Anglo Adventure

Travel with a sense of humor


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Why South Dakota Doesn’t Suck

I like big cities. I was born and raised in Chicago and need the noise, the arts, the feeling of vanishing in a crowd of people. I like that I can walk outside in sweats and tangled hair and no one will say anything because ‘did you see that guy with the monocle? or the parrot lady?’ Or ‘old Larry is drunk again!’

So I was surprised to find myself head-over-boots (get it?) for South Dakota.

What I pictured:

A boring prairie-scape, crooked sod houses, and giant bawls of twine.

What South Dakota Actually is: 

south dakota

Anything but boring.

A breathtaking state full of friendly people. In March, the grass was thick and heavy like an animal pelt. The sky was a vibrant cornflower blue. But it’s not a gentle place. Even the grass hisses. The bare silver branches of dead trees stick up everywhere. South Dakota would be an ideal setting for a movie set in a futuristic distopia. Continue reading →


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May I recommend

I hate bragging. I hate even talking about myself and I really, really mean that – I have no idea how anyone talks about their achievements without coming across as a complete a-holes. I can’t do it. When job interviewees ask about my biggest accomplishment I am likely to say, “training my dog to play dead when I shape my finger like a gun.” Or “walking two icy blocks in four-inch stilettos.”

Talking about yourself or “tootin’ your own horn,” as my grandma says was forbidden in my household. I feel a curse coming on the minute I mention anything remotely interesting about myself.

So I’ll be fast: I put a lot of effort into this thing. If you’re going to Montreal or Quebec, you’ll find it useful. I am grateful for the things I have everyday and cannot believe my incredible (hopefully incurable) good luck.

Merci!

quebec city guidebook

The busiest few weeks of my life but seriously, best job ever!

 


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Three things that fill me with rage

People that won’t SHUT THE FUCK UP about study abroad.

european train system study abroad

We get it. You took the train abroad and it was orgasmic.

I have never studied abroad, so I don’t really understand the need to act like you have some intimate knowledge/understanding of a country when all you did was drink wine, do ecstasy, and have sex with random strangers you met on the train. Oh the trains. Oh how everyone loves the trains.

Of course, you love the trains in Europe. And the food. And the men. What’s not to love? We get it. You spent three months, 10 years ago, traveling with your friends on a credit card your parents gave you.

That my friend, is not living abroad. Living abroad is spending what-would-be Thanksgiving at a government office trying to get a driver’s license, only to find out that you have no idea how to ask in French for this special form that customs never gave you. “The B-122 Form.” You need it. But what is it?

Moi: “…Encore sil-vous-plait.”

La personne: “Tu as besoin la feuille B-133.” 

Moi: “Quoi?!” (isn’t feuille – leaf. Why would I ‘have need’ for a leaf? Also, florescent lighting makes us all look like zombies and should be banned. Immediately.)

La personne: Bienvenue en enfer…

United Airlines

United Airlines bad customer service

found at Untied.com

I received the worst customer service of my life from United Airlines. They cancelled my flight for a mechanical issue, which probably meant the pilot had a hangover or a bad case of ass worms. When I called back the customer service rep said they reimburse for hotels and just book one and send the receipt to the refund department.

Lies. Continue reading →


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I survived the year and…

Well, if that’s not the teasiest title I could muster. So I have been living in my Quebec City wine cellar-like apartment for a year now. And I have been freelancing this whole time, which is …grand but lonely. Even though my work has brought me to a whole new level of writing (travel writing! journalism!!) , I miss having coworkers. Elwood snores and steals half of my wobbly writing chair. Super annoying. I should relegate him to his crate, but I don’t have the heart.

Yeah… I stand next to graffiti to look like a bad ass. So what?

What I learned at the one year mark:

  1. Expating ain’t easy.  I was taught to jump into the deep end and swim upwards. I do this with recipes, I did it with French, I did it with the Big Move. My husband once asked me, as I was deep in the middle of making an all-day chili: “why don’t you start with something simple, something with less than 20 ingredients?” I answered, “Because this is how you learn.” Things like navigating government offices in French can be horrifically scary but strangely rewarding. When I got my license, I danced in the parking lot. I almost cried last time I took a taxi because I was having a conversation, in French with the driver, who moved to Quebec from somewhere in Africa. We shared a moment!

Continue reading →


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14 steps to being a complete asshole abroad

Castle in Helsinger, Denmark

There are two types of travel-abroad assholes: The ones who tell everyone they’re American and are disappointed when things aren’t like the good ol’ USA. Or the ones who think they belong “somewhere else” and are eager to enlighten everyone “back home” with their tales. Even though no one really gives a fuck and it’s like hearing the same story over and over again. The macaroons! The narrow streets! The lighted outdoor terraces!

Travel abroad tips:

travel abroad tips

This says slut. In Danish, it's apparently relevant to hopscotch.

1. Wear white socks, dad jeans, and bright blue running shoes.

2. Or buy a scarf and skinny jeans to blend in with the locals. Hint: it won’t happen. Your American hips look stupid in straight-legged Euro pants.

3. Develop an accent and use slang you read about on the interwebs. Correct everyone from “back home” on their pronunciation. People love being corrected.

It’s Par-i, not Paris! 

4. Complain about everything. Complain about not getting the check right away. Complain about tiny rooms and tiny portion sizes. Complain about having to walk everywhere. Complain complain complain. Continue reading →


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How to talk truth: Larry Clark Master Class

Larry Clark comes to Quebec City and reminds me not to give a fuck. 

Remember the movie Kids? You know, with all the fucking, drinking teenagers? That movie shocked me when I saw it at the innocent age of 15. But I loved it. I loved it because it presented kids just like the ones in my neighborhood – mostly my brother’s friends, who used to have crazy parties at my house while my single mom was busy working two jobs.

I loved it because it was raw and honest. I loved it because after awhile it was banned from the video store I used to walk to and we couldn’t find it anymore.

I love it because Larry Clark doesn’t care. He doesn’t care what you think or what I think. He speaks for “degenerates,” he makes art out of little known realities. “This is what’s happening.”

Life isn’t all pearls and garden clubs. People, yes even teenagers do drugs, have sex, get addicted to various substances, struggle, murder, commit suicide. He has the balls to show it.

Larry Clark came to Quebec City and I attended his master’s class and viewed the film for the first time in 15 years. It made me more uncomfortable this time because I’m an adult now and watching kids do whipits and have sex is horrifying. It’s not me anymore – these are teenagers, all pointy limbs and filthy mouths and tight tee shirts. Continue reading →


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An expat look back on September 11

Imagine there’s no countries ~ John Lennon

Then

I don’t have a special story, a personal connection, or even a crazy conspiracy theory. Frankly, I am unsure of what to write or if I should be writing about it at all. I don’t want to wallow in the moment or capitalize off of it. But it is a moment that seems significant to me, as a then-20-year-American-college student living on a University campus. 

My 9/11 non-experience goes something like this:

I woke up in my dorm room bed, on top of a plastic mattress cover that squeaked every time I moved. I looked at the alarm: I was late for Linguistics. So I didn’t watch the news that morning. I didn’t realize what had happened until after it happened but I distinctly remember knowing something was different. The halls were unusually quiet; the TVs were unusually loud. Continue reading →


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10 Tips for Living Abroad

 

The fountain outside parliment.

Here are 10 tips for easy livin’ abroad:

1. Know that the magic is going to where off one day. You’re romance with Rome will turn into “I hate this dirty fucking crowded hot place.” You aren’t studying abroad, you’re living there. You have to work, you have to eat, you have to live. Your king-size washer and dryer will shrink to a shaky clothesline and drying rack.  Your dishwasher and car will be traded in for …life experience.

2. Don’t get defensive. Cruel remarks about your country will be tossed at you like a hot potato. We’re not loved all over the world. We’re the despised, head-cheerleader who’s in everyone’s business. And yes, it happens even in Canada. I’m far from a flag-waving freedom fighter and it still annoys me whenever the locals say things like, “Americans don’t read. American girls are fat.” Easy, there. That’s my country you’re bashing. Don’t turn into Mr. Hyper Defensive and you’ll be fine.

Continue reading →


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New York – Fake fendis, pink cosmos & almost dying

I just got back from New York. It’s the first time I visited the city in ten years.

The energy astounds me. New York knows how to put me in my place and make me feel tiny. All of my flaws can be on display – like their garbage, on the street – and no one cares or even seems to notice. I spent half a day in Little Italy wearing these:

It was the best $6 ever spent.

No one said a thing, except one hustler, who called me Hollywood.

The search for fake fendis

Fendi_handbags.jpeg (280×280)

Fake fendi…or it is real?

Did I mention I have a crazy family? Because I do. I have a mom, sister, and male cousin who decided part of the New York experience was being led down a hidden corridor and into a room lined with counterfit handbags and filled with teenagers dressed in “I Love New York” tee-shirts.

“Purses, watches,” a squat, middle-aged Chinese man says. My cousin looks at him cooly, smoking a cigarette.

“Ok, where are they?” he asks.

The man shows a make-shift catalog and says if we buy one, he’ll pull up with the bags.

This won’t do for us. We’re native Chicagoans and not naive. Continue reading →


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A vacation home

expat travel blog

I didn't do that to the statue. Swear.

So, you know how good I was getting at French? I don’t know if I became bored with the intense vocabulary or just tired of trying to get that put the word in your nose thing down or if my brain went into overdrive but my French is now tres, tres, tres mauvais.

Before you correct me on my lack of accents realize that a) I am using an American keyboard probably made in China and b) I could give a fuck right now. Oh and c) I am on a petite vacanes from Francais classe.

I am going to New York in two days. I can order a bagel and say, “Can I get a bagel?” It’s going to be magical. Continue reading →