The Making of an Expat

It would have been impossible for me to know on that fateful night 12 years ago when I first met the Handsome Australian, that one day I would not only be his wife, but would make my home in a strange land far away from all that, up to that point, was comfortable and familiar. The future ramifications of our love affair never really played on my twenty-something mind. I was swept up in the excitement and open to the adventure. Come to think of it, I've never really been much of a planner. I've never had a 5 year or 10 year plan. I'm not a goal setter. I'm a "let's ride this wave and see where it takes us" kind of girl. And that's precisely how I approached my relationship with the Handsome Australian.

When we first met in Buenos Aires, I had no expectations for our blossoming relationship. He was a great guy and we had fun together. The reality was that he was Australian and I was American and we were both in Argentina for a finite amount of time. At the end of which, we both had intentions of returning to our home countries which may have well been opposite sides of the earth--oh wait, they are. It seemed perfectly reasonable to treat the whole thing as a holiday romance and just enjoy the fun while it lasted. So this is exactly what we did. We never talked about the relationship or about a future or about anything particularly serious. We just had a really, really great time.

At the end of the Handsome Australian's time in Argentina, he booked a trip to the Southern region of the country to visit Lago Argentino and Glaciar National Park. Saddened by the thought of him traveling alone during his final week in the country and finding myself a bit more attached to him that I wanted to admit, I spontaneously contacted his travel agent and booked myself a seat next to his. I wasn't sure how the Handsome Australian would take the news, but it was very well received. He was glad to have a travel companion and happy to spend one last week with me.

Our time in the remote town of Calafate on the periphery of Lago Argentino was magical. Our days were filled with sight seeing tours and our nights were spent sampling the local cuisine. The glaciars were mind boggling and beautiful. Each night the food we ate was amazing. Everything was perfect. I remember wishing it never had to end. It occurred to me during this *final* week of our holiday romance, that I might just be on to a good thing. I might have just found something worth holding on to. Only problem was that this something, or someone rather, was about to get on a flight to the other side of the earth and I was meant to head back to Buenos Aires solo. What was a girl to do?

With about 4 hours left before my flight was set to depart the Rio Gallegos airport and I was due to say goodbye to the Handsome Australian, we sat together having lunch at a hodgepodge Asian buffet--in the heart of Patagonia. The food was an unexpected and bizarre mix of Argentine standards and Chinese favourites. The concept of the restaurant was almost as crazy as the ideas that were running through my head. So with this mixed up meal as my preface, I floated the idea of me possibly coming to Australia after my time in Argentina was finished. And then I waited.

The Handsome Australian began to sweat profusely. His normally calm and relaxed face took on an anxious and confused look. Perhaps he was even frightened. Then came the questions. How? When? Why? I did my best to answer his queries, but I was shy on details because well, I'm not a planner. This was just something I knew I needed to pursue and the how and the when would have to come later. The 'why' was obvious. I'd come to the realisation that this was more than a holiday romance and that if I didn't follow my heart, and take this chance then I'd always be left wondering 'what if'...

The clock ticked on and it was time to catch a cab to the airport. It was during this cab ride, that the Handsome Australian slowly returned to his former self. He had started to consider what neither of us had considered up until 2 hours before...a future together. The more we discussed the possibility, the more relaxed he became. Still, he proceeded with caution and warned me that life in Australia would not be like the life we'd known together in Buenos Aires. I told him I understood, but I still wanted to ride this wave and see where it took me.

By the time we reached the airport, the shock had worn off and he'd agreed to think about the proposition and was speaking more and more positively about the idea. Our time had finally run out. We said our goodbyes and I walked out on to the tarmac and up the stairs of my waiting plane, not wanting to look back I marched up the stairs, but then suddenly turned around to see the Handsome Australian standing inside the glass with a smile on his face. I gave him one last wave and moved into the plane.

For the next three hours, I sat in a window seat looking down on the vast and sparsely populated Patagonian landscape below and I felt, for the first time in my life, completely and utterly at peace. I'd said what I'd needed to say. I'd put it all out there. I'd ridden the wave. No regrets. What happened next wasn't for me to decide. The ball was in destiny's court and I'd just have to wait to see what came my way.

One night in Buenos Aires...my date with destiny.

On a winter's evening in the leafy Buenos Aires suburb of Belgrano, music could be heard bubbling over the fence of a well manicured garden belonging to one of the many stately mansions that lined this particular Calle. Amongst the music, a bevy of accents and languages mingled with the sounds of clinking glassware. A garden party? In the middle of winter? Why yes, nothing's impossible in Buenos Aires. Peeking through the gate you'd expect to see fancy cocktail dresses and fine suits, but that wasn't the case. Just inside the fence, on the lush abundant lawns, were dozens of people, young and old, in all make and manner of fashion. A first impression from the footpath may have been misleading. This was not a fancy soiree. No, in fact, it seemed more like a casual barbecue amongst friends. Yes, there was a waft of sausages a sizzle about the night air. A glance at a very official sign posted just on the wall near the gate and it was obvious who was hosting this delightful gathering...a very serious looking Kangaroo and his partner, an Emu with a wry smile. This was the Australian Consulate after all, who else did you think might host such an unusual party?

It was July of 1998 and I found my twenty something self wandering through the gates and into the middle of this eclectic little cocktail party searching for a familiar face. Very much as Alice tumbled down into the strange and stunning world of Wonderland, I reluctantly traipsed through the sea of faces and into the beginning of my fairy tale. It wasn't long before an acquaintance caught my eye. An Economist of sorts and a fellow countryman, he struck up a conversation the details of which I can no longer recall. I'm sure we exchanged pleasantries and remarked about the lovely setting in which we found ourselves, but all the while I was scanning the lawns looking for someone else. Finally, I spotted her, the girl I'd come to meet. I politely excused myself and made my way over to the bar where she stood.

She had an unmistakable laugh that made you happy just to hear it. On this evening amidst all of these strange new faces, I was thrilled to hear her laughter. It was after all, the laughter of a friend. As I approached, I noticed she was holding court with a very odd couple. One was a very short and mildly handsome man with a friendly smile who spoke both English and Spanish with a very heavy Italian accent. As it turned out, he also spoke Italian with a very heavy Italian accent. The other half of this odd couple towered over both my friend and the Italian. With his dark eyes and charming good looks, he could have been a citizen of a dozen different countries, but when he spoke, his accent exposed him. Unlike his Italian mate, he didn't struggle with English, but instead spoke it confidently and softly albeit with a subtle but charming Australian accent. I wanted to hear more...

Introductions were made immediately and this mysterious Australian and I began to exchange tales of what had brought each of us here to this enchanted city, to these generous gardens, to this very moment. His was a tale of a capitalist well on his way up the corporate ladder. His firm had brought him to Argentina to work on a important project. He spoke little or no Spanish upon his arrival, but now three months in, he could get by. He'd come along this particular evening because his fellow compatriots had made a tradition out of attending these gatherings on a monthly basis. Who was he to argue? Besides, as he explained, where there are drinks, Australians will never be far away. Curious and curiouser indeed. Mine was the tale of a young student on a scholarship with a love of languages and a greater love of travel. My wanderlust had brought me to Argentina where I'd already spent 6 months absorbing the language, the culture, the food. I'd met other Expats along the way and many had become good friends, including my American roommate who had first told me about this party on this night. It was because of her and my lovely laughing British friend who'd been chatting to this Handsome Australian when I arrived that I found myself at this party. In this moment. Talking to him.

The evening slipped slowly away as we discussed a great many things. From the corner of my eye, I noticed my British friend had finally escaped the well meaning Italian and moved on to a more lively group of Germans. Yes, there were some truly fascinating people at this party, but none so fascinating to me as this Handsome Australian. There was something about him and his gentle manner that made me happy to spend my evening in conversation with him, and him alone.

In the wee hours of the morning, the drinks had stopped flowing and friends and acquaintances alike were bidding one another farewell. It was time to say goodbye to this Handsome Australian. We'd chatted effortlessly through the evening, but when it came to goodbye, we didn't quite know what to say. With an assist from an inebriated Englishman who had interrupted the final moments of our conversation, the Handsome Australian found the courage to ask for my number.

It was in that moment, that my life's trajectory was irrevocably changed. Although it was impossible to appreciate at the time, my path had been completely reset.

And that my friends, is how *this* Alice came to live in the Wonderland of Australia.

Vegemite..A date gone wrong.

One sunny July afternoon in the leafy suburbs of Buenos Aires, Argentina, (that's where the Handsome Australian and I first met btw, catch up will ya?) I made my way to the swish pad of the Handsome Australian where I had been invited for a spot of afternoon tea. Upon arrival, the Handsome one welcomed me in to his home and led me to the balcony which overlooked a peaceful park below. We spoke a little about the neighbourhood and then he excused himself to the kitchen to put the kettle on.


I'm happy to admit that I'd never really been invited to anyone's house for a spot of afternoon tea before and I wasn't sure what to expect. In my mind I had images from British movies where stuffy people sit around and sip tea from lovely tea cups neatly arranged on their matching saucers and nibble on delicately prepared finger sandwiches. The Handsome Australian's spot of afternoon tea, while perhaps initially inspired by the British, was about to take a uniquely Australian flavour.


While I waited for the Handsome one to return from the kitchen, I made my self comfortable on his sexy (and I use that term very loosely) floral patterned couches that I think would have been more at home in my Grandmother's home instead of the bachelor pad of an Australian Expat. (While I have learned to question the Handsome Australian's style sensibilities over the years, he cannot be blamed for the couches, they came with the apartment). There were only a few channels of English speaking television you could get in Buenos Aires, if you had the money to be a cable television subscriber, and the Handsome Australian was a huge fan of BBC World. This was playing quietly in the background and I became intrigued with some vision I saw of a sport I didn't recognise, but gut instinct told me must be Cricket.


When the Handsome Australian returned from the kitchen, I began to inquire about the sport I'd just seen on the BBC. I described it to him--the players were dressed in white and were on a grassy field and there seemed to be a bat of sorts at play. Was this cricket is what I wanted to know? Instead of asking the question directly like that, I mistakenly asked, "So how is cricket played anyway?"


The Handsome Australian glowed with enthusiasm. He handed me my tea, cleared the coffee table between us and began constructing a cricket pitch with random bits of paper. This was the beginning of an hour long diatribe about how cricket is played. I sat patiently listening and nodding at the appropriate points in the conversation and even tossed out a semi-interested question or two--all in the name of infatuation. I wanted him to think I was interested even though secretly I was dying from boredom. Help! Somebody help me!!!! I thought to myself. How do I extricate myself from this terrible conversation.


As if he could hear the small cries that were bouncing around my head, the Handsome Australian's flatmate (who also happened to be Australian, but not as Handsome) entered the room in a silky Japanese style kimono that he was apparently using as a robe. He had just woken up from a peaceful slumber after a long night at one of the many Buenos Aires hot spots. It was nearly 3pm. We said our hellos and then he said...


Kimono Boy (hereafter KB): Oh I feel like a cuppa too. I think I'll go and make one and some vegemite on toast. Aw yeah, that will hit the spot.


He left the room and went to make his toast. Luckily his kimono became the topic of conversation between the Handsome one and I and I was saved from the longest history of the game of cricket ever known to man (or woman in this case, I reckon a guy might actually have been quite happy to listen to that monotony). He may have been wearing a kimono, but he'd saved me from dating disaster by redirecting our conversation so I had a soft spot for him in my heart. That was until....


He came back to the room with a hot cup of tea and a plate with two pieces of toast, a jar of vegemite, some margarine and a spreading knife. He proceeded to spread a piece of toast with the margarine (pretty liberally I'd say) and then dipped the knife in the jar of vegemite and spread what appeared to be a minuscule amount of this awful tar-like substance ever so delicately over the top of the margarine.


I was watching this ritual with great interest as I'd always heard of vegemite but had never tasted it before. Kimono boy noticed my interest and offered me a piece of his toast. The Handsome Australian got very excited.


HA: "Oh yeah, you've got to try this. It's great. We Aussies (pronounced Ozzies) love it."


KB: "Well before she tries it, you'll need to warn her that it's actually quite salty. It almost takes like brine."


HA: "Here mate, pass her a piece. (Handing me a piece of KB's toast. ) Go ahead, try it, I think you'll like it."


Me: Tentatively accepting the piece of toast handed to me. Staring at it for a second before placing it curiously in my mouth. Then I chewed and chewed and chewed. Then I swallowed it. And I said, "Yes, it certainly does have a very distinct flavour. Give me a minute. I'm trying to place it." Pondering the flavour for a second then, "Yes, I think I've got it. That's the taste that you get in your mouth immediately before you vomit."

KB: Taking my observation very seriously, "Yes, I know the taste you are talking about and there may be a similarity here, but that's not exactly it."


HA: Laughing to himself, "So you're not a fan then?"


Me: I can't believe this is all going so poorly. Water, water, some one give me water!!!! "No, I think it's safe to say that I'm not. Please, never let me taste that again. I'm serious. Yuck."


What a waste of an afternoon I thought as I said my goodbyes later in the day and left the Handsome Australian's place.


I promised myself not to waste another minute with this cricket loving Aussie and his disgusting vegemite.


Fast forward 10 years later and I'm married to the Cricket Loving Fool a.k.a. The Handsome Australian and we have a tube of vegemite safely tucked away in our newly ordered pantry. Do I ever let this bit of standard Australian fare pass my discerning lips? Stay tuned....



Learn the Lingo
spot of afternoon tea = an opportunity to drink tea/coffee and presumably consume a small snack like biscuits or sandwiches, etc

biscuits = cookies

vision = video

BBC World = British Broadcasting Corporation World news channel, think CNN International

flatmate = housemate or roommate

Cricket = click here to read about it if you have an hour...don't feel compelled!!

cuppa = cup of tea or coffee

vegemite = a yeast extract used as a spread, one of the best sources of Vitamin B

Would you like marg-a-reen on that?

When I first arrived in Australia I thought to myself, "Now this is going to be a breeze because at least I speak the language here." While I spoke Spanish quite well when I lived in Buenos Aires, there were always things I didn't know or things I couldn't always understand. In Australia, I reasoned, I'd be able to get around and do whatever I liked with no problems since I already knew the language. I obviously had no idea because I've lived here for 8 years now and there are still times when I'm completely lost in a conversation. The Aussies certainly know how to turn a phrase.

My biggest communication issues in the days and months after I initially arrived in Oz (that's Australian for Australia) centered around ordering a sandwhich. I spent a lot of time exploring the CBD (Central Business District that's Aussie for Downtown) of Melbourne and each day I'd pop into one of the many cafes or sandwhich bars that populate the streets. Most of these places have all sorts of sandwhich ingredients all chopped up in trays behind a glass counter--think Subway style. They'd be busy and packed with a lunch time business crowd. Everyone is in a hurry to get his or her lunch and get back to work. There wouldn't be any obvious menu on the wall like you'd find at Subway, just a list of ingredients and some vague pricing. So I'd step up to the counter and the conversation would go like this:

Me: Hi, I'd like to get a ham sandwhich please.

Sandwhich Lady (hereafter SL): What type of bread would you like?

Me (with a furrowed brow searching for a list of bread somewhere and not finding it): Um, what kind of bread do you have?

SL: We've got bread rolls, foccacias, turkish bread, or white, wholemeal or rye sliced bread.

Me (thinking, OMG what did she just say? What's a foccacia? Ahh someone help!!): I'll have the white bread? (I say almost as a question because I'm not sure that's the right choice, but it's the only one I recognised in the list besides rye and I didn't like rye).

SL (goes and picks up the white bread grabs two slices and puts them down on the bench--that's Aussie for counter--and then says...) Would you like maragine on that? (Only marg-a-RIN as we'd say it in America comes out like marg-a-REEN)

Me (What did she say? What did she say? She looks a bit impatient. I'm holding up the line. What did she say?) I'm sorry, what did you say?

SL: Would you like marg-a-REEN on that?

Me (staring blankly, beginning to break a sweat, telling myself this is only lunch it's not rocket science. You can do this, you just have to break the code--why is is so loud in here?): I'm sorry what?

SL (picking up a tub of margarine and a knife and using hand gestures to indicate that she means spreading the margarine on the bread and repeats herself again slowly ennunciating the whole thing like she's talking to a non-English speaker which I must clearly be at this point) Would_you_like_marg-a-REEN_on_that?

Me (Oh marg-a-REEN means marg-a-RIN! But wait a minute, why would I want margarine on a ham sandwhich???): Um, no thank you. Do you have mayonaise?

SL (gets mayonaise and begins to spread it on the bread grabs some ham and puts that on the bread as well): Do you want salad on that?

Me (Salad? Salad? What salad? Just when I thought we were finally communicating): I'm sorry, salad?

SL: Tomato (only she says it to-mah-to), Lettuce anything else?

Me: Oh yes, I'll have tomato (only I say it to-may-to) and lettuce.

SL (looking past me at the long line that is waiting behind me): Anything else?

Me (too afraid to take up more of her time and ask too many questions): No that's fine thanks.

SL: Would you like salt and pepper (only she says pep-AH)

Me: Oh, yes salt and pepper (only I say pep-ER) is fine.

She finally cuts my sandwhich in half and tells me how much it will be. I fumble through my purse (that's Australian for wallet) and try to come up with the correct amount. All the while the line behind me gets longer and longer.

My friends, I wish I could say this was a one-off experience, but I think it took me an entire year of living in Australia before I actually got the sandwhich I wanted and I didn't get there on my own. The Handsome Australian had to sit down and give me a 10 minute tutorial on how to do it. Sad. Sad. Sad.

Learn the Lingo

Oz=Australia

CBD (Central Business District)=Downtown
bench=counter
purse=wallet

To blog or not to blog...that was the question.

So here we go into the weird and wonderful world that is blogging...I have thought and thought and thought about whether or not to start a blog for a long time now. I had lots of concerns--will I have the time? What will I write about? Who might read it? Will anyone actually care? Lots and lots of thoughts about privacy and the loss of it. I'm not sure I ever answered any of those questions, but I have decided to take the leap and see what I may have to add to this ever growing community of people speaking their minds and sharing their stories. I'm hoping my blog will offer a bit of insight into life as an expat--I'm a Texan living in Australia. I've been here for 7 years. I never in a million years would have predicted I'd end up here one day, but I did.

So here I am and here's the beginning of my story (because y'all need to know how I got here right?)....

I wasn't born in Texas, but I got there as quick as I could! Spoken like a true Texan--see, I've still got it. I spent my youth growing up in one of the larger border communities that line the US-Mexican border. I had no appreciation at the time for how this community, that was a delicate balancing act between two cultures--American and Mexican, would serve as excellent preparation for the road that lay ahead of me. Yeah, who knew menudo on Sunday would be the precursor to a meat pie at the footy? (Both delicacies are on my "No thank you, I'm fine." list BTW) But seriously, it opened my mind to the possibilities of other points of view, other traditions, and other ways of life that were different to my own. Free your mind and the rest will follow...

And here's what followed...I left my comfortable border home and headed off to Uni (that's Australian for University and one of many Aussie words that have now become my own) where my horizons were further broadened by my professors and my fellow students. I did two stints abroad in consecutive summers and really caught the travel bug. I had also managed to finally become proficient in Spanish. When my final year of college was coming to an end, I signed on for Grad school. I wasn't ready to face the real world yet and the job market wasn't ready for me or my contemporaries...things were slow. I knew I could buy some time with Grad school, but what would I do after that? I mean honestly, would I need to go and actually find a job? That seemed so mundane to me. I wanted to travel and see the world a bit. The only problem was I wasn't sure how to fund such an adventure. So I started doing a bit of research and looked into various scholarships that would pay for me to continue studying overseas. Lucky for me, the wonderful people at the Rotary Foundation were offering just the sort of opportunity I was looking for. I applied for their scholarship program, went through several stages of rigorous interviews and was finally awarded the opportunity to continue my study overseas. I got to choose my destination and there were very few limitations. Since I was still working on perfecting my Spanish, I decided a country where Spanish is spoken would be the best choice for me. I chose Argentina. To this day, I can't tell you why I chose Argentina. Lots of people have asked me that question, and I really don't know the answer. But it's a bloody good thing I did...

I spent the most amazing year living and studying in Buenos Aires. There are many tales from there which I hope to get back to at some point (I'm planning on archiving them here at some stage if I can). I had lots of laughs and made lots of great friends and even met someone who would change my life and redirect my trajectory. This life change came in the form of a very handsome and tremendously puzzling Australian bloke--yes I said Australian, not to be confused with the local Argentine variety (who themselves are very handsome, but the Aussie got to me first--sorry fellas!). The Handsome Australian and I met over drinks at a cocktail party at the Australian Embassy in Buenos Aires. I know, I know, such a typical place to meet someone. He was there on a six month assignment with his work. We dated three months (that's another long story of misteps and misadventures for another day) and when he was due to depart two months before my year was up, it became clear to me that my next step needed to be getting myself to Australia. This was not what I thought I'd be planning as my next move. I'd spent the earlier half of the year contemplating what sort of job I should look for when I returned to the USA after my studies in Argentina finished. I had also contemplated extending my stay in Argentina. When something feels right though, it just feels right. Australia had become my destiny--now I just needed to figure out how to get there...

Learn the Lingo
Uni=University