Tag Archives: repatriation

Time Travel

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Time zones have finally caught up to me. Four in a week probably isn’t the most wise decision and never have I truly felt like I could consider myself a traveler until now. Four time zones – we are crazy. And I got up at 4:30AM with no sign of respite or back to sleep. Nope, tossing and turning had to stop otherwise a very unhappy Jock would follow today, so I come into the next room and write this blog.

Flights to Chicago from Las Vegas were uneventful – oh, except for that incredible warm, gooey deliciousness called Cinnabon. Now, THAT was an event. Ever since that sickly cinnamony smell entered my nostrils last week at the airport, I’ve been a-craving them and I finally tickled my fancy yesterday. I didn’t feel guilty, ashamed – I just felt calm like the days when Aunt Frona and Aunt Sheila would boost me up in their arms to help me pick the bun of my choice – until the sugar rush kicked in and I was bouncing off the cabin walls.

But don’t worry – you won’t find me using one of those automatic wheelchairs anytime soon with an oxygen mask attached to my face. Nope, I made sure to work out twice as hard today. But it was so worth it.

The day flew by yesterday – a quick lunch at Panera Bread in Naperville turned into a three hour discussion with the 19 year old cashier, followed by another hour of speaking with his aunt and cousins who happened to stop by. I have a feeling this might be a recurring theme for Jock and I. We seem to be entering a phase of approachability – or is that just our returning naivety to American culture?

Regardless, the 19 year old cashier/skateboarder/graffiti artist was one of the most refreshing young men we have spoken to in a long time. He had that refreshing candor and joie de vivre that perhaps comes from experiencing his best friend’s death at a young age – he set up a memoriam where they skateboard on the anniversary of his death every year and apparently over 80 people show up each time. He was so curious about life in England and how it was different from America. “Don’t hold back, I want to know what we do wrong or differently in this country. I’ve never been anywhere else,” he said. But oh, does he want to travel. Jock and he exchanged emails and unlike the days when I was younger (probably his age) and would exchange emails with just about anyone and never keep in touch – I would love to find out what he gets up to. I have a feeling he’ll do well.

Today we go into the city of Chicago and do some site seeing.

A few photos from our trip thus far:

Casual Meanderings of America

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I won’t mention the canceled flights, the overnight stay in Minneapolis or the 9 hour delay in Newark, NJ. I won’t discuss the high amount of obese people rolling around on their automatic wheelchairs through the casinos or the woman in her wedding dress getting a cosmo at the Ghost Bar at the Palms with no wedding party in sight. I won’t talk about the waiter on auto-pilot who was dead behind the eyes and didn’t even register that we were two live beings sat at a table or the man with platinum teeth falling off his chair, or for that matter, the clearly underaged girl puking behind the couch. No use in harping on fact that roads in Vegas are bigger than freeways in England or that the portions thus far have allowed Jock and I to share a couple of meals.

What I want to talk about is how amazing it was to hold my nephew, to hug my mama, to meet my sister’s boyfriend, laugh with my best friend, look into my sister’s eyes right in front of me and relish in my uncle’s company and incredible cooking. Hearing American accents around me still makes me turn my head – you can imagine how often that’s been happening. Oh and the use of a cell phone is miraculous. I can actually communicate and call my friends and family on a whim, for no reason whatsoever, just because I feel like it. That’s a great feeling.

CNN isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. It seems America has grown up a bit since I’ve been gone – I say that and then I hear about the USDA official being fired over a badly cut youtube video depicting her as a racist that in no way described what she actually meant.

Oh how I’ve missed the nonchalant chit chat that goes with being in America, follows you to the grocery store, into Terry Fator’s show at the Mirage (absolutely recommend), up the Las Vegas Eiffel Tower and into Yama Sushi. The southern woman who wants to talk about her bad vertigo, the young rocker who boasts about which sushi to order or the old man who laughs at the fact that the margarita he consumed fifteen minutes before is now making its way into his brain (he doesn’t drink much normally). The casual meanderings of the simplistic and genuine American citizen floats its way back into my heart and I can feel myself re-opening up that side of me – transforming back into my louder, more gregarious person (which may surprise some of my English friends that I can become more of that – I didn’t shy away too much). But now its more accepted.

I never thought I’d be so happy to be back. I truly didn’t. The tear I felt leaving France after a year of studies abroad and the yank of incredible reverse culture shock coming back here five years ago was one of the most painful things I’ve ever experienced. Perhaps the difference is that I wasn’t ready to leave France, I felt it wasn’t my choice and that the school system’s decision to make me leave by June 1st felt unjust (even though my visa had ended and I actually didn’t have a choice.). This time I decided when I would leave, how it would happen – it was on my terms.

And the difference also is that I know I’ll be back in no time. Back then, I was a student, unsure of where my next paycheck would come from, let alone how I would ever be able to go back to the way I lived in Paris. Now, I am more settled, with beau and money – how much comfort comes from that feeling alone – for, I am not alone.

More soon. Leaving Las Vegas for Chicago today. Then back to Baltimore. Will update as regularly as I can.

Thank you all for continuing to follow my journey.

VIEW FROM MY LAST MEAL OUT IN ENGLAND, The Ship, Portsmouth:

VIEW FROM MY FIRST MEAL OUT IN AMERICA:

Sharing the Repatriation Experience

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(For some reason, the entry below did not post on schedule. So, I’m back now! More soon on that. In the meantime, please read below!)

As you read this, I am on a plane back to Dulles International (I scheduled the entry to go live at 10:25AM, the time our plane takes off). Jock and I land in Newark, NJ for two hours layover before heading to DC for my mom to pick us up at the height of rush hour traffic at 5PM. She must really love me because anyone who knows DC traffic, knows that it is the worst!

To kick off the re-pat experience, Alisha wrote an entry for me. Finding Alisha’s blog, Seattleite Imagery, has been serendipitous – definitely for me. I’ll let her do most of the explaining, but I feel so lucky to have someone going through the same things I will be going through in the next couple of months. I especially like her entry, “Bird by Bird, Brick by Brick” – that sums up what I know from experience moving and repatriating can be like, but we often forget after it’s gone and done with.

Please welcome Alisha:

When I heard that the Lady who Lunches was coming back to the States I was delighted, partially for the selfish reason that I also just moved back after eight years abroad and will have someone to share the repatriate experience with.

My British husband Dan and I decided last June that four years in England was enough and began to embark on our year-long exit strategy. We took the unorthodox but luxurious route home to Seattle via 6 months in New Zealand (January in the Southern Hemisphere – highly recommend it) to visit his parents and just touched down in the Emerald City in June.

It’s hard to believe it’s only been a month; part of me feels like I’ve been back forever, which is only a good thing. I’d been warned about reverse culture shock, how difficult it can be for the expat to return and find they no longer fit in anywhere. I was concerned my rose-tinted glasses would be ripped from my face, people would be uninterested in my experiences and all the things I’d learned as a foreigner (and holy crap I’d learned a lot!) would be null and void, forcing me to squeeze back into the life I’d left as a high schooler. Yikes.

I am happy to report however that re-entry has been relatively painless. I feel bad saying this, but I’ll go so far as to say it’s been easy. I mean, easy is relative – moving across the world without a job never compares to a week in Bali. But with a track record of cold-moving to a new city or country every two years for almost the last decade, I’m embracing the smooth landing.

A huge reason the only reverse culture shock has been positive is that the US is engineered for comfort, convenience and consumerism (sorry for the alliteration), a reality I consider it’s best and worst feature. It’s something I took for granted growing up and always enjoy rediscovering. In the US I have the opposite challenge I had in the UK: not getting too comfortable. I have a love/ hate relationship with consumerism, but gotta tell you I LOVE walking into Trader Joes, grabbing my free coffee and samples, cheap food and being fawned over by the sales staff. This all helps.

I’ve met quite a few Seattle transplants (usually from the mid-West) who comment about the Seattle freeze. Apparently Seattleites just aren’t as friendly as the rest of the country. Walking into coffee shops and dodging smiles and invitations to casual conversation, I always think this supposed freeze is hilarious. Three times in a row while asking directions to coffee shops on Capitol Hill (Seattle, not D.C.), perfect strangers have said, “I’m not sure, but I can look it up for you,” and have preceded to bust out their iphones. So I tell those mid-Westerners, “Honey, you ain’t seen nothin’,” and that Seattle is perfectly tropical compared to the London tundra of inter-stranger interaction. Basking in smiles, if not sun, is a great way to transition.

Another reason this supposed reverse culture shock has been MIA is the generosity of friends and family. It makes a huge difference to move somewhere you know people, specifically people related to you. I’m so used to starting from complete scratch when I move that I feel kind of like I’m cheating. But instead of feeling guilty I’m just feeling fortunate to be able to housesit for friends with beautiful houses, borrow parents cars and be taken care of.

The most important reason why moving back to the US has been minimally traumatic is larger than good friends, coffee and smiles. The main reason is that we were ready. When I fled the US straight after snatching my degree I had to get out. Back then the thought of staying Stateside suffocated me. But now, after doing what I needed to do in Japan then England then New Zealand, I’m ready to come home. I appreciate my imperfect nation now and, focused on the pros I have more patience with the cons.

I’m all about blooming where I’m planted but right now I feel so fortunate to be redeployed to the familiar turf of the Evergreen state. People always ask us if we’re back for good, which is a difficult question for nomads. For us, being somewhere for good isn’t comforting but scary. But I will say being here is good and I have no plans to leave.

I’m really looking forward to hearing how our lunching lady gets on in America and hope everything goes as well for her and Jock as it’s gone for us. In the meantime I’ll be perched up here in the Pacific Northwest warming the country up for her and enjoying being home.