The Displaced Nation

A home for international creatives

Tag Archives: Europe

RANDOM NOMAD: Nerissa Muijs, Business Development Specialist

2 Comments Posted by on May 5, 2011

Born in: Kingston S.E., a wee town in South Australia
Passport: Australian, but will be eligible to become a dual Australian-Dutch citizen this year
Countries lived in: Malaysia (Shah Alam): 1997; New Zealand (Christchurch): 2003; England (Plymouth): 2006-2007; Scotland (Edinburgh): 2007-2008; Netherlands (Almere): 2008-present
Cyberspace coordinates: Adventures in Integration (blog)

What made you leave your homeland in the first place?
I grew up in a small town in South Australia called Lucindale (just 300 people). I don’t feel like I was ever a good fit. I have always had a feeling of wanderlust and being able to go on an AFS exchange to Malaysia when I was 17 added more fuel to the fire, rather than sating my taste for experiencing new places. Once I returned home, I never really settled down again. I was constantly planning my next adventure.

Is anyone else in your immediate family a “displaced” person?
One of my Fabulous Aunts is also perfectly displaced. She lives on a yacht with her partner and two cats. They are currently floating around the Colombian coast, preparing for hurricane season before braving the Panama Canal to head back into the Pacific and beyond.

Describe the moment when you felt most displaced over the course of your many displacements.
Perhaps it was sitting in a restaurant in Malaysia with my wonderful Chinese host family. They had taken me out especially to eat shark’s fin soup. Or it could be the time I was the only Australian sitting in a bar in Christchurch watching the Wallabies beat the All Blacks in the semi finals of the 2003 Rugby World Cup. But seriously, it was probably when I found myself in the immigration offices in Amsterdam realizing I was making a potentially permanent commitment by moving to my husband’s homeland — it was time to grow up!

Describe the moment when you felt least displaced.
On my birthday in 2007. I was living in Edinburgh at the time. My Dutch boyfriend, who is now my husband — we met in Australia when he joined one of my tours to Uluru — was visiting from the Netherlands. A group of my friends took us out to celebrate. In that moment I was happy, I was at home. I find I don’t have the sense of “home” when I return to my hometown in Australia any more. I feel at home with people, not places. Having a cup of tea with my best friend, for example. We’ve done that in at least four countries together and it’s always the same.

You may bring one curiosity you’ve collected from each of the countries where you’ve lived into the Displaced Nation. What’s in your suitcase?
From Malaysia: A batik sarong. I’ve been wearing the same one weekly since 1997, and I love it just as much as the day I paid 5RM for it.
From NZ: The jade pendant I got from Hokitika. It feels cool or warm on my skin and is smooth and comforting.
From England: A cream tea with scones and Cornish clotted cream. A cream tea will always make me think of my elderly great aunts at home and of England.
From Scotland: A “hairy coo” fluffy toy. (Actually, I’d prefer to bring a real-life hairy coo, but I imagine you have strict quarantine rules…)
From Netherlands: Rookworst (a type of smoked sausage, similar to bratwurst).

You’re invited to prepare one meal based on your travels for other Displaced Nation members. What’s on your menu?
Being Australian, I will have to say a barbie. We’ll eat steak, snags [sausages], lamb chops and onions. We’ll tip our hats to Malaysia with some satay sticks. We’ll have bread and my grandma’s hot potato salad. There will be noodle salad that my mum made and sliced beetroot on the side, which I’ll drop on my shirt. Of course, because I live in the Netherlands, we’ll have garlic sauce along with our tomato sauce. And because of the UK influence it will probably be raining, but there will be beer. Lots of beer. And it won’t end for two days. I’ll be up early to cook bacon and eggs again the next morning for the people who just won’t leave. (Dad, I’m talking to you!) It will be fun — care to join me?

You may add one word or expression from each of the countries you’ve lived in to The Displaced Nation argot. What words do you loan us?
From Malaysia: Adding a “la” onto words and sentences: “Okay-la.”
From New Zealand: “Chur bro.” Depending on the context, it can mean “thanks,” “nice,” or “cheers, mate.”
From England: “I’m not trying to be funny, but [insert random passive aggressive insult here].”
From Scotland: Any swear word you can imagine.
From Netherlands: Gezellig, the most important word in the Dutch language. There is no real English translation, though “cosy” is sometimes used. It’s a word people use to describe a pleasant situation. Going out with friends is gezellig. Sitting around having a nice dinner with family is gezellig. Anything that gives you a nice warm fuzzy happy feeling inside can be described as gezellig. Wonderful word.

img: Nerissa Muijs at tulip fields outside Lisse, Netherlands.

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RANDOM NOMAD: Kim Andreasson, Management Consultant

5 Comments Posted by on April 14, 2011

Kim AndreassonBorn in: Sweden
Passport: Swedish
Countries lived in: Australia(Sydney): 1988-89; USA (New York and LA): 1996-2010; Vietnam (Saigon): 2010-present
Cyberspace coordinates: DAKA Advisory (business)

What made you leave your homeland in the first place?
My parents decided to travel around the world in 1988-89 and took me along for the ride. We left a snowy Sweden in December and arrived at our first destination, Los Angeles, in 72 degrees and sunshine, staying in the Hyatt on Sunset (now the Andaz West Hollywood). We explored the city’s many attractions including Disneyland and Universal Studios. I was sold and ever since, have considered LA to be the greatest city in the world. At the same time, my curiosity was piqued and I was sold on the idea of leaving something you know well for something different. I have never looked back.

Is anyone else in your immediate family a “displaced” person?
My California-born wife is now displaced as we are living in Saigon. By the way, we first met at a Swedish restaurant in Chinatown in New York City — call it displacement in microcosm.

Describe the moment when you felt the most displaced over the course of your various travels.
I’ve been fortunate to live in the kinds of cities where it’s relatively easy to blend in. But I’ve certainly experienced some memorable cultural contrasts. Soccer (what we Europeans call “football”) is a good example. During the World Cup in 2002 I was in an Irish pub on New York City’s Upper East Side at 4 a.m. watching the match between Sweden and Argentina. I believe I was the only one there watching the game. That was a really strange feeling. By contrast, during the 2009 qualifying match, the time difference was better and there were thousands of of us Swedes watching the games at a bar near Times Square in the middle of the day. This time, I thought I was in Sweden, which was also strange, in its way.

Describe the moment when you felt least displaced.
It’s a curious thing, but it’s when I leave my adopted homeland(s) that I feel especially at home in them. If you ask me my nationality in Vietnam, I’ll always say I’m Swedish. But if you ask me when I’ve just left Vietnam, I’ll say I’m Saigonese (a resident of Saigon). I was in Bangkok recently and couldn’t stop talking about how much I preferred life in Saigon. Likewise, when I lived in the U.S. and went home to Europe, I would feel more American than European during my visit.

You may bring one curiosity you’ve collected from your travels into the Displaced Nation. What’s in your suitcase?
From Australia, a boomerang, for the symbolism of always coming back. From America, a basketball because I enjoy the game and would like to continue playing it. And from Vietnam, a business suit — you can get world-class tailoring here at a very good price.

You’re invited to prepare one meal based on your travels for other Displaced Nation members. What’s on your menu?
Without a doubt, as a Swede, I am known for my guacamole. No, really. I guess because I lived in LA for so long, I came to love Mexican food. I would prepare it for you according to a classic recipe, something like:
1 tablespoon red onion
1 tablespoon cilantro
1 tablespoon jalapeno
1 avocado
2 tablespoons diced tomato
1 pinch of salt

You may add one word or expression from each of the countries you’ve lived in to The Displaced Nation argot. What words do you loan us?
From Australia: “G’day mate” — for its friendliness.
From the USA: “Awesome” — it reminds me of how globalized LA jargon has become, courtesy of Hollywood.
From Vietnam: “Ba” — and if you repeat it three times, you get a beer (333)!

img: Kim Andreasson on his way to Bến Thành Market, in Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City) — that’s if he can navigate the intersection of Le Loi, Ham Nghi, Tran Hung Dao Avenues and Le Lai Street.

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Displaced by choice, architect comes to aid of compatriots displaced by fate

Leave a comment Posted by on March 31, 2011

The word “displaced” connotes being forcibly removed from one’s home or homeland. Fleeing from war or natural disaster, displaced people have little in common with the expats we encounter at the Displaced Nation, most of whom have voluntarily chosen a life of displacement and adventure.

Japanese architect Shigeru Ban belongs in the tradition of Japanese fashion designers and other creative people who have chosen to live outside their native land, gravitating to artistic enclaves in Paris or Manhattan.

But if Ban is displaced by choice, he does not hesitate to help his countrymen who’ve been displaced by fate. When an earthquake struck Kobe in 1995, Ban was there, building emergency housing for survivors with beer-crate foundations and walls made of recycled cardboard paper tubes. (The paper tube is a Ban speciality. He got the idea of using paper tubes after observing the solidity of rolls of fax paper and experimenting with the idea for several years.)

And now Ban is in Japan again, lending a helping hand to those made homeless by the Tōhoku earthquake and tsunami. He is building simple partitions to place between families who have been evacuated to gymnasiums and other large-roof facilities. He hopes that by enjoying more privacy, they will experience greater peace of mind.

Ban prides himself on the ability to work quickly and well when the exigency of circumstances demands it. Asked in a March 24 New York Times interview to comment on why in the wake of disaster, innovative ideas designers present for shelters never get built, he said:

We don’t need innovative ideas. We just need to build normal things that can be made easily and quickly. A house is a house.

And if you’re lucky enough to land in one of Ban’s shelters, it’s a house that brings you one step closer to having a home again.

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CLASSIC EXPAT WRITING: The French as Dostoevsky Saw Them — Saul Bellow

Leave a comment Posted by on March 22, 2011

Renting an apartment in Paris was not a simple matter in 1947, but a good friend of mine, Nicolaus, had found one for us on the right bank, in a fussy building. I had brought a new Remington portable typewriter, which the landlady had absolutely demanded as a gift. She had to have the rent in dollars, too. Francs would not do. It was a steep rental. Nicolaus, however, said the apartment was worth the money. He knew Paris, and I took his word for it. Nicolaus spoke French perfectly. People from Indianapolis take to French quite naturally; I have observed this time and again. He was a perfect Frenchman, carried a pair of gloves and drove a French car. He was annoyed with me when I asked my landlady how one disposed of the garbage in this apartment. “In France,” he said to me severely, detaining me in the chilly dining-room, “no man would ask such a question. Garbage is not your concern. You are not supposed to know that garbage exists. Besides, ordures is not a nice word.”

“Oh,” I said. “I’m sorry. I suppose I shouldn’t have asked.”

The landlady now brought forth her inventaire. An amazing document! A catalogue of every object in the house, from the Chippendale chair to the meanest cup, fully and marvelously described in stiff, upright, copious letters. We started to go through the list, and moved from Madame’s room, a flapper’s boudoir of the ‘twenties, backwards to the kitchen. Madame read the description and displayed each article. “Dining room table. Style Empire. Condition excellent. Triangular scratch on left side. No other defect.” We finished in the kitchen with three lousy tin spoons.

“Ah,” said Nicolaus, “What a sense of detail the French have!”

I was less impressed, but one must respect respect itself and I did not openly disagree.

As soon as Madame left, I turned a somersault over the Chippendale chair and landed thunderously on the floor. This lightened my heart for a time, but in subsequent dealings with Madame and others in France I could not always recover my lightness of heart by such means.

Depressed and sunk in spirit, I dwelt among Madame’s works of art that cold winter of 1948. The city lay under perpetual fog and the smoke could not rise and flowed in the streets in brown and gray currents. An unnatural medicinal smell emanated from the Seine. Many people suffered from the grippe Espagnole — all diseases are apt to be of foreign origin — and many more from melancholy and bad temper. Paris is the seat of a highly developed humanity, and one thus witnesses highly developed forms of suffering there. Witnesses and sometimes, experiences. Sadness is a daily levy that civilization imposes in Paris. Gay Paris.? Gay, my foot! Mere advertising. Paris is one of the grimmest cities in the world. I do not ask you to take my word for it. Go to Balzac and Stendhal, to Zola, to Strindberg — to Paris itself. Nicolaus said the Parisians were celebrated for their tartness of character. He declared that it would be better for me to feel my way into it than to criticize it. Himself, he was a connoisseur of the Parisian temperament. I was lacking in detachment, he said. To this accusation I confessed and pleaded guilty. I was a poor visitor and, by any standard, an inferior tourist…

Click here to read the full article at The New Republic.

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