The Displaced Nation

Entering the curious, unreal country occupied by international travelers

What is the true essence of Britishness? Tea? Harry Potter? This TCK has her own ideas.

30 Comments Posted by on February 24, 2012

Today we welcome Laura Stephens to The Displaced Nation to comment on our themes from her third culture kid perspective. Although Laura’s parents are both British, she has spent most of her life in the USA. She is currently studying film production in Boston – most conveniently for us and this month’s Oscars theme.

At the beginning of a semester, it’s only a matter of time before a professor draws upon some of that “Teacher Training Camp” gold, and suggests we spend half a class playing name games. That way, the reasoning goes, we’ll be vaguely aware of the proper nomenclature of our lecture hall peers, with whom we will probably not speak for the rest of the course anyway.

Or worse, the self-proclaimed “hip” professor will pretend to be struck by a brilliant idea, and suggest, “How about we go around in a circle – say your name, and your major, and where you’re from?”

And I’m all, “How about we… don’t.”

Why? Because apart from it evoking irrational anxiety that sends my inner monologue into a manic babbling fit (“What’s my name, again? What was his name? I wasn’t paying attention because I was too busy preparing my answers to make sure I don’t screw up my own name.”) — I never know how to answer that last question:

“Where are you from?”

Where am I from?

I know my options here.

1. I can take the easy way out, and say I’m from Connecticut – lovely New England, just like most of the kids in the class. It’s not untrue, either. I’ve lived there most of my life.

2. I can inflict upon myself the task of revealing unnecessary further explanations about my background. To a bunch of people I only just met, courtesy of the name game? I don’t think so.

Which is why I never come right out and say I’m from England.

My brother and I differ on this. He kept his English accent, although he wasn’t even born there; he just copied it from our parents. He kept it to pick up chicks, and I mock him regularly for this. He seems to do all right with the ladies, though, so he puts up with it.

Me, I always found my English accent more of a hindrance than help; asking for a glass of “water” at a friend’s house was more trouble than it was worth. As a result, I tried to get rid of my accent as soon as I could – somewhere around fifth grade. This helped me get away with not mentioning where I was from, if I didn’t want the attention. I could always mention it later if I felt like it.

At some point after that I decided I wasn’t going to introduce myself as, “Laura, from England.”

I don’t have an English accent, so why should I?

If I introduced myself that way in the College Name Game, people would either pass over it (as they do everyone else’s responses) or perk up and ask some irrelevant question about London (the only place in England, according to Americans) or Harry Potter, or tea and crumpets.

How English is English?

When I mention I moved to the U.S. when I was three, people appear dejected or slightly peeved, as though they’d been ripped off.

“Oh,” they echo knowingly, as if to say, “So that doesn’t really count.”

This irritates me. I was born in England, lived there until I was three, and have visited relatives overseas every other summer since.

I get defensive:

“I drink tea, for crying out loud! I drink tea daily, and I drank tea before it was the cool thing to do. I like crumpets with butter and honey. I’ll take the Pepsi challenge between true Cadbury’s and the Made-by-Hershey’s imitation.”

I stop. “Do you watch The Office?” I ask them.

“Yeah.”

“No, no. The British one.”

And that’s when I realize: one of the major brag points I rely on, when proving to someone just how English I can be, is British film and television.

British television – a treasure lost in the Atlantic?

I’m a film major. Today in my History of Media Arts course, we learned about the introduction of cable television.

My professor lectured, “…and originally there were only three channels…”

(At which point my inner monologue interjected, “Cheese or snow?” – National Lampoon’s European Vacation reference, in case you missed that.)

I’m assuming we stayed within the realm of American television throughout class today, because by the end of the lecture, people had 52 TV channels, and CBeebies had not been mentioned once.

I think it is a shame that British television hasn’t become as popular in the United States as it is in its native country. I’ve introduced a lot of my friends to shows like Fawlty Towers, Blackadder, The Office, The Royle Family, One Foot in the Grave and Outnumbered. Top Gear seems to have gained a foothold with American audiences, but I’d like to see things like Extras and Episodes become more widely known and appreciated.

It’s not just because they’re British that I like them; I like them because they’re funny. I might enjoy them more than my American-born friends do, because of the references within the shows that probably contribute to my understanding, but generally my friends are appreciative of any British video clips I show them.

ABC meets BBC

My American boyfriend and I have a list of films that we intend to watch at some point, and we add to it regularly. We have a list of television series too – ditto. These lists are written on virtual Sticky Notes for Mac.

He, however, has a separate Sticky: “Weird British Shows.” It contains many of the shows I listed above.

From his reactions to the shows to which I’ve already introduced him, though, I know that Boyfriend is not really serious about the “Weird” in the title.

He’s a fan.

What is being English all about, anyway?

Being English is not about crumpet consumption – not entirely, anyway. There is a strong popular culture built around witticisms, subtlety, and sarcasm. I may have only lived in England for the three least memorable years of my life, but I have an intrinsic love for all those lovely British shows of which most Americans have never heard. I don’t care that this is all I have to defend my culture – I push like nobody’s business to get my American friends to watch these shows.

It’s good television, that’s all – even if it is a little weird or different.

Much of British programming is simply an acquired taste.

Which makes sense, right? It’s kind of like…tea.

.

STAY TUNED for Monday’s post – our own thoughts on the Academy Awards!

If you enjoyed this post, we invite you to register for The Displaced Dispatch, a round up of weekly posts from The Displaced Nation, with seasonal recipes, book giveaways and other extras. Register for The Displaced Dispatch by clicking here!

Related posts:


What a Displaced World , ,

LIBBY’S LIFE #39 – Sugar and spice, and all things lice

Leave a Comment Posted by on February 23, 2012

So, here I am, back on Planet Earth, and back to what I was writing before the lovely Oliver whisked me away for a weekend of facials, pedicures, and heartburn-inducing gourmet meals. Thank goodness for Zantac is all I can say.

“Yes, you are going to school this afternoon, sweetheart. And you’re staying to lunch first, but remember – it’s not like proper school today. It’s a just a Valentine’s party. You like parties, don’t you?”

Jack fixed me with a suspicious stare. “Are you sure there’s ice cream at the party?”

“Of course,” I said, without missing a beat. Too late now to backtrack on yesterday’s bribe. “There’s always ice cream at parties. Your favourite. Strawberry.”

He made an exasperated clicking noise with his tongue – a habit he’s picked up from Oliver.

“Chocolate’s my favourite now. I don’t like strawberry any more.”

Ah, Strawberry must have been flavour of the month for January, so the half-gallon tub in the freezer presumably will stay there until it becomes pink sour cream.

I sighed. “I expect there’s chocolate too. Or vanilla. And cupcakes. And biscuits, of course, because we made the biscuits, didn’t we?”

Jack looked at me as if I’d escaped from a high security institution for the prematurely senile.

“Cookies, Mummy! Not biscuits!”

I shut my eyes briefly. It had happened. My son was now American. “Cookies, then.” I hesitated. “And we’ve done all your cards and sweets – I mean candy – for your friends.”

I’d been a little taken aback by Patsy Traynor’s emailed list of instructions for this party. No peanut products – fair enough – BUT, Patsy stressed with random capitals and italics, if you were going to send in Valentine cards and candy, you MUST send in something for EVERY child in the class, not just your child’s special friends.

So we dutifully wrote out eighteen cards last night and Jack, with his tongue sticking out in concentration, printed his name on all of them. That took over an hour. Then we squashed Sellotape around a lollipop onto the back of each card. The Valentines, which we bought in a pack of 32 – 32! So much love to spread around! So much profit for Hallmark! – were only slightly larger than a postage stamp, and (surprise) had pictures from Disney’s Cars on them. Jack spent a lot of time deciding who was going to have which picture. His best friends were honoured with Lightning McQueen; little girls he had a crush on would receive pictures of Sally Carrera, the blue Porsche. His least favourite character in Cars is Mater, the rusty tow truck. Only one child got a Mater card.

That’s right. Dominic.

And the sweets? We bought a big bag of assorted lollipops. Jack likes all of them, except for the Root Beer flavour. (Reasonably enough. It smells like Germolene.) Naturally, Dominic will receive a Root Beer lollipop.

I get the feeling that Jack would rather exclude Dominic from his bounty bag altogether – and to be quite honest, I don’t blame him.

Still, it is a party when all’s said and done, and I think Jack should have a good time this afternoon.

Now, you’re probably wondering why I’m suddenly so keen for Jack to go to nursery after keeping him away over the Dominic issue.

Simple. Today I need a babysitter. Maggie is going out, Oliver is in Seattle, the coffee morning ladies have gone home en masse for a winter break visit, and I – oh, lucky Libby! – have a three hour appointment at the hospital’s diagnostics office, having starved myself since midnight last night.

While Jack is ingesting sugar in cookie-, ice cream-, and cake-form, I shall be sitting in the diagnostics office having an armful of blood drawn every hour, after downing my own special Valentine’s sugar rush – the most disgustingly sweet fizzy lemon drink, specifically formulated by the medical profession to give me diabetes.

That’s not quite what it’s for, of course – the test is to see if I have pregnancy diabetes in the first place. But as I don’t eat many sweet things – OK, I love chocolate, as you know, but I don’t inhale the stuff – I don’t know why this test is necessary, or even good for you. Mine is not to question why. I don’t wear a white coat, and the white coat people get a bit snippy if you question their methods, and they make disparaging remarks about Britain’s NHS and Obamacare and things.

One thing’s for sure – a twin pregnancy in the USA is very different from a single pregnancy back home.

* * *

I’m not sure what I was expecting when I dropped Jack off at nursery. A celebration at the return of the Prodigal Son? Patsy welcoming us with open arms and tears of joy in her eyes?

A good thing I had no expectations. Patsy’s welcome, while not exactly chilly, wasn’t over-effusive either.

“You’re welcome to attend the party yourself,” she said. “If you want. A lot of the parents are coming back to take pictures and videos.”

Another parenting obsession I never quite get: compulsive filming of the minutiae of your child’s life. I always used to forget my camera for these occasions, although since getting one of those smart phones that does everything, I’ve improved.

“I don’t think that will be possible,” I told Patsy, and explained about the three hour appointment.

She nodded, sympathetically. Or maybe it was mock-sympathetically.

“But you’ll be back to pick him up on time, won’t you?” she asked. “You know our policy on children being left behind at pick-up time.”

“Of course.” She takes them to the dog pound or something. I paused. “It’s taken quite a bit of persuading Jack to come back to school today, so you will watch out for him, won’t you, and make sure there aren’t any…incidents?”

Any sympathy, real or mock, in Patsy’s expression dissolved instantly, and she drew herself up to her full height, although as she’s shorter than me, it wasn’t that impressive.

“I always keep a strict eye on the children. You should know that, Mrs. Patrick.”

Since she was offended enough to call me “Mrs. Patrick”, I refrained from pointing out that she’d been oblivious to previous incidents involving Dominic and my son, and hoped that she’d taken my point.

“Call me on my cell phone if you have any problems,” I said.

And left.

* * *

By the time I reached the hospital, it was 11:45 and I felt ill with hunger. Normally this test is done first thing in the morning to avoid lengthy starvation, but with the babysitting situation, I had no choice but to do it later in the day. Either that, or drag Jack along with me to the appointment, which would send my blood pressure up and precipitate a whole new series of tests to determine the exact cause of my sudden hypertension.

Starvation it was, then.

The appointment wasn’t that bad, really. I brought along a book and my iPod, and once I’d drunk the fizzy goo (and kept it down) I was free to wander around the hospital until it was time to have more blood drawn. Syringes don’t bother me any more. It’s one of the dubious benefits of pregnancy – you become immune to having needles shoved in every available vein.

So, perverse as it sounds, without Jack I had a very peaceful three hours. I toured the maternity wing – more like a hotel than a hospital ward – walked in the gardens, did a little window shopping in the on-site gift shop, lay down on a couch in the diagnostics office and read my book…

In fact, everything was hunky-dorey until the nurse was stabbing me for the final time, and, in the depths of my handbag, my mobile phone began to ring.

It’s not a subtle ring tone. It’s one you have to answer straight away or die of embarrassment.

“R-E-S-P-E-C-T! Find out what it means to me! R-E-S-P-E-C-T! Take care, TCB, Oooh…”

I scrabbled around in my bag with my free hand, but the phone was buried under my book and purse and iPod.

“Honey, stay still,” the nurse said. “I can’t draw blood if you’re moving around. Least, not from where I want to draw blood. If that call’s important, they’ll call back or leave a message.”

I slumped back in the chair and watched my blood slither into the tube.

“Sock it to me, sock it to me, sock it to me…”

After a few seconds Aretha Franklin subsided, and the phone pinged to tell me someone had left a message.

The nurse withdrew her needle for the final time and stuck a Spongebob Squarepants plaster in the crook of my elbow.

I retrieved my phone and dialled the voicemail number.

“Mrs Patrick, this is Patsy Traynor at the nursery school.” Her voice was icy. “I realise you’re busy, but if you could come to the school as soon as you can… I’m afraid there’s been an incident.”

* * *

I burst through the front door of the school, and the polite hum of chattering parents dimmed as everyone turned and looked at me.

“Where’s Patsy?” I demanded of one parent, the mother of Tom, the little Milky Bar Kid.

She pointed in the direction of Patsy’s dusty office, and seemed about to say something, but I was already storming towards the office door.

“An incident” Patsy had said in her message – no mention of what type of incident, or whether anyone was hurt, and yet, when I tried to ring her back, the line was busy. Lucky for me that no state troopers were on the road at the time I was driving here from the hospital, or I’d have clocked up a speeding ticket to add to the fun.

I opened the door, and a small sobbing tornado hurled itself at my legs.

“Mummy! Dom said I hit him, and I didn’t, I only didn’t give him the lollipop.”

I sat on the nearest chair, plonked Jack on my knee, and wiped his face.

“And there wasn’t ice cream, either,” he snuffled.

I looked around the office. Patsy sat regally in her office chair, her hands folded on the desk. Against the wall with the framed preschool artwork sat Caroline with Dominic on her lap. Dominic had bits of dried blood caked around his nostrils.

“Is this true?” I asked Patsy.

“That’s correct. There was no ice cream,” she said.

I rolled my eyes. “About Jack hitting Dominic?”

“Your son,” Caroline said, through a tiger-mum smile, “has broken my son’s nose.”

Patsy nodded vigorously. “I’m afraid I can’t tolerate behaviour like that in my school, Mrs. Patrick.”

I did first aid courses with St John’s Ambulance many years ago, and his nose looked ok to me. No swelling – actually, it looked as if he’d just had a mild nosebleed.

“And my son,” I replied, “says he didn’t hit yours. Mrs. Traynor, did you see what happened?”

“Well, not exactly, but Dominic says Jack hit him with a toy car, and he’s a truthful child, so…”

“And so is Jack a truthful child. But you thought it would be advantageous to believe the child of the mother who is contributing the most to your new playscape, correct?”

Patsy turned an interesting shade of mauve, and began to splutter.

“Certainly not! I would never–”

“Actually, you would. I think we already determined that, several weeks ago. Jack, sweetheart, take no notice of these nasty ladies, and tell Mummy yourself what happened.”

Jack sniffed; his chest hitched. “I was playing with the Tonka truck. The big one. And…”

“Yes?” I encouraged.

“And Dom wanted it, and he took it off me, only I said no, it was my turn with the Tonka truck cos he plays with it all the time, so I tried to take it off of him, but he hit me on the head with it.” He sniffed again. “And I pushed him away, and the truck banged his nose.”

“Did you tell Miss Patsy this?”

“I tried to tell her, but she was being cross because Dominic’s nose had a bit of blood coming out of it and she said I did it and I was bad.”

I glared at Patsy. “Guilty until proved innocent in this place, is it?”

“Nevertheless,” she said, “no one saw the incident, and therefore… Dominic, is this true what Jack said?”

Dominic shook his head and sucked his thumb.

“One child’s word against another, I’m afraid, and given Dominic’s injured nose, I must give the benefit of the doubt to him.”

“Unbelievable.” I rocked Jack and kissed the top of his head. “It’s OK, sweetie. Mummy knows you’re telling the truth.”

After all — if your mother won’t take your side, who will?

There was a tapping on the door, and someone poked her head into the room – Tom-the-Milky-Bar-Kid’s mother.

“I think you should see this,” she said, holding up a smartphone. “We were videoing the party, and we caught the, um, incident on our camera.”

* * *

“I have never been so insulted in my life,” Caroline said as she stuffed Dominic’s arms into his pink fleece. “I donate generously to your playground fund, and then you tell me you won’t tolerate Dominic’s behaviour? He’s just a little boy.”

“No one would guess it,” I muttered, “the way she keeps his hair long and dresses him like the Sugar Plum Fairy. No wonder he wants to bash other kids’ brains out with monster trucks.”

“What?”

“You heard.” I smiled sweetly at her.

“We disapprove strongly of telling lies, especially ones designed to deliberately get other children into trouble,” Patsy said. “This is really quite serious, Mrs Hatton.”

Goodness. Caroline was now a Mrs.

“Well,” she said, “I’m taking him home, and he won’t be coming back. Come on, Dominic. Mummy’s going for a massage now, and while I’m there we’ll buy you some cream for your dry scalp. I know it’s $50 but you’re worth it. I can’t have a child of mine with dandruff.”

She tried to push past me with Dominic, and as she did so, I looked down at her son’s head, with its mat of long curls. There were white flakes, sure, but –

“Take him to CVS instead,” I said. “That’s not dandruff. That’s headlice. I’ve seen them before, at playgroup back home.”

Patsy’s face was horrified, and I remembered what Maggie and Anna had said about her aversion to things like impetigo. She came out from behind her desk and peered at Dom’s head.

“Definitely headlice,” she said with a shudder. “Perhaps you should consider getting his hair cut. And check your own hair. The health spa you go to on Main Street isn’t renowned for its hygiene, you know. When you’ve lived here as long as I have, you learn these things the hard way. My husband caught scabies from one of their towels after a sauna there.”

Poor Caroline. I had to bite my lips to stop myself laughing as she flounced out of the room.

“Libby,” Patsy said. “I am so sorry. What can I do to make this up to you, in any way at all?”

I stared at her. She really thought she could make this up to me?

“A refund of the weeks Jack hasn’t attended would be a good start.”

“Of course. Consider it done. In fact –” She pulled out a chequebook, scribbled one, ripped it out and handed it to me. “There.”

I glanced at it, nodded, and put it in my pocket.

“And how was the test today?” she asked. “Not pleasant, I imagine.”

“It was fine. I have to have lots of tests, of course, because of –” I broke off. She didn’t know about the twins. What else did Maggie say? Something about her loving twins in school for the publicity? “Because I’m expecting twins,” I finished.

Patsy clapped her hands together. “How wonderful! I love to have twins in the school. My husband is one, you know. You must bring them in when they arrive, and we will have a photograph of Jack with his siblings. My relative at the Woodhaven Observer will be thrilled to have the story in the paper.”

Big story. Small town news. I suddenly appeared to have joined Patsy Traynor’s club of Elite Moms.

She opened the office door for me, and I stepped into the classroom, where quite a few parents still milled around, gathering up paper plates and cups.

“Now that the, um, cause of Jack’s distress is no longer here,” Patsy said in a low voice, “I hope we will see him again next week.”

She held out her hand, and I took it. Held it. Looked her warmly in the eye.

“Patsy,” I said, raising my voice so the other parents could hear, “I would do a three-hour glucose test every day for the rest of my life before I brought my son back to your school ever again. Goodbye.”

I squeezed Jack’s hand. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get some ice cream.”

Previous post: LIBBY’S LIFE #38 – The battle of the tigers

Click here to read Libby’s Life from the first episode

STAY TUNED for Friday’s post from another TCK!

If you enjoyed this post, we invite you to subscribe for email delivery of The Displaced Dispatch, a round up of the week’s posts from The Displaced Nation. Sign up for The Displaced Dispatch by clicking here!

Image: Travel – Map of the World by Salvatore Vuono / FreeDigit

It's Fiction! , , ,

Talking with former expat Meagan Adele Lopez about travel, romance & novel/screenplay writing

4 Comments Posted by on February 22, 2012

Earlier this week I caught up with Meagan Adele Lopez, actor, world traveler, blogger and now a first-time author. She self-published her novel, Three Questions: Because a quarter-life crisis needs answers, in October of last year. It was featured on The Displaced Nation’s post Best of 2011: Books for, by and about expats.

Meagan — who is also known as MAL and the Lady Who Lunches (after her blog of that title) — may have just three questions, but I had quite a few more! I wanted to find out what inspired her to write her book, which she is now attempting to turn into a screenplay — the story behind the story…

Here’s what she had to say.

Meagan, I think it’s fair to say that you’ve been around a bit — I mean that in the nicest possible sense! Would you mind telling us a bit about your background — where you grew up, what you studied?
Do you mean I’ve been around as in I’ve lived for a long time, or do you mean I’ve traveled loads? (I won’t bother going to the other possibility!) Actually, I am getting up there in age — just six more months of my twenties; but there’s no need to rub it in, Tony! Just kidding. I think I’ll be relieved to be out of my twenties. What a crazy ride they were!

No, of course I wasn’t referring to your age — I’m an English gentleman, remember? I meant, you’ve lived in quite a few places — and that was before you moved abroad.
By the time I was 12 years old, I had lived in 12 different houses, and four different states. I pretty much grew up in a suburb of Baltimore called Towson. I say “pretty much” because I also lived in Tennessee and New Jersey for two years in between. But Towson is where I call home.

You have a passion for acting. When did you develop it?
Since I was eight years old, acting was all I wanted to do. For high school, I auditioned for a conservatory arts school called Baltimore School for the Arts (it boasts Jada Pinkett, Josh Charles and Tupac as students), where I was lucky enough to be trained by professional actors everyday.

Funnily enough, I wanted to be an actor, too. What drew you to the profession?
I had this fear that my life would pass too fast, and acting was somehow a way to slow down time, and be “in the moment.” Nowadays I find that writing is what does this for me. I am able to record thoughts and moments forever. Very existential, I know.

But you haven’t completely lost your passion for acting — I see you’ve instilled it in your main character, Adele (“Del”), in Three Questions. And I noticed there’s a mention of a horror film in your author’s bio — could you tell us a bit about that?
About the horror film? Oh no, you really don’t want to know about that (wink). But okay, my first starring role was in a horror movie called Sleepy Hollow High, about students who believe that the legend of Sleepy Hollow is real. It’s one of those films that is so cheesy and kitschy that it might be considered entertaining at some level. At the time, I was just excited to be in something, but it certainly wasn’t Oscar-worthy — ahem — at all. 

And you also got into some major motion pictures?
My first speaking role in a big Hollywood movie was as a cocktail guest in Traffic, with Catherine Zeta Jones and Michael Douglas — now there’s an Oscar worthy film. Unfortunately, my lines got cut — but you can still see me shaking Michael Douglas’s hand. I got my Screen Actors Guild card from acting in small parts in Enemy of the State, a spy-thriller starring Will Smith, and The Replacements, a college football film starring Keanu Reeves. Numb3rs was my first TV show.

Wow — you gave all that up to become a writer?
I got disillusioned with acting after working in casting for four years. I saw how completely random and superficial some of the choices can be for who gets cast. I’d gotten into acting for a much more altruistic goal — I wanted to make a difference in how people see the world — but ultimately realized that the place where I could make a real difference, because I have control over my own success, was with writing. Without great content, after all, actors couldn’t do their job!

Well you’re having plenty of success with writing. In addition to the book (which we’ll come to, don’t worry!), you started up a popular expat blog, A Lady Who Lunches, while you were living in the UK. Now that you’ve repatriated, and are living in Chicago, are you still keeping it up?
When I got to Chicago, the blog went through a bit of an identity crisis. Even though I’d never lived in that city, writing about the adventures of a newbie Chicagoan didn’t really interest me. Especially since I was no longer lunching — I was working, hard. Though I still have the same URL and twitter handle (@theladylunches), I now call the blog by my own name, and I’m glad I’ve kept it up. It’s a built-in fan platform that has helped me to sell my novel.

You’re also something of a social media guru. Are there any secrets you can impart to other bloggers about building an audience?
I didn’t set out for the blog to become popular (and thank you for saying so). It was a lot of ground work, as well as trial and error. You can’t expect results from a blog unless you’re updating it frequently, creating a community with other similar, like-minded people, and engaging with them on a consistent basis. My biggest piece of advice to other bloggers is to take a course in SEO. I never really paid attention to SEO, and it wasn’t until I took a course that I realized the importance of knowing the basics. Simple things like: are people even searching for the topics that you’re writing? Are you wasting two hours of writing time on a topic that gets only 100 hits per month?

Now let’s turn to Three Questions, which follows the developing love between two young people — who have only met each other once, by chance, on a night out in Las Vegas. The love interest, Guy, is from England, as is your real-life boyfriend, Jock. So what I’d like to know is, just how much of the book is autobiographical?
This is a question that Jock and I dodge quite often! I would say that about sixty percent of the book is autobiographical. There are many similar personality characteristics between Guy (Del’s boyfriend) and Jock, and between Del and me, Even the outline of the story conforms quite closely to what happened to Jock and me. Jock and I did meet in Las Vegas before his trip to Africa, and we did write letters back and forth to get to know each other. Hey — they always say to write about what you know, so that’s what I did! However, “how” things happened — and obviously the ending — are all very different.

One of my favorite aspects of the book was the use of the three questions in each email between Del and Guy, which the couple used to get to know one another during their long separation. It’s genius! Where did the idea for that come from?
Thanks, Tony! It came from Jock, actually. He used to play a questions game with his mates in England when they were out at the pubs. They were quirky questions like “If you were an animal, what would you be?” When Jock went traveling through Africa and we had only met that one night, he decided to take a slightly different spin on it, and ask me three VERY different questions to get to know me. It was such a great way to get to know someone, and build up the intensity and connection. I highly recommend it for anyone who has a long-distance relationship.

Tell us about the screenplay for the novel.
At the end of last year, I raised some money through a Kickstarter campaign to take the novel to the next level, which hopefully will include turning it into a movie. I’m working on the screenplay now, and then I’ll pitch it to Hollywood. What they do with it after that is up to them.

To give you a taster, Meagan has just released this movie-style trailer for the book, which is awesome!

Right, here’s something your fans will be keen to know the answer to: are you writing another book, and can you share any juicy details with us? Is it about travel again?
I’m now working on a second novel, which — particularly as a citizen of The Displaced Nation — you’ll be interested to learn is about someone who is forcibly, not voluntarily, displaced. It’s about a Cuban teenager who was torn from her homeland and true love in the early 1960s — and the struggles, ghosts and eventual success she faces in the United States leading up to today.

Love is a recurring theme in your writing, and one we’ve been looking into recently at The Displaced Nation. So, post Valentines Day, do you have an advice for the singletons out there, wherever they are?
My only advice is to figure out who you are first, and what you want before worrying about finding someone. I really believe that the right man or woman will come when you finally decide that you’re the most important person in your life, and you are taking care of you.

And I have to ask this of someone who has written such a beautiful and memorable love story; tell me about True Love. Does it exist? Is there one person for each of us?
Wow — that’s the kind of question that years ago, I always used to ask everyone else. I never thought I’d be on the receiving end. (Maybe I am getting old?!) I come from a family where love comes multiple times in their lives, so for a long time I never believed that there could be only one person for me. What I’ve come to learn is that with a mixture of timing, chemistry and hard work, true love can certainly be created. How else do I explain running into Jock in a bar in Vegas on Easter Sunday, and thus creating a life out of it, despite our different backgrounds, cultures and nationalities?

Yes, how does a girl from Towson get together with a bloke from Portsmouth? Can I ask, how is Jock coping with the transition to life in Chicago?
Ah… besides the constant yelling at the way we drive, the lack of manners that Americans have when opening doors, and absolutely hating the egos and pompous attitudes of our politicians and media? I would say he’s adjusted much better than I did when I was in England! (I did a lot better in Paris!) Luckily, Chicago has a variety of cultures. He has actually started a business with another Englishman, and found another good friend who’s English. Plus, I think he secretly loves the attention that his accent brings him.

And will your love story have a traditional ending — any plans to tie the knot?
He has one more year before he has to get down on his hands and knees. I gave him five years not thinking he would take the entire five! But we’ve had a few cross-continental moves in the past four years, which has made it challenging to find the right moment.

In Three Questions, Del describes her perfect future as “living by the water in a big city, traveling as much as possible.” You’ve traveled and lived in France and England, and now you’re living in the Windy City, presumably somewhere near the lake… Have you found that perfect future yet? Or is your dream different from Del’s?
Perhaps when I first started writing the book, that was my dream. But success is very important to me as well. I want to leave this life with a feeling that I have left a significant mark on people’s lives. I don’t think I will feel satisfied until that happens, which means I may always be striving to better myself, to make a difference… On a more practical note, I can see myself back in SoCal or having a flat in Paris eventually. That’s not too much to ask for, is it??

Thanks very much, Meagan! It was great chatting with you.

* * *

So, what do you all think? I loved Meagan’s book Three Questions and I’m not normally a fan of love stories and chick lit. I strongly recommend you all give it a read. Three Questions is available now on Amazon.com for the Kindle and, most excitingly of all, is now in paperback!
Three Questions on Amazon Kindle
Three Questions in Paperback

And luckily for you lot, Meagan has also agreed to participate in a giveaway, just for Displaced Nation readers!!!

She’s agreed to give a free ebook to the first 15 people who tweet: I want a free copy of @theladylunches’ new romance from afar novel, #ThreeQuestions via @displacednation

AND, she’s offered to give away a free copy of the paperback to the best comment in the comments section.

So what are you waiting for? Let’s chat :)

STAY TUNED for tomorrow’s episode from our long-running expat soap, Libby’s Life. You can look forward to a battle with tiger-mums, a three-hour glucose tolerance test, one suspected case of galloping dandruff, and the crowning glory of a Valentine’s Day party for three-year-olds. (What, not keeping up with Libby? Read the first three episodes of her expat adventures.)

If you enjoyed this post, we invite you to register for The Displaced Dispatch, a round up of weekly posts from The Displaced Nation, with seasonal recipes, book giveaways and other extras. Register for The Displaced Dispatch by clicking here!

Related posts:

Images: Meagan Adele Lopez; Three Questions book cover (designed by Kathleen Bergen).

What a Displaced World , , , , , , , , , , , ,

10 expat books ripe for movie adaptations

4 Comments Posted by on February 21, 2012

Those who have been following this blog for some time are probably all too aware of my unhealthy preoccupation as to what constitutes an expat or travel book.

Is it, as often seems the case when I browse the expat blogosphere, that expat books must occupy themselves with the oh-so-amusing hi-jinks of expat life? The result almost invariably of such approach is that we are depressingly left with another third-rate knock-off of Bill Bryson for us to throw on the bonfire.

So when considering which expat books are ripe for movie adaptations, my first thought is that the film world, not to mention the world in general — at least, the one I want to live in — really doesn’t need any more travesties such as Under the Tuscan Sun, A Good Year or — most horrifying of all — Eat, Pray, Love. So with that in mind I will nominate the following 10 expat books as being ripe for interesting adaptations.

10. A Moveable Feast (1964, revised 2009)

Author: Ernest Hemingway
Synopsis: Hemingway’s posthumously published memoir detailing his years as a young American expat in Paris socializing with the likes of F. Scott Fitzgerald, Gertrude Stein and Ezra Pound.
Film pitch: Perhaps now is the perfect time for an adaptation of A Moveable Feast. The surprising success of Woody Allen‘s Midnight in Paris will perhaps have whetted Hollywood’s appetite for a more serious take on the same subject matter.

9. One Fat Englishman (1963)

Author: Kingsley Amis
Synopsis: Inspired by a year Amis spent teaching at Princeton, One Fat Englishman follows the badly behaved Roger Micheldene with Amis’s typical brio. An English gentleman who is affronted by everything on the American scene, Roger fails to see how his presence might adversely affect Anglo-American relations.
Film pitch: Cast Timothy Spall as Roger and watch the fireworks.

8. A Burnt Out Case (1960)

Author: Graham Greene
Synopsis: A man named Querry arrives at a leper colony in the Congo. He assists the colony’s doctor, who diagnoses him as suffering depression. It is revealed that Querry is in fact a world-famous architect, though he is hiding other secrets, too.
Film pitch: Perhaps Greene’s bleakest work — which may explain why it hasn’t been filmed previously despite being optioned twice by Otto Preminger (Greene was said to be thankful that it was never made). I would argue, however, that it has all the material for a fascinating film.

7. Travels through France and Italy (1766)

Author: Tobias Smollett
Synopsis: After the sad death of his daughter, Tobias Smollett and his wife left England for a tour of France and Italy. Detailing the quarrels Smollett has on his journey with those pesky Continentals, this is a very funny book.
Film pitch: Yes, I am suggesting that someone should make a movie based on an 18th-century travelogue. If Robbie Coltrane and John Sessions can turn Boswell and Johnson’s tour of the Hebrides into a delightful TV movie then I think the same could be done with this.

6. The Long Day Wanes: A Malayan Trilogy (1956-59)

Author: Anthony Burgess
Synopsis: Burgess’s first three novels are concerned with the character of Victor Crabbe, a teacher in a village in Malaya (now Malaysia). Based upon Burgess’s own experiences as a British civil servant in Malaya, the three novels that make up The Long Day Wanes detail the death of Empire and the birth pains of a newly independent nation.
Film pitch: Other than A Clockwork Orange, whose adaptation Burgess had strong misgivings over, Burgess’s work often seems overlooked for movie adaptations. It really shouldn’t be.

5. The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet (2010)

Author: David Mitchell
Synopsis: Until Commodore Perry in 1853 anchored four warships off the Japanese coast and so opened up Japan to western trade, Japan had been a “locked country” (sakoku) where it was illegal for a foreigner to enter Japan and for a Japanese subject to leave. The exception to this was at Dejima, in Nagasaki, where trade with some select foreign powers was allowed. This fascinating piece of history is the basis for David Mitchell’s latest novels. Set in 1799, The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet details a young Dutch trader who has come to Dejima to make his fortune though he discovers a lot more.
Film pitch: The book has all the makings of a wonderful historical epic.

4. Up Above the World (1966)

Author: Paul Bowles
Synopsis: Dr and Mrs Slade are an American couple touring Central America. A chance encounter with an elderly woman leads to a tense and gripping chain of events.
Film pitch:A disturbing and intense work typical of Bowles, it would make for a deeply compelling thriller.

3. Burmese Days (1934)

Author: George Orwell
Synopsis: Similar to Burgess’s The Long Day Wanes, this novel is concerned with the dying days of Empire. Orwell, who was himself an officer in the Indian Imperial Police Force in Burma, paints a depressing picture of expatriate life that is based around the stultifying social hub of the European club.
Film pitch: Orwell’s first novel and while certainly not his best work, even a bad Orwell novel is still worthy of consideration.

2. Henderson the Rain King (1959)

Author: Saul Bellow
Synopsis: Eugene Henderson is a rich American with an unfulfilled desire. Not knowing quite what it is, he hopes he will discover it by going to Africa. Through a series of misadventures Eugene Henderson finds himself away from his original group and in the village of Wariri in Africa. After performing a feat of strength, Eugene is adopted by the villagers as the Wariri Rain King.
Film pitch: Bellow’s funniest book, Henderson the Rain King could be pitched as an intellectual Joe Versus the Volcano (or maybe not — that’s a terrible pitch).

1. Turkish Embassy Letters (1763)

Author: Lady Mary Wortley Montagu
Synopsis: An important writer in her own right, Lady Mary Wortley Montagu was the wife of Edward Wortley Montagu, who was appointed as the ambassador at Constantinople. Accompanying her husband just after recovering from contracting smallpox marring her famed beauty, Lady Wortley Montagu wrote about her observations in numerous letters. These letters form a fascinating look at the Ottoman Empire — from how they inoculated against smallpox to the zenanas, special areas of the house reserved for women — as observed by an aristocratic English woman of the time.
Film pitch: Just think what a great biopic you could make about her.

Note: If you click on the book titles in the above list, you’ll be taken to Amazon, where the books can be purchased — except in the case of Tobias Smollett’s travelogue, which goes to Gutenberg, where he can be read FOR FREE!!

STAY TUNED for tomorrow’s post, an interview with first-time novelist Meagan Adele Lopez, and her plans for turning the book into a film.

If you enjoyed this post, we invite you to register for The Displaced Dispatch, a round up of weekly posts from The Displaced Nation, with seasonal recipes, book giveaways and other extras. Register for The Displaced Dispatch by clicking here!

Related posts:

Displaced Hall of Fame , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

4 films that will make you want to travel — and one that won’t!

10 Comments Posted by on February 20, 2012

Now, there’s a pretty standard list of travel-inspiring movies out there; it’s everywhere you look online, and it goes something like this:

But I wanted to give you some slightly more alternative choices — because I try to avoid being ordinary whenever possible. Yes, okay, you can say it — because I’m downright weird. So in place of those otherwise awesome films, may I present to you the following movies which have inspired me personally:

1) The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert (1994), directed by Stephan Elliot

Why I love this film: It’s ridiculous and lots of fun, which is pretty much how I think all life should be! As three Sydney drag queens travel through the barren Australian outback, we get to see that iconic terrain, vast and empty and aching to be explored. This film has it all: humor, a light-hearted way of handling a serious message (about homophobia) and visuals to die for as the trio procession through some of Australia’s most awe-inspiring scenery. In a big pink bus.
Personal note: Not only did I travel to Australia and fall in love with a woman who considers this her favorite movie ever –- I also had the good fortune to be with her when she decided to re-enact one of the film’s famous scenes, when the drag queens hike around King’s Canyon in their fabulous dresses! I’d say we got mixed reactions from the other tourists — probably me, most of all…
Memorable line:

Felicia: The only life I saw for the last million miles were the hypnotized bunnies. Most of them are now wedged in the tires.

2) Black Sheep (2007), directed by Jonathan King

Also ran: Actually, I was going to nominate The Lord of the Rings trilogy but then decided — NO! I can’t use it. It’s too easy. Plus we’ve already had one film with Hugo Weaving (the mighty Elrond played a drag queen in Priscilla!). I know, across the three films they showcase the sights of New Zealand at their jaw-dropping best — anyone who hasn’t watched these films and felt an urgent need to visit New Zealand needs to watch them again but ignore the kick-ass sword fighting… Yeah, I know. That’s never going to happen.
Why Black Sheep won out: The rugged landscape looks every bit as impressive in this movie as it does in Lord of the Rings — but it’s also populated by were-sheep, an accidental result of some unusual genetic manipulation… See it, and laugh at the New Zealanders. Oddly enough, they’ll love you for it. It’s the Kiwis’ love of poking fun at everything, especially themselves — their self-deprecating humor — that really made me want to visit the place. I felt like I would fit in there. And I did — I stayed for two years. By the time I left, I was on a first-name basis with the entire population.
Memorable lines:

There are 40 million sheep in New Zealand…and they’re pi**ed off!

Harry (as the were-sheep charge towards them): F**k, the sheep!
Tucker: No mate, we haven’t time for that.

3) Lost in Translation (2003), directed by Sofia Coppola

Why I love this film: It’s an odd one, this one. The first time I watched it, my mind boggled at how something so boring, with nothing remotely resembling a plot, could get made into a movie. Then I watched it again. And again. Because it was the rainy season in Thailand, where I was living, so I couldn’t go outside — and we only had three DVDs in English, so we watched all of them every day. For two months. Somewhere around the halfway point of this torturous process, I fell in love with Lost in Translation — maybe I just needed to relax to appreciate it? Once I stopped looking for something to happen, I started to understand what it was all about: loneliness, uncertainty, being adrift and confused in a completely alien culture. And ever since then I’ve desperately wanted to go to Tokyo. Well, not enough to actually go there — yet — but you know what I mean. I do travel vicariously — just sometimes — and this is one of ‘em.
Caveat: If, like me, you’re a fan of films where, you know, stuff happens — it might take you a few viewings to get used to it. Forty or fifty should do the trick.
Memorable line:

Charlotte: Let’s never come here again because it would never be as much fun.

4) Ip Man (2008), directed by Wilson Yip

Why I love this film: The closest I’ve come to China are the little “made in” labels on almost everything I own. This film, however, kindled a desire to visit China that I never knew I had in me. It’s the biographical story of the most famous kung fu practitioner in the world — not Bruce Lee but his teacher in Wing Chun kung fu, master Ip Man. It’s set in Foshan, China in the 1930s-40s during the Japanese Invasion, but was filmed in Shanghai. It follows the family of the master as he becomes ensnared in the war, losing everything over the course of the Occupation and being forced to face the hardest choices a man could make. The insight into a lifestyle and culture so utterly different from my own was fascinating enough, but this is a story both moving and powerful.
Audience participation: I dare anyone to watch it and not leap off the couch at some point with a cry of “Yeah, kick his ASS!” Ahem. Okay, so maybe that’s just me.
In sum: Will it make you want to visit China? I think so. Will it make you want to learn kung fu? I absolutely guarantee it!

And because I’m a contrary kind of guy, I just had to retaliate against my own optimism by highlighting a film that made me NOT want to travel:

5) Cidade de Deus (City of God) (2002), directed by Fernando Meirelles and Katia Lund

Why I don’t recommend this film: The film is set in the 1970s, in the poorest districts surrounding Rio de Janeiro, where drugs and guns rule and the population live in a fear only matched by their misery. I saw it in South America, in its native Portuguese — but with Spanish subtitles. Given my fledgeling abilities in that language, as described in a previous post, I may have failed to grasp every nuance of the story, but basically what I took from it was: “DON’T EVER GO THERE! They will kill you for the hell of it.”
Analysis:There is poverty everywhere in the world — I’ve worked in homeless shelters in the UK and seen people every bit as desperate as the denizens of Brazilian favelas (shanty towns). But these kind of places, where automatic weapons are more readily available than McDonald’s hamburgers and life is so very cheap…they absolutely terrify me.
In sum: Brazil remains on my list of all-time favorite, must-visit countries — but no way am I going anywhere near the favelas in Rio. This film has put me off — for life.

* * *

And finally…there’s one character that stands head and shoulders (and hat!) above all the rest when it comes to inspiring my travels. I’ve carefully avoided mentioning his films, as I was trying hard to keep this a cheese-free list — but I can’t hold it in any more.

I WANT TO BE INDIANA JONES!

I know, I know! So does everybody in the world, ever. Even people in remote tribes that have never been contacted by the Western world, secretly harbor a desire to be Indiana Jones — they just don’t know how to put it into words.

So — now it’s your turn!
1) What films have made you want to travel? And why?
2) What films have made you want to run screaming from the very idea of travel — and why?
3) If you WERE Indiana Jones — what would you do?

STAY TUNED for tomorrow’s post on cinema and the expat life.

If you enjoyed this post, we invite you to register for The Displaced Dispatch, a round up of weekly posts from The Displaced Nation, with seasonal recipes, book giveaways and other extras. Register for The Displaced Dispatch by clicking here!

Related posts:

Images: Tony James Slater (yes, that’s really him!) playing out his fantasy of being Indiana Jones; film posters courtesy Wikipedia.

What a Displaced World , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Cinema’s top 10 worst British accents

18 Comments Posted by on February 17, 2012

With Oscar season nearly upon us and with it the now seeminly customary Meryl Streep Oscar nomination, I’ve noticed that a number of American friends have asked me my thoughts on The Iron Lady. Specifically, my thoughts on how convincing I find Meryl Streep’s Thatcher.

Yet even when I tell them I haven’t seen the film (I’m just not in a rush to see it on the big screen and am more than happy to catch it on netflix in a few months time), they still ask for my opinion — nationality apparently bestowing expertise on the matter.

From the few clips I’ve seen on TV or the Web, and echoing what most critics have written, Streep’s Thatcher seems decent to me. Whether Streep’s Thatcher dislodges Greta Scacchi‘s somewhat cougar-ish take on the former PM in Jeffrey Archer: The Truth remains to be seen.

What is clear from the little I’ve seen is that Streep (unsurprisingly) will not be entering the Hall of Shame for awful Hollywood British accents. The following are my personal favorites. Let me know yours in the comments — including bad attempts at American accents (it’s only fair).

10. Nicolas Cage in National Treasure: Book of Secrets (2007)

Almost certainly unfair to include as while it is hideously bad, I think it was intended to be hideously bad, and boy did Nicolas Cage succeed in that respect. Included, more than anything, because I think all top ten lists of this nature (something of a creatively bankrupt idea) could be improved with some Cage-branded craziness — it’s like a crack addict’s impersonation of Jimmy Stewart.

9. Josh Hartnett in Blow Dry (2001)

In the (rightly) forgotten hairdresser comedy Blow Dry, the (rightly) forgotten all-American heart throb Josh Hartnett tries hard but fails to convince with an Irish accent… Wait, he’s meant to be doing a Yorkshire accent? Really?

8. John Lithgow in Cliffhanger (1993)

John Lithgow has done some great work in the past, a performer who can be effortlessly at home in comedy or drama. At other times, he seems happy to serve up the audience a big slice of honey roast ham. Cliffhanger was definitely one of his more porcine performances. Warning: clip is not suitable for work — though arguably none of them are.

7. Bette Davis in Of Human Bondage (1934)

Some people would have you believe this is one of the great dramatic scenes of cinematic history showcasing the titantic talent of Bette Davis. Others might counter that it’s am-dram caterwauling delivered in the world’s least convincing cockney accent. Both groups are right.

6. Don Cheadle in Ocean’s 11 (2001)

Actually, forget Bette, Hollywood’s worst cockney accent belongs to Don Cheadle. Here’s Don dubbed in German. Trust me, it’s the only humane way to listen Don Cheadle in Ocean’s 11.

5. Harrison Ford in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (1989)

Like the Nicolas Cage entry possibly an unfair inclusion as accuracy was hardly the point, but dude, Harrison Ford acted this in earshot of Sean Connery and so is deserving of either opprobrium or massive props.

4. Lindsay Lohan in The Parent Trap (1998)

That’s right, I’m dickish enough to include a child actor on this list. <Fill in your own Lindsay Lohan joke here>

3. Keanu Reeves in Dracula (1992)

Considering the difficulty Keanu Reeves often seems to have in portraying a functioning, coordinated human being, it was probably a bit too much of a stretch to ask him to do anything as nuanced as acting a different nationality.

2. Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins (1964)

You can’t have a list like this and not feature Dick Van Dyke, it’s expected of me and were I to omit it, many of you would invariably comment on it. And while it is a terrible accent, it’s also utterly charming and in no way spoils the movie. Bert probably fell on his head falling from a chimney, knocked his head, and developed foreign accent syndrome.  I believe Henry Mayhew documented this as being very common among Victorian chimney sweeps.

1. Russell Crowe in Robin Hood (2010)

Unquestioningly, Russell Crowe‘s accent in Robin Hood was a triumph. What sort of pr*** would argue otherwise? Definitely not me.

STAY TUNED for next Monday’s post, on travel and cinema.

If you enjoyed this post, we invite you to register for The Displaced Dispatch, a round up of weekly posts from The Displaced Nation, with seasonal recipes, book giveaways and other extras. Register for The Displaced Dispatch by clicking here!

Related posts:

Img: Film poster for The Iron Lady, courtesy Wikipedia.

What a Displaced World , , , , , , , , ,

LIBBY’S LIFE — A technical malfunction

4 Comments Posted by on February 16, 2012

LIBBY:

Well, this week I fully intended to tell you about my battle with certain tiger-mums, a three-hour glucose tolerance test, a suspected case of galloping dandruff caused by the dry weather, and how all that fits into the context of a Valentine’s Day party for three-year-olds. And I shall still do that — next week.

But here’s the thing: just as I was sitting down to write this week’s episode, Oliver comes home early from work, and says, “Come on, Libs — get packed. I’m taking you away for a couple of nights. Then throw some stuff in a bag for Jack, because Maggie’s having him while we’re gone.”

It’s just so easy when a bloke puts it like that, isn’t it? “Throw some stuff in a bag for Jack” indeed. I mean, I hadn’t done the laundry or anything…and then I look in Jack’s chest of drawers, and found that someone had done the laundry. We have a laundry fairy I didn’t know about!

“Maggie,” Oliver said. He looked all smug.

“Did you ask her to do it?”

“Well…no,” he admitted. “But when I asked her if she’d have Jack because I was planning a romantic surprise weekend, she said something about surprises being one thing, and nasty shocks being quite another, especially in your condition, so I’d better give her a spare door key if I didn’t want another surprise trip to the hospital.”

So there we are. If you remember, Oliver promised me a trip to a spa as compensation for his mother putting me in hospital before Christmas, so that’s where we are going.

“Do they have seaweed wraps?” I asked him, thinking about Caroline’s bony ankles and comparing them to my somewhat waterlogged ones.

He looked puzzled.

“They have white towelling dressing-gowns, from what I can tell from the brochure. Or do you mean wraps like those crispy chicken ones from McDonald’s?”

Ah, bless him. He tries so hard. I’m sure we’ll have a lovely time.

I’ll tell you all about it week after next.

KATE:

Libby is being far too nice and neglecting to mention that I was writing her diary this week, not her — as she said, it was about her “battle with certain tiger-mums, a three-hour glucose tolerance test, a suspected case of galloping dandruff caused by the dry weather, and how all that fits into the context of a Valentine’s Day party for three-year-olds.”

It was a really interesting episode, too.

Such a shame that something malfunctioned somewhere in the bowels of my computer, and despite having saved many times, I lost 2200 words of the episode just when I was about to click Publish.

Oh well. When I’ve finished banging my head against any convenient hard surface, I’m sure it will seem very funny in retrospect.

See you next week. :-/

Meanwhile, here are some links to my own favorite episodes:

#34:  Shadows on a screen - I wrote this one because a good friend who’s a Libby fan wanted to hear more about the pregnancy. When she asked me to do this, I didn’t know at the time that Libby was expecting twins. It was a surprise for everyone.

#11: Neither more nor less than a pig - This episode introduces Carla Gianni. The pig thing, while a surprise, was not entirely unexpected. I’ve known Carla, Frankie, and the Maxwell Plum for a long time. They all came into existence in my half-written novel, which has the working title of “Back to the Green.” Billy Joel fans among you may be able to read something into that — also, why there’s a village green in Woodhaven, an Italian restaurant, and why there are so many flashbacks to the past in Libby.

#5: Decaffeinated sherry to toast a Royal Wedding - Written in a befuddled, sleep-deprived state on the morning of April 29 last year, having got myself up at an unholy hour to tweet about the wedding with ML and Anthony. It was the first time I’d met Sandra, the mother-in-law. I blame Princess Beatrice’s hat for the way she turned out.

If you enjoyed this post, we invite you to subscribe for email delivery of The Displaced Dispatch, a round up of the week’s posts from The Displaced Nation. Sign up for The Displaced Dispatch by clicking here!

Img: Map of the World – Salvatore Vuono

It's Fiction! , , , ,

RANDOM NOMAD: Megan Farrell, American Expat in São Paulo, Brazil

15 Comments Posted by on February 15, 2012

Place of birth: Chicago, Illinois USA
Geographical history: USA (Chicago, Illinois; West Palm Beach, Florida; Ventura, California; Washington, DC): 1969 – 2002; Spain (Barcelona): 2001; USA (Princeton, New Jersey; New York, New York): 2002-10; Brazil (São Paulo): 2010 – present.
Passport: USA — my daughter, however, has three: USA, Brazil & Germany.
Current occupation: Aspiring novelist and screenplay writer, business school lecturer, and former research director at a Wall Street firm.
Cyberspace coordinates: Born Again Brazilian (blog) and @BornAgainBrazil (Twitter handle)

What made you leave your homeland in the first place?
Ever since I was a child, I wanted to explore the world and always had it in my head that I would live in other countries. I think it was because I used to read a lot as a kid, stories about other places, some of my favorites being James and the Giant Peach and The Little Prince. I also loved Laura Ingalls Wilder‘s Little House series. By the time I reached adulthood, I was open to opportunities to travel and explore new cities as a local.

Describe the moment when you felt most displaced since making your home in Brazil’s largest city, São Paulo.
Wandering lost, in the rain, in an unfamiliar neighborhood, after a boy on a bike tried to wrestle my iPhone out of my hands. I’d grabbed it out of his hands, but he still hung around yelling something at me and trying to get the phone. It seemed incredible to me this was happening because although it was raining, it was broad daylight and I was on a street where there was a row of little shops. So after putting a bit of distance between us, I stopped and started screaming like a horror movie starlet and pointing at him. People came out of their shops and of course he got scared — I think mostly because he thought I was crazy. I’d never before experienced anything so bold.

Your blog is called Born Again Brazilian. I imagine you’ve also had many moments when you feel more at home in Brazil than you do in the USA. When have you felt least displaced?
While sitting on the beach of Leblon, in Rio de Janeiro, viewing the ocean. On a beautiful day, it absolutely makes you feel as though all is right with the world and you are exactly where you are meant to be.

You may bring one curiosity you’ve collected from each of your adopted countries into The Displaced Nation. What’s in your suitcase?
No need for a suitcase as what I’d most like to bring with me to The Displaced Nation is a couple of intangible items:
From Brazil: Jeitinho or jeito, the ability to get in, out and/or around something despite a law, a regulation, a contract, physics or gravity.
From Barcelona: The recipe for survival possessed by local shops, which seem to close and open at random times — and when you enter, the owners or employees often act as though you are completely putting them out by wanting to buy something. It’s hilarious and curious at the same time.

Food is close to the heart of all Displaced Nation citizens. We would therefore like to invite you to make a meal for us. What will you offer?
I can offer a choice of two classic menus:
1) Brazilian (São Paulo/Rio de Janeiro)
Appetizer: Bolinho de bacalhau (codfish cakes), served with Original cerveja (beer)
Main: Feijoada (traditional bean stew with beef and pork), served with caipirinhas (Brazilian national cocktail, made with rum, sugar and lime)
Dessert: Mouse de maracujá (passion fruit mousse)
2) Spanish (Barcelona)
Appetizer: Assorted pinchos (bar snacks eaten with toothpicks), served with cider
Main: Paella Valenciana (Valencian paella), served with a nice Spanish white wine
Dessert: Flan (crème caramel)

What’s your pleasure?

You may add a word or expression from the country where you live in to The Displaced Nation argot. What will you loan us?
Tudo bem! When you greet someone in Brazil, you say tudo bem instead of hello, but you use it like a question: “Tudo bem?” (All is well?) And you might respond with tudo bem (all is well) or tudo otimo (all is great) or simply tudo (all). Brazilians must use this greeting countless times a day. What I love about tudo bem is that it represents how familiar and personal the Brazilian culture is. A stranger in the elevator will greet you by asking if all is right in the world for you. That is totally Brazilian.

This month, in honor of Valentine’s Day, The Displaced Nation has been delving into the topic of finding love abroad. I understand you have a Brazilian husband. Where and how did the pair of you meet, and was it love at first sight?
I met my husband while we were getting our MBAs at Georgetown University (in Washington, DC). The first time I met him, I thought he was pretty stern — little did I know he had just arrived to the country the day before and wasn’t so comfortable with his English. I kind of wrote him off as one of the machismo Latin guys that didn’t like to work closely in a business setting with women. But after the final exams of our first semester, we wound up at the same party. I actually attempted to hook him up with my friend — he is tall and she is tall — but it turned out he was more interested in me. After I saw a few of his dance moves…it was love at second sight!

Thanks to Gisele, many people have an image of Brazilian women as very attractive. Is that also true of the men, and do they make good husbands?
First, my husband is not your typical Brazilian man. He spent a great deal of his childhood in Germany with his grandparents and has his behavior has been heavily influenced by his German father. Typical Brazilian men see the roles of men and women as clearly defined channels. From what I’ve seen and heard from my Brazilian and American friends married to Brazilians, the menfolk rarely if ever help out with household chores or issues, as they feel that is the woman’s role — even if she is working a full-time job! However, for the most part, Brazilian men are very charming, complimentary and romantic. They see themselves as Prince Charming, and if that is what a woman is looking for, a Brazilian man is a good catch.

You said you fantasized about traveling to other lands from the time you were a child. How about marrying someone from another land?
I never thought much about it, but before my husband, I only dated All-American guys, so I think it came as a surprise to my parents. However, when my now husband asked me to marry him, I knew that my life would never be boring, and always full of adventure. And I was right!

Now that Valentine’s is over, The Displaced Nation is moving on to look at expat and travel films, in time for the Oscars. Do you have a favorite film(s) in this “genre”? I see you’re interesting in screenplay writing, which makes me doubly curious.
I think the first movies that inspired travel for me were Cocktail with Tom Cruise (he finds love while working in a bar in Jamaica) and Only You with Marisa Tomei (she follows the man she thinks will be her true love to Italy). When I was a bit older, I was definitely was drawn to seeing the world by a beautifully filmed, but wildly depressing, New Zealand-Australian-British film by Jane Campion titled An Angel At My Table. It’s based on Janet Frame‘s autobiographical series about growing up in New Zealand, leaving and returning.

Readers — yay or nay for letting Megan Farrell into The Displaced Nation? Tell us your reasons. (Note: It’s fine to vote “nay” as long as you couch your reasoning in terms we all — including Megan — find amusing.)

STAY TUNED for tomorrow’s installment from our displaced fictional heroine, Libby, who is discovering that Valentine’s Day in the US is quite different from the UK version — a fact that doesn’t come naturally to her three-year-old son. (What, not keeping up with Libby? Read the first three episodes of her expat adventures.)

If you enjoyed this post, we invite you to register for The Displaced Dispatch, a round up of weekly posts from The Displaced Nation, with seasonal recipes, book giveaways and other extras. Register for The Displaced Dispatch by clicking here!

Related posts:

img: Megan Farrell poses at the nature center in Parque Estadual do Pico do Itacolomi, which is outside Ouro Preto, Minas Gerias (July 2011).

Random Nomads , , , , , , , , ,

Expat Book Review: A Tight Wide-open Space, by Matt Krause

2 Comments Posted by on February 14, 2012

Subscribers to the Displaced Dispatch already know that our next free giveaway is a signed copy of today’s featured book! If you would like to enter the draw for this great prize, sign up for the Displaced Dispatch before Friday by clicking here!

TITLE: A Tight Wide-open Space
AUTHOR: Matt Krause
PUBLICATION DATE: August 2011
FORMAT: Ebook for Kindle and Nook; paperback; PDF from author’s website)
GENRE: Travel memoir (Middle East)
SOURCE: PDF file from author’s website

Summary:

In 2003, when the shockwaves of 9/11 still echoed through the US and the country was fighting two wars in Muslim countries, Matt Krause met a beautiful Turkish woman on an airplane and decided to follow her to Turkey. This is the story of what happened there.

Matt figured adjusting to life in Turkey would entail some challenges, and he certainly wasn’t disappointed. He survived bomb attacks, lost his cool around beggar kids, drove a jewelry business into the ground, and got into fistfights over parking. Along the way though, he saw beauty in ruins older than the Roman Empire, was wowed by tales of Bulgarian freedom fighters, tried not to hit cows in the road, and drank plenty of peach-flavored Lipton iced tea.

…A Tight Wide-open Space is the story of falling in love not only with a woman, but with a city and a country. (Amazon.com)

Review:

Matt Krause met and wooed his Turkish wife-to-be in a way seldom seen outside Hollywood scripts. A chance meeting on a flight from San Francisco to Hong Kong; Matt’s sixth sense inkling that this woman was The One; his Google search for her name upon his return (“I sent her an email and tried not to sound too much like a stalker”); his impulsive decision, a few short months later, to rent out his Seattle home and follow her back to Turkey (“I thought about the situation for about 10 seconds and then I said ‘Well, I’ll come with you.’”) — yes, there’s a Valentine’s tale there, all right.

The book is a stimulating mix of the anecdotal and informational: first-hand accounts of the (excellent) Turkish health care and (not so excellent) law enforcement combine with Turkish History 101 and swift lessons on the Ottoman Empire. Running like a silver thread through these yarns is the deeply personal and affectionate — the reason for Matt’s presence in Turkey. The love story.

For all that this is a love story, however, Matt pulls no punches in the telling of it. The introduction chapter, a description of the slaughter of a ram for Kurban Bayram (Feast of the Sacrifice) is vivid — lurid, even. Yet it gets the point across as little else could: that a guy who has spent thirty-three years in the haven of America’s West Coast is now a long distance outside his comfort zone.

For me, the biggest charm of A Tight Wide-open Space is the author’s honesty. Matt doesn’t try to put himself in a better light just because a few thousand people are reading about his overreaction to a persistent little boy who wants to shine his shoes :

What on earth had possessed me to act like that? I had just blown up at a little kid on the street in broad daylight. I had just threatened to snuff the life out of a little boy barely tall enough to reach my belt. I hadn’t even been in Turkey for three months yet. What was I becoming?

In the face of this engaging frankness, it’s impossible not to get drawn into Matt’s story. His frankness extends to accounts of his wedding, a trip to hospital, an almighty row with his new wife. A book — appropriately enough, for Valentine’s Day — written from the heart.

As I have no plans for a subheading called “Spoiler Alerts”, I will say no more — except that the book’s twists and turns along the way only remind us that, yes, this is indeed real life.

Not Hollywood.

Words of wisdom:

One thing I learned early on about Turks is that you can never go wrong with a big smile and an enthusiastic introduction.

When we meet someone else, someone from another religion, or another country, or even another profession or another social class, it is our duty to that other person to remember that our understanding of that person is probably incorrect. And it is our duty to ourselves to overcome that incorrectness.

Home is not a place. Home is not Seattle, California, Texas, Ohio, or Kathmandu. Home is the people we love.

Verdict:

At around 190 pages, this is an easy read, but by no means a shallow one. Whatever Matt’s plans might be for the future, I hope they include more writing.

STAY TUNED for Wednesday’s Random Nomad post.

If you enjoyed this post, we invite you to register for The Displaced Dispatch, a round up of weekly posts from The Displaced Nation, with seasonal recipes, book giveaways and other extras. Register for The Displaced Dispatch by clicking here!

Related posts:

What a Displaced World , , ,

The Displaced Q: Does love conquer all — even language barriers?

9 Comments Posted by on February 13, 2012

Last week Tony James Slater, the newest addition to the TDN team, reported on his success with finding love abroad. But it wasn’t always that easy for him. He may be an incurable adventureholic, but when Cupid’s arrow led to a romance with a woman who didn’t speak English, even he had to wonder if there were limits…

Here’s the scenario:

You’re minding your own business in a friendly sort of bar, enjoying the heady mix of cultures as foreigners — a mix of holiday-makers, transients and expats — rub shoulders with the locals.

Suddenly you see him — or her — across the crowded room. This gorgeous individual is staring right at you, smiling seductively. You make contact with those smoldering eyes…and that’s where it ends.

Because she doesn’t speak your language, and you speak none of hers.

So really, what are you going to say to her?

Can romance transcend the language barrier?

It’s a tricky one.

No lo entiendo, mi amor

I have a little experience in this area; once upon a time, when I doing a three-month stint of volunteering at an animal shelter in Ecuador, I fell madly in lust with a gorgeous Latino woman.

Of course she didn’t speak English — there was no one who could for miles in any direction. I spoke no Spanish, because until that moment there had never seemed enough reasons to learn it.

I was captivated by her — she was the kind of exotic beauty you read about in well, the kind of books that I don’t read. Ahem.

So what do you do?

Two obvious tactics spring to mind.

The first is what I did: get horribly drunk and throw yourself at the poor woman, in the hope that you’ll never remember the embarrassment in the morning, if she laughs in your face.

As it happens, this tactic worked — but it should be noted that this is the first time ever, in the history of mankind, that this has been the case. As a rule, I cannot endorse extreme inebriation as a successful method of flirtation; truly, this must have been Cupid himself in action.

The second tactic is to get a friend who does speak both languages to make some kind of introduction. This can help you get over that incredibly awkward initial stage when neither of you is really sure if the other is genuinely interested.

This is the tactic I should have used, as I had a perfectly good friend with the requisite language skills. Of course by the time I’d thought of that, I was already too drunk to pronounce even English words. It was quite a way down the road when I finally got to communicate in words with my new lover, through an interpreter.

At that point, it was great to have it confirmed that she felt the same way about me as I felt about her!

It was slightly less great to discover that she was already married and had two children. But then, that’s the chance you take when you practice tactic no.1.

Thankfully, she was separated from her husband — although as our relationship progressed, I did hear some disturbing rumors that her husband was looking for me…with a machete. I fervently hoped that was just my boss trying to wind me up. (If it was, he succeeded!)

Pidgin Spanish and pantomime…are there limits?

Although she was beautiful, the thought of meeting her again terrified me anew each time. I felt like such an idiot, struggling to express myself in pidgin Spanish and pantomime. I lived in fear of those awkward moments, when neither of us could make the other understand some fundamental issue.

That said, it definitely motivated me to learn Spanish! After every date I’d come back fired up with the desire to study. I never did any studying, of course — my day job (mucking out animal cages) kept me way too busy for that — but the desire was there. The desire, in fact, had never been a problem!

But how far can a relationship really go, when you don’t even have a language in common? Think how close you can get to someone in a long-term relationship; a connection bordering on the psychic, where you’re almost reading each other’s minds — it just doesn’t work when you’re constantly guessing at what the other person is saying.

The Austrian-British language philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein once remarked:

The limits of my language are the limits of my world.

If he is right, then isn’t the lack of a shared language the very essence of incompatibility?

Relationship experts the world over agree that couples must work hard to bridge communication gaps. Well, when the gaps of linguistic understanding are wide enough to fly a 747 through — and it can feel like a long-distance relationship even when you’re standing next to each other — bridge-building can be something of a challenge.

My Ecuadorian love and I were together three months, after which I left to fly back home. Ironically, we’d each learned just enough of each other’s languages to really get to know each other’s thoughts, hopes, fears and frustrations — the day before my flight to England.

I’d like to open it up to the floor at this point!

Has anyone got any experience of this that they wouldn’t mind sharing? Or an opinion, on whether or not it’s possible?

Can love really conquer all — including that ultimate bad guy of cross-cultural barriers, linguistics?

What do you think?

I’d love to know!

TONY JAMES SLATER is a self-confessed adventureholic. For the last six years he’s been traveling nonstop around the world, working at a variety of jobs including yacht deliverer in the Mediterranean, professional diver in Thailand and snow boarder in New Zealand. Last year, Slater published his first book, That Bear Ate My Pants!, an account of his misadventures while volunteering at the animal refuge in Ecuador. (The book was featured in The Displaced Nation’s list of 2011 expat books.) He is currently working on a second book set in Thailand, while exploring his new home in Perth, Australia.

STAY TUNED for Tuesday’s post, a review of Matt Krause’s memoir recounting how he met a woman on a plane — and followed her all the way to Turkey! NOTE: Subscribers to our weekly DISPLACED DISPATCH are eligible to win a free, autographed copy!

If you enjoyed this post, we invite you to register for The Displaced Dispatch, a round up of weekly posts from The Displaced Nation, with seasonal recipes, book giveaways and other extras. Register for The Displaced Dispatch by clicking here!

Related posts:

What a Displaced World , , , , , , ,

← Older posts

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 1,295 other followers