez-its. And thank goodness I have another box yet to go.