Anglo Adventure

Travel with a sense of humor


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Quebec Student Protests and Bill 78

I am sure you’ve heard about “dangerous” protests in Montreal and Quebec City. I don’t doubt that there are some protesters who take it overboard. Going into classes, flipping over tables, and screaming at the students in the class is one example. But take a look at the peaceful, beautifully shot Pots and Pans Protest below.

I am not vrainment Quebecoise so I can’t completely understand how the student protesters feel. They do pay the lowest tuition in North America. They also pay extremely high taxes.

The government decided to raise their tuition without much warning. It is not the most opulent place. I can see how some students would struggle to pay tuition there.

The political fabric of Quebec is layers deep. You get a strong sense of pride, mixed with a little resentment and isolation from the Quebecoise. Don’t listen to people who tell you that they’re rude, backwards, or that they’ll get mad if you don’t speak French. It is shame that tourism in Montreal is down (up in Quebec City though!) because of the protests – it is a beautiful, culturally rich place.

(The below protest is actually against Bill 78, which in my opinion, is just terrible. The bill, passed in response to the student protests demands that protesters have to inform police of their route hours beforehand. And that you’re not allowed to protest unless you follow their specific guidelines or they can arrest you. This is my understanding, please comment if you know more.)

Pots and Pans Protest


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The Lesson in Getting Lost

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I got lost in Odense, Denmark last year when trying to locate Hans Christian Anderson’s childhood home. I am not sure why I wanted to see, so badly the sloping black-and-cream cottage, the place he dreamt up the Little Mermaid and the Little Match Girl. I think I assumed sitting on its doorway and peeking in the windows would somehow mean I was a writer too.

Really, I am more of a stalker. And I should have known better than trying to find one tiny square in a sea of senseless squiggles. I have been lost so many times; anytime I head out, I add forty five minutes to my schedule.

I once got lost in folds of teal organza in a fitting room. I couldn’t find the neck hole and tried to put my head through the sleeve and then it got stuck over my eyes. I panicked for a few minutes and then thrashed around, trying to shake free.

Is it possible I could sufforcate like this? Surely, someone has died this way. Should I call for the dressing room attendant? What if she finds me in here, dead. She’ll be tramautized – have to quit her job, have to go on welfare at only 16. The Headline: Woman Smothered in Tacky Teal Gown

The Search for Hans Christian Anderson’s House:

hans christian andersons house odense

All that way, for this?

We set out somewhat directionless in search of The House. There’s no GPS on our phones because we’re in Europe. We use bus station street maps, the kind violated with black marker graffiti. Continue reading →


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Be Magellan, Not Columbus: Treat People Right When Traveling

overseas travel tips culture expat french learning

I love you all for realz.

I spent the past year and a half in intensive French class, in a classroom that acted as a patchwork quilt of countries. I learned the language with people who were very different from me. People who had never even seen one episode of the Daily Show or Desperate Housewives or Mad Men. People who preferred veggies to cheese and chocolate.

How the f was I ever going to find Common Ground?

Some of my fellow immigrants (the term applies loosely to me, I know this) hailed from the kind of countries where food is a luxury. And there I was with my Honda CRV and Betsey Johnston wallet. They weren’t learning French for funsies; they had to do it to get jobs, so that they could feed their families.

I have never met more beautiful, humble people. I say that without an ounce of exaggeration. Or naiveness. People suck all over. I get that. My classmates didn’t suck.

My French teacher lectured me long before the first day.

“They are not you. They are immigrants, but it’s not the same. They are refugees. You live here by choice. You’re not struggling. We have people here from everywhere. You have to be very respectful. It is not hard for you. You understand?”

I nodded when she said it but left her office defensive.Who was she to tell me that I’ve never struggled?  I was raised by a single mom with five kids in a house with only one bathroom in a neighborhood where garbage bags blew down the street like tumbleweeds. Sure, I could walk to 7-11. But you should have seen the dandelions springing up from the sidewalk cracks! The chain-link fences! Those mean boys who hurled rocks and insults at us.

She was 100% correct, that’s who she was.  Continue reading →


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Sexy Dream Destinations: New Zealand

Every Wednesday, in honor of hump day, I will post a sexy dream destination. Drool over it. Or quit your job, turn off International House Hunters, put the lawn furniture, the couch, maybe your car in storage and just GO. This week’s destination is New Zealand. 

New Zealand In Photos:

newzealandphotos, live abroad in new zealand, mt cook

Look – no Walmart.

beach newzealand live in newzealand emigrate new zealand

Might even be a nude beach

New Zealand: Land of the Long White Cloud. How poetic is that?

Emigrating to New Zealand

The Pros:

It has a mild maritime climate. Kiwis speak English. The economy is pretty stable. If we rounded up all the other countries and put them in a beauty contest, New Zealand would likely come in first. The island country is home to a lot of unusual wildlife and some rad tattoos.

It’s so far from your home country and so different, you’ll earn major nomad street cred. It’s also relatively safe, that is, unless you plan to get lost while hiking.

The Cons:

At the time I am writing this blog post, it’s 10:51 am PST Wednesday here and 5:48 am on Thursday there. Communicating with your family while abroad can be difficult because of long distance charges and time zones. I envision a lot of accidental wake up calls. Get SKYPE and force your whole family to get it too. Getting a phone in Canada was difficult because I had no Canadian credit and I didn’t understand contract terms in French. These challenges tend to magnify by time zone.

Plus, even though it’s super cool, your chance of drawing visitors decreases by how long it takes to get from here to there. New Zealanders drive on the left side of the road, so you’ll have to learn that (please don’t start practicing in the US).

And then there’s your mom’s reaction:

Mom: “New Zealand? Why on Earth? Aren’t there big snakes there? In the outback? What if you get attacked by a kangeroo?”

You: No, that’s Australia. I mean yes, they have snakes but not kangaroos, I mean maybe they have kangaroos too, but they’re more known for their birds and there’s no outback.”

Who should do it: Getting your pet there safely would involve a difficult 6-month quarantine, not to mention the epic flight. And the kids would have to endure that flight too, so maybe it’s best for the child-, pet-, mortgage-free. Or those with older kids. The rare kind of kids who can sit still on a twenty-plus hour plane ride. For me, New Zealand would have to be a sojourn destination (2-4 months) rather than a longterm locale because I could never part with The Dog.

Visa: The US makes the Visa-Free Countries’ list  meaning you can enter New Zealand without a visitor visa and stay for three months. Stay longer and they send you to Australia (I kid, I kid).

Expat who’s already there: Read Expatexposed , a brutally honest expat group who uncovers the downside of emigrating to New Zealand. Check out some of the titles in the forums (racist kiwis? renting in Christchurch? conversation starters for kiwis?).


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Advice to the Abroad and Unemployed

job search abroad summer festival quebec

You rock. Job or no job. (Last year’s summer fest)

I am determined to say yes to most things. “YES” to moving to Seattle from Chicago, my hometown. Then YES to moving to Quebec. Then YES out of shear necessity to one-day becoming fluent in French.

Or shall I say Oui.

I find the unbeaten path, covered in brambles and I march down it – unafraid – until I look around and I am completely lost. And I can’t even try that old explorer’s trick because the sun beats down from directly above my head.

That’s kind of where I am right now.

Lost. Without a compass.

Approximately 1 year and a half ago, I gave up my copywriting job. It came with a team I adored and all these hidden benefits: happy hour and that glorious time when you can loudly declare “I SO need a drink. I’ve been BUSTING my ass.” A treasure chest of work gossip “Did you HEAR what SO-AND-SO said to SO-AND SO.” UNBELIEVABLE.

It made me feel like a big shot.

Then came my last day, approximately two weeks before The Big Move. How bad could unemployment be?

Just look a the success of theEverywhereist, a fellow Seattle blogger who travels the world with her husband. She makes a living with her blog. She travels. She writes.

Could I be that kind of awesome?

After a few months of culture shock, I hit my stride and things got good. Very good. I started every meal with a baguette and a spoonful of confiture. I went on field trips with my French class in the middle of the afternoon. Being the only experience and child-free writer in this French-speaking land, I got all the rare writing jobs. I did things like interview Larry Clark and hang out back stage with Couer de Pirate. By hang-out, I mean stare at her and get really nervous and watch a journalist with a faux hawk whip out a notebook and start asking her questions in French (bien sur!). Continue reading →


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So You Want to be a Writer?

When it is truly time

and if you have been chosen it will do it by

itself and keep doing it

until you die or it dies in you

there is no other way

and there never was ~Bukowski

 (Read the rest of it here).

So you want to be a writer. Allow me to snicker for a second. Not at you. At what you think of writing and the grimy REALITY of writing professionally, commercially or even creatively.

Many people want to be writers because of that glorious moment when they’ll trumpet to their parents, their friends or to whomever:

“I am a writer.”

You’ll be awash in admiration. You get to be the person behind the table at a book signing, the center of attention surrounded by a crowd  wearing skinny ties and vanity glasses and people who sip glasses of red wine,  lamenting on the latest best seller.

That moment is rare. And I will probably never experience it.

But I don’t write for that moment.

I write for the moment in the middle of the night, when something in me stirs – an idea. When it feels as if the brain is plugged directly into my imagination and I get the experience down beautifully. When I am not thinking, when I am half-lucid and my fingers are flying.

I can sit there for hours this way.

But Writers Never Feel Like Writers

You picture the writing life as something like this. A fancy literary event with cocktails. But most of the time I work alone in sweats.

Even writers with a capital W probably don’t feel like they can call themselves writers. I say probably because I am a writer with a lowercase “W”.

I have had one poem published in a chapbook (and subsequentally, a community newspaper) and a whole lotta paragraphs published in a travel guide, and a bunch of other blogs, newspaper articles, etc. I even won an award for an article I wrote on bees of all things.

I still hesitate when that damn What Do You Do? question comes up. I decided I am going to start calling myself a carpenter. It’s artistic, Jesus did it, and women carpenters are pretty rare. And that’s cool.

Even with a six-year writing career and minor accomplishments, I still feel like a fraud. Like I can’t possibly belong to the same art form as Bishop and Vonnegut and Dave Eggers. I don’t want people to assume that by calling myself a writer I think am at that level. Continue reading →


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Reverse Culture Shock? 5 Things to Remember

quebec city, new france, place royale

From New France

To

central park

The Good Old’ USA

I should mention that I don’t live in New York or on a Central Park bench the way this picture would have you believe. A month ago, I moved back to Seattle where I write in my pjs and dream of more travel.

The repat experience goes like this: You have a favorite pair concert tee-shirt that you haven’t worn since high school (for me – the band Rancid is a perfect example). You pull it over your head only to find out that your body has changed. And you’re now questioning the band’s logo: are they still cool? Am I still way into them?

The answer is both Yes and No. Because you have changed. You no longer live for punk, identify yourself as a punk, you just like it. You’ve found new bands and even though you can still recite all the words to Timebomb, your mohawk has turned into a faux-hawk and you’ve traded in those combat boots for chuck taylors.

Quebec might be cold, but the people are warm. There’s no pressure to buy, less pressure to work, and everyone is really polite and soft-spoken. It contrasts sharply with the U.S. even though it’s on the same continent.

I love America, I love being an American, but when I went back, I felt a wave of reverse culture shock. Everyone seemed so loud and in a hurry. No more quaint epicuries. No more watching street circus acts in the middle of the afternoon. No more charming outdoor terraces.

Repatriot Tips:

1. Don’t talk about your experience abroad unless people ask. It’s boring. No one really wants to know what kind of cookies they have in your host country and how you can’t find them here. They really don’t understand and you come across as that pretentious-live-abroad asshole. Trust me. I’ve been on the other side of this many times.

2. Don’t bring a lot of stuff back. I moved back to Seattle and I am still sorting through the boxes, plus all that junk I put in storage. Purchase one or two cool souvenirs – a rug, a painting, something you can look at everyday, and bring it back. Don’t go crazy trying to make your contemporary apartment look like a London flat.  Continue reading →


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Eat, Pray, Learn: Second Language Tips

eat pray love

 

And learn what this says. 

 

Before I arrived to Quebec, I didn’t learn survival French. I figured to just wing it and use a French accent with all of my English. Bad idea. Nothing enrages a group of people faster than mockery, whether it’s intended or not.

Now that I am finally approaching that point when people are starting to speak LESS English to me, I have a couple tips.

  1. Think in the language: The faster you start doing this, the easier actually speaking becomes. Do what I do and start making mean comments about people in your head in your adopted language. “Oh mon dieu! Il ponce il est la premiere person qui peux conduire la voiture.” Yeah, that’s what a really limited insult sounds like in my mind. I know – it’s probably misspelled.
  2. Master pronunciation first: Listen. Really hear the way the words glisten on the Native speaker’s tongue. Practice your phonetics. Even if you have an extensive vocabulary and can conjugate like a mo-fo, no one will understand you without correct pronunciation. I have to work at this. It’s French, a language built to sound like music and I am tone-deaf.
  3. Get over yourself: Accept the fact that you’re going to sound like a bumbling fool for some time. Stop trying to be perfect and just start talking. It is very uncomfortable but if you look and sound super confident, people will think you know what you’re talking about.
  4. Use Livemocha! You can record reading, writing, and speaking (!!) exercises and send them to native speakers for feedback. And then you get to review their stuff in English. I am in love with this living language exchange.
  5. Join a conversation group: I hate talking to strangers in general. But after I signed on for a conversation group, I found it much less intimidating. The people will keep speaking French to you, so there’s not that humiliating moment when they switch to English because your “Bonjour” sounded more like a “Womp-waa” (imagine a frowny face emoticon after this).

Make it fun and remember it’s like climbing a mountain. One day, you’ll just get there  – until then, keep going.

 


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Making Friends Abroad for the Emotionally Challenged

making friends abroad

Thanks Bro.

 

Friends.

I’ve never been that good at making them. I was that weird girl who basically ate alone until I was nine and made my first best friend – a girl by the name of Maggie O’Malley who had a black pony she’d let me ride sometimes. The problem? She wasn’t available enough because she existed completely in my fervent imagination.

I am still more shy than the summer in Quebec: it takes me awhile to open up, especially to other women. I am not sure why, it could be because women friendships are more intimiate while the male ones basically consist of hanging out, joking, and drinking. I can do that.

The inevitable disappointment comes when I  expect my platonic male friends to act like women and dish about their relationship problems or patiently let me divulge about my  husband’s silent protest against washing the dishes. Or when they expect me to be a guy and go on and on about “the hot girl” while I sit there wondering if the dryer shrunk my skinny jeans or whether I am just steadily getting fatter.

At our college orientation weekend, a woman openly wept in front of a circle of complete strangers. The others raced to comfort her, while I stood there, nibbling on the free cookies. I moved on to the guys, who wanted me to introduce them to the prettiest girl in the group. I spent the whole weekend worrying college was going to be awful.

Sigh.

If you’re emotionally disabled challenged like me, and you move to another country, like me, you’re going to have to make friends.

Where to meet new people:

Expat groups: Whether you’re in Qatar or Tanzania, your country probably has one and they probably have meet ups. Meetup.com is the best resource for this – it’s also a good resource for finding a foreign-language conversation group when (if) you move back. Continue reading →


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Why are Americans so fat? 5 clues from skinny countries

The Stereotype:

betty draper fat,

Betty Draper - fat and rich. Classic American stereotype.

(Disclaimer: I don’t care that Betty Draper is fat. It makes her more human. Read about why we care so much.)

If you plan to live abroad, expect to be asked, “Why is everyone in your country so fat?” Pre-arm yourself with a response because it’s likely to make you mad.

Real-life Examples:

My dentist once told me to open my mouth like I was eating a Big Mac. I almost retorted with, “why don’t you open your mouth like you’re eating a baguette?” 

A Moroccan friend announced to our class that I gained weight. I attributed this more to a cultural misunderstanding more than my three-week binge over Christmas in the States.

My French teacher once said, “Les femmes qui viennent des Estas Unis sont groses” I responded with a “C’est pas vrais!”

I love Americans, I am American and I can finally admit the truth: Yes, yes we are. We are fatter than Canada and probably most other countries. But why? What the hell is going on here? All I had to do was cross to the Great White North and I felt like I shed five pounds within the first month. I didn’t drastically change my eating habits and actually picked up a few bad ones.

Fries with mayo? Pourquoi pas! Weekly poutine? Oui, oui.

And it’s not like Canada doesn’t have an obesity problem. But the American percentage is around 10% higher. Continue reading →