Dueling Lives (not banjos)

"It is a bittersweet thing, knowing two cultures. Once you leave your birthplace nothing is ever the same." - Sarah Turnbull

I was never one of those people who dreamed of exotic lands and far off places. Growing up, our family vacations mainly consisted of traveling to Minnesota to my aunt and uncle's lake house for a few days (which, btw, was the vacation my brothers and I requested every year). As I got older, I thought it would be cool to travel to the likes of Mexico - you know, to one of those nice resorts I'd seen pictures of or heard about from people older and/or with more money than me.Or maybe Hawaii (still on my list); or just to someplace like San Francisco or California wine country. Even as recently as 10 years ago, I'm not sure I'd given much thought to traveling outside the U.S.  Heck, I felt pretty worldly when I went to Jamaica for my friend Amy's wedding. (I guess that counts as international travel - kind of?)  Yet, here I am - living in my third country in four years (counting the U.S.).

Which brings me back to the above quote that is the prompt for Day 16. Bittersweet? I'm not sure. I think I lean more towards the 'sweet' than the bitter. Which I feel pretty good about. This quote/prompt makes me think about the 'dual lives' thing. Living and working internationally like we do sort of feels like we are living two different lives. One of those lives is here - where we work - with our other expat teaching friends and/or others we might have met out and about experiencing life. The other is the life we had before - the one we go back to in the summer and maybe at Christmas time - that involves friends and family.

Living dual lives has definitely had its challenges. I've always been one to keep in close contact with a LOT of friends I've made over the years. I keep them in my heart the same way I keep a steady supply of Burt's Bees lip balm with me at all times. It's a necessity. Yet it has also proved difficult at times. There are lots of factors - time difference, distance, and the fact that we are no longer together doing the same things, to name a few. People naturally drift apart, but that doesn't make it an easy thing to accept. I wish all of those friendships were the same as when I left, but that would also be sad because it would mean that none of us were changing, growing, or evolving. And that is where I find comfort and am able to smile and be happy - not sad - about the changes in some of those friendships. They are still there; still in tact. They just have a different twist to them now, as they involve different phases of our lives. In many ways, it makes me appreciate the friendships even more. I can only hope those same friends are able to look at it from that perspective as well. I miss them all dearly, and at times miss that life I had with them. But in the end, we are all doing bigger and better things in one way or another. And that's pretty awesome when you think about it.

Iowa is another part of this 'dual lives' scenario. In many ways, I love Iowa more now than I ever have. I feel like I am now old enough (and wise enough?) to appreciate its gifts. Every summer, it feels like our friendship is renewed through the quiet country evenings, leisurely mornings and afternoons, and time spent with family and/or friends from around the community. There's nothing quite like going back to the farm. It opens its arms and wraps you up before you've even had a chance to unpack your bags. And I like that. I like that my parents still live in the big farm house I grew up in, and that my younger brother lives right up the road on the same property where my grandparents used to live. I like being able to walk up the gravel road and be engulfed in a hug from my niece Zoey (and maybe nephew Cole if I'm lucky). There really is nothing like home.

So you see, knowing more than one culture isn't so bad. I feel pretty lucky most days - lucky that I enjoy being an expat, living and working internationally. Yet also fortunate to look forward to the 'other life' when the time comes as well. This post makes me keep thinking back to a conversation I was having with my friend Jens a couple of years ago in Casablanca. He has been traveling around for work and pleasure for far longer than me and I had confided in him about finding some difficulties 'reintegrating' when I went back home (I think it was after year 2 in Casa.) Yet once I was home for a while, it was hard to leave friends, nieces, nephews, etc. behind to come back to life abroad. He put it in perfect perspective for me- "Jodee, you are lucky. You enjoy both of these lives you live, even though it might be tough at times. Keep in mind that there are many people who live this way and don't enjoy either one of the lives they participate in."  Yep, I'll keep what I have, thank-you-very-much!

While the above quote is true in that "...once you leave nothing is ever the same.", the change that occurs isn't necessarily negative. It's finding the good stuff in those changes that makes knowing two (or three) cultures so rewarding. So I'm gonna keep on keepin' on...

Who wouldn't want to go back and hang out with a crew of friends like this!?!?

This about sums us up!

Iowa in the Summertime...

The farm, after a summer thunderstorm

The Port-O-Jonny ,on the golf course, next to the cornfield. Aaah - Iowa!

Two of the best things to always come home to!

It's Not Always Black or White

Today's Prompt:  “‘Expat Syndrome’ is a condition whereby many expatriates see mostly either the best of their own nationality & the worst of the locals, or see the opposite.” -T Crossley

This prompt is one that really gets you thinking once you've lived internationally. There is a difference between being a tourist in a country, and living among the local culture of that country. Living there makes you become part of it; you have to, unless you want to be miserable and bitter and 'that guy'. And being part of it, part of the culture - well that's what it's really all about. I think that's why most people choose (and it is a choice for most people) to live the international lifestyle. I KNOW I have learned more in the past 3 1/2 years than I probably learned in the 10 years prior to that.

One of the things I have learned (& truly experienced) is that there is more than one perspective, or point of view, with most everything. This prompt is even an example of this, in my opinion. At first I looked at this prompt and thought of it as an 'agree or disagree' type of deal. But then I read it as it is, a definition of a syndrome - one that I am proud to say I do not have. I do not see the 'best in America and the worst in (insert country here)', and I don't see the 'worst in America and the best in these other countries.'  For me, it's not an 'either/or' type of deal. Fortunately, I have many friends I have met from different countries who are 'non-examples' of this definition as well.

Many people have heard me say that doing this international thing has made me appreciate America more, but at the same time it has opened my eyes to the many, glaring 'wrongs' of our country. That whole Freedom thing? Yeah, that's pretty damn awesome. It is something that should truly be appreciated every day. But the horribleness that goes on in our government (the same government that is supposed to run on the founding principles that gave us that freedom) is so appalling that it takes away from the very things that make our country great. However, seeing places that don't have those rights - those freedoms - is sad. Living in countries where speaking out against your government can get you jailed (best case scenario) is a real eye-opener. While I do appreciate the freedom of speech, I think that Americans take it WAY too far. I also think that too many Americans have taken this liberty and applied it to everything, everywhere. Even when traveling, that stereo-typically 'bad' tourist will often demonstrate this by talking about anything, to anyone - and doing it loudly, and sometimes rudely. Americans are often too easy to pick out of a crowd - the shoes, the sports teams shirts/jerseys/hats, the obesity (yes...I can honestly say that I see this way more from Americans than any other country. Out of 45 kids in a class in Morocco, there was maybe one obese child.)

I say this about Americans, but will also say that you can often pick out someone from the U.K., or  other countries as well based on a few 'stereotypes' as well. However, Americans too often give off that aura of "I'm an American, therefore you should look upon me as being superior and for traveling abroad." Whereas the people from Europe or other countries just see the traveling as a way of life. They take it more in stride, if you will.

I think the biggest thing I have learned from leaving America is this - 'Different' does not mean 'Wrong'. This covers a lot of territory from religions, culture, traditions, food, transportation, lifestyle, etc. I still think America is a pretty great country. I miss it and I love it and I'm proud to be an American. No doubt about it. But I am also proud that I'm not the American who can't see fault or room for improvement in so much of what we do, what we say, how we say it, how we act, and how we treat others. There is much to be said for trying to acquire understanding from those who are different from you; those who life differently than you.

There are a lot of cultures, and people in those cultures who don't like Americans. Some of them might have legitimate reasons for that disdain, and some of them probably do not. There are also a lot of cultures, and people in those cultures, who think America is the greatest thing ever. It's like Hollywood or Disney World in that you will hear people say they want to visit America someday as if it holds celebrity status of some sort. These are the things that make it interesting to see people's reactions when you say you are from America.

In the end, this world we live in is a really big place. The U.S. is a big country in this big world. It offers a little bit of everything, for everyone - this is certain. But so do other places, other countries, other cultures. If you give them a chance, they might surprise you with their gifts and what they can teach you. And maybe America will someday surprise me again in that way as well. In the meantime, I will keep on experiencing whatever is thrown my way, and try to not pass judgement too harshly or quickly.

I Will Never Get Used To...

That is the prompt for the post for today - Day 8. (I skipped 6 and 7, as they weren't posts that felt like they applied to me.)

I think this changes as you move to different places. I think there are things you "never get used to" each place you live; each place you work. And then there are those things that you never get used to that have to do with being far away from home. Understand that these aren't things that send me into a tailspin. They are just things that are different and I'm not sure I'll ever get used to them. I will adapt and adjust and generally accept them...but may never truly get used to them.

And so, here are some of those things.

I will never get used to:

• not being able to see my nieces and nephews more. I hate not being able to see them play football, basketball, softball; sing in concerts; perform in school programs. It never gets any easier to NOT be there for those things.
• the time difference and the difficulties of communicating with family and friends because of that time difference.
• those same friends and family constantly asking "what time is it there?" (this actually makes me giggle every time someone asks for some reason)
• working with kids who have more contact with (and are essentially raised by)  nannies and drivers than they do with their own parents, particularly their fathers.
• working with students who are so wealthy and due to inherit so much. These same kids who see poverty every day but have no concept of what it really is.
• the lack of consideration for time, for being on time, starting on time, etc. This is WAY more evident in the countries I have worked in outside of the U.S. "Punctuality" is not in their vocabulary.
• the total disregard for traffic laws; stop signs, stop lights.
• driving, in general. It's different in Bahrain than it was in Morocco, but it isn't any better. Here, it's just faster. In Morocco it was slow, stupid, and annoying in most places.
• working Sunday through Thursday. More specifically, trying to stay up late on a Saturday to watch Iowa football games, and thinking about having to be up early for work on Sunday.
• not being able to order clothes, shoes, etc. and have them delivered to my home
• women and girls who accept their life role as one of being a wife and mother, and nothing else; women accepting that they are to cater to men and not question being inferior to men.
• women who are 'fully covered', meaning all black, head to toe, not even revealing their eyes. It's spooky to me. I'll never get used to it.
• the lack of trees and green space in these last two countries I've lived in.
• the lack of spatial awareness and manners when invading one's personal space. This was particularly challenging in Morocco. People would push past you in any line, without an excuse me, without making eye contact. It was as if they had more of a right to be there than you did. Or, they were just completely unaware and/or without enough exposure to the world to understand that their behavior is rude and they are in need of manners classes.
• not being able to play or coach softball
• being far away from loved ones, and hugs from loved ones.

The Perfect Setting for an Airport Mockumentary...

Today's blog post is titled "I was at the airport, and...".  Fitting for a 'blog calendar' geared towards expats, as frequent travel leads to airport mishaps. Many of you have heard about my missed flight fiascos over the past few years. Frustrating, and often comical for sure. But  this post is about...

...(CMN) Mohamed V International Airport of  Casablanca, Morocco. Anyone who has had to fly in and out of there more than once has a story of some sort. It's a 'hidden camera' hotspot of laughter waiting to happen. However, those little airport mishaps would require a daily journal. There are so many of them, that they all blend together and eventually become your 'normal'.

When I saw this post title on the blog calendar, I smiled. Aaah, the memories. Eventually, my mind went to my second to last trip to CMN last June. My wonderful friend Karen came all the way from Iowa to stay with me for my last 2 weeks in Morocco. Needless to say, her visit started off with an "only in Morocco" moment.

My trusty Honda, Sterling, and myself arrived at CMN a little late. But this was actually intentional, as nothing ever happens on time in Morocco. I figured I had given her plenty of time for: 1)the inevitable flight delay, 2)having the first passport guy check your passport and look you over several times...only to walk about 20 paces more to have the 2nd passport guy look you over and make sure the stamp that the first passport guy put in there is still there, 3)the Moroccans to all push you to the side on their way up to the baggage claim belt with their entire families and the man who will cart their luggage for them, and 4)for the slowest baggage belt (or baggage guys getting the stuff off of the plane) ever. Well, apparently she got through there quicker than anticipated. While she was breaking records from plane to gate, I had arrived and parked Sterling along the curb like I had done (or been a part of) at least a half-dozen times prior. I went inside and looked for Karen. Couldn't find her. Long story short, she was waiting outside on a bench next to a nice man who had 3G on his phone and let her call my Skype number to tell me she was out on the bench.  So, I find her and we are all huggy and happy and ready to be on our way back in to the city for the evening. We walk down a bit to where Sterling was supposed to be residing, but there was no Sterling. I thought I was losing my mind in end of the year madness and had forgotten where I'd parked. But I knew it had been right there. I turned and looked at Karen and said "my car is gone."  She, of course, laughed. (It's Karen...it's what she does). I have no idea what to think or do. Did someone hot-wire it and steal it? Do people still hot-wire cars?
Karen then asks "What kind of car do you drive?"
I said, "A Honda CRV."
She says, "Is it silver with a bunch of stickers on it?"
"Yes."
"I think I saw it getting towed while I was sitting out here waiting for you." (more laughter from Karen)

This wasn't so funny to me, as I shudder at the thought of the potential crap that could ensue in our very near future. Some of the remaining details are a bit fuzzy, but I'll do my best.

I believe what happened next is I found a man in a police officer-looking uniform and told him that my car was gone and I am afraid it might have been towed. This man spoke very little English, and French and Arabic don't exactly roll off my tongue. He understood enough to realize 'car' and 'tow' I think and showed me to the little 'vehicle jail' that they have roped off in a section of the airport parking lot nearby - where I see my precious Sterling. He takes me to the car (not Karen though...she was sternly told to stay where she was. Which was funny because the 'vehicle jail' was cars parked and being secured there by putting saw-horses behind them. Not real official/threatening.) and I confirm that it is, indeed, mine. I try to ask him some questions, but again...the language barrier. So he leads me over to another man in a police officer-looking uniform who is sitting at a table underneath an umbrella, as jolly as can be. He knows enough English for us to converse. Again, some of the details are sketchy here, but the gist of this conversation is spot on.

Me: "My car is back there and I don't know why. Can I have it back please?"
Him: "Good afternoon Madam. Yes, you had an infraction and we take your car."
Me: "What was the infraction? I parked where all of these other cars (pointing, as there are plenty of parked cars along the same curb) are parking?"
Him: "Yes, infraction."
Me: "What is the infraction?"
Him: "Normally, you pay a fine for the infraction...
(at this point, I realize it is pointless to try to find out what my infraction is. He just keeps smiling.)
...but today you no pay the fine. Do you know why you no pay today?"
Me: "No, why?"
Him: (smiling like it's Christmas morning) "Because you are BEAUTIFUL!"
Me: (now able to smile and laugh a bit, knowing this is going to turn out ok) "Oh. Well thank you!"
Him: "You must pay 100 dirhams (about $12) to get car out."
Me: "But I thought you said I didn't have to pay the fine?"
Him: "You don't have to pay the fine for infraction, but you must pay to get car out."
Me: (still confused, but ready to just get the hell out of there) "Ok. Where do I pay? Can I go now?"
Him: "You pay on the way out. Go now and have a nice day."

So, we went to the car. The 'vehicle jail' guy moved the saw horse so I could back out, we paid the fine, and were on our way.

As with most stories like this, you truly had to be there to see it all play out. I know I will forever be able to see Karen laughing at me every time I would look at her throughout this process. And I'm sure it's a moment in time that she will never forget either.

Aaah....Morocco.

(I don't have any pictures of the airport fiasco or Sterling in 'airport vehicle jail'. But, I do have a couple of pics of us from her visit. Love you Klinger!)

Essaouira - Seaside sunset dinner.

Camel ride along the beach. No big deal.

Last evening out in Essaouira (Karen MIGHT have figured out how to pronounce it by this point. Maybe.)

Friends.