The Displaced Nation

A home for international creatives

Tag Archives: Expat interviews

In fiction and in life, this expat pursues paradise

As regular readers of The Displaced Nation will know, Pocahontas is the heroine of our blog this month. Sprightly, playful, well-featured and solicitous — unencumbered by the corrupting influences of civilization, in tune with Nature — she, and other women of her ilk, conformed to the vision Europeans held of the New World.

They were also the subject of many a European man’s romantic fantasy.

After meeting a Pocahontas, a European could brag to his friends back home that he’d found Paradise on Earth.

Flash forward almost four hundred years, and we find something similar going on with certain groups of international travelers. I speak of those who are restlessly searching for places that have yet to be touched by Western materialism and other corrupting ideas — where people lead simpler lives and are more decent.

And for male travelers, that vision usually encompasses finding their own Pocahontas: a native woman with long, dark hair, who unlike her Western sisters, still knows how to care for a man…

Mark DamaroydAgainst this background, we welcome author Mark Damaroyd to The Displaced Nation. As an expat in Thailand, Damaroyd lives — and has written about — the utopian life to which no small number of men who’ve ventured into foreign countries aspire.

His first work of fiction, published in 2010, is called Pursuit to Paradise. Described by one reviewer as a “tale of romantic intrigue that keeps the pages turning,” the novel takes place in Thailand and the UK, and centers around an Englishman’s relationship with an exotic Thai woman.

Mark Damaroyd has kindly agreed to answer some of my questions about his life and book, and about the challenges of cross-cultural relationships more generally. After that, the floor is open — be sure to chime in!

Can you tell us something about yourself?
Firstly, ML, thank you so much for your invitation to be interviewed by The Displaced Nation.

I’m English, born in Cambridge, but not lucky enough to go to university there. I spent many years in Devon, a beautiful county in Southwest England. I still sometimes miss the thatched country pubs, pasties and cider.

Bitten by the travel bug in 1968 — yes, I really am that old! — I traveled overland from England to India in a camper van. You may have heard about the “Hippie Era,” the “Make love not war” days. I was a short-haired, beardless hippie.

In those days, we got our thrills journeying as a group through countries like the former Yugoslavia, Iran and Afghanistan — so many treasured memories.

Since those days, I’ve lived and worked in Australia, Spain, Portugal and Thailand, taking periods out to sail round the world in a couple of the old passenger ships, now out of service.

Back home in 2005, I found myself jobless at an age where finding new employment was just about impossible. In the wake of failed marriages that produced three offspring, adult and doing their own thing now, I packed my bags, gave up everything in the UK and headed for Thailand, where sales jobs in the holiday industry happened to be available.

I met my Thai bride-to-be in 2007, married the next year, inherited two stepsons, now aged ten and five, and live happily in Isaan, Northeast Thailand, not far from the Laos border.

Having retired a couple of years ago, after a lifetime in sales and marketing, I decided to write Pursuit to Paradise my first published novel, released in 2010.

If I ever get the next book off the drawing board, it’ll be about an English family uprooting to make a new life in Thailand. I envision it as a comedy drama, suitable for family reading.

What made you decide to write a novel rather than a travel book about Thailand?
I’ve always enjoyed writing fiction; a couple of earlier manuscripts still sit on the shelf gathering dust. In addition, there are numerous travel books about the country. I doubt I’d find a loophole in that area.

And why did you decide on the genre of romance?
I sort of fell into that genre by accident. I started out intending to write a mildly erotic action adventure. As the characters developed, the plot veered more towards romance and relationships.

Did you have a real island in mind when creating the “paradise island” of Koh Pimaan?
The Gulf of Thailand has several islands, mostly with similar features. But, having lived on Koh Samui, I think the settings for the book resemble that island more than the rest.

Koh Samui? That’s the kind of place where supermodels go because they like the snorkeling.
It even gets Angelina Jolie popping over for tattoos!

Tell us a little more about your protagonist, Ben. To what extent is he based on your own experiences? Is there anything of you in him?
Ben is hotheaded – I created him that way. He’s also fearful of failure in business and relationships. When he finds himself in a bit of a predicament, his snap reaction hurtles him into an adventure beggaring belief. I must admit there’s a bit of myself in him.

Do you think that most Western men who go to Thailand in search of love and adventure will relate to Ben?
Some Western men who come to Thailand will relate to him. It’s a fact this country attracts men of all ages. Older men come seeking new partners, often ending up with women many years younger. The media understandably focuses on this aspect in order to achieve a bit of sensationalism. But there are also younger guys in their 20’s to 40’s who find the lifestyle, business opportunities and the local girls suit them.

And now let’s talk about the women in the book. Again, did you have any real-life models in mind for Ben’s English ex-girlfriend, Gail, and his Thai love interest, Nataya?
No, there were absolutely no real-life models for these women. I portrayed Gail as something of a nuisance purely to add drama to the story. She’s linked with another character causing headaches for Ben. Nataya can be contrasted with her best friend, Kanita: they have completely different personalities and backgrounds – essential to the story. Western men who are keen to meet Thai girls think they all have beautiful faces, long, shiny black hair, flashing white teeth and slender bodies. The girls in my book fit this description. Obviously, the nation’s females aren’t all like this!

Would it have been possible to write the same kind of novel without exploring the “steamy” side of life in Thailand including erotic moviemaking?
The story could work without mentioning the steamy side of life. To be honest, it was a late decision to introduce erotic moviemaking. I guess it occurred on a day when I felt bored with the plot! However, by adding this element, several new characters emerged that seemed to fit in nicely.

Is the sex industry integral to life in Thailand, especially as seen from the foreign perspective?
Although the glitzy nightlife is famous, Thailand has an abundance of fascinating places to visit far off the beaten track. Many tourists come purely for the history and culture.

Whom did you see as the primary audience for your book?
Originally, I aimed the book at a male readership made up of expats and those with connections or interest in Thailand. That was before I secured a publishing contract with an American company specializing in romantic fiction for women. Their marketing focused on American female readers, so we ended up with a mishmash promotion. Now the book has a new publisher in Bangkok, whose target is much the same as my initial plan.

Will the book ever be translated into Thai?
No.

How does your book compare to other Westerners’ novels about Thailand?
Over the years, many Western men have written novels concentrating almost exclusively on relationships with Thai girls. Generally, they break down into subject matter best described as Sexy Encounters, Finding My Thai Dream Girl, or Humorous/Amorous Adventures. Some authors have moved away from these well-worn genres, producing quality thrillers and mysteries, often set in Bangkok.

A number of female writers have created brilliant stories based on their own experience of life in Thailand. A fine example is Mai Pen Rai Means Never Mind, written by American Carol Hollinger back in 1965 but still relevant, with a reprint in 2000. Her honest and lively anecdotes of this exotic country and its people, and the difficulties and delights foreigners have in adjusting to life in a completely new environment, is refreshingly different.

In my book, I’ve attempted to incorporate a little sensuality, humor, action, mystery and romance. Some scenes are set in England, providing a sharply contrasting backdrop to the sunny paradise locations concealing shady goings on. A strong subplot should keep the reader guessing to the end.

This month, The Displaced Nation has been exploring Pocahontas as a symbol for cross-cultural communications and marriages. In your experience, what are the biggest sources of miscommunication between Westerners and Thais — and can you give some examples?
A huge problem arises from language barriers. Some Westerners make no effort to learn Thai, yet expect their partners to learn English – or whatever the chap’s native language happens to be. Amazingly, Thais manage to grasp passable English extremely quickly, eager to improve communication. Another source of miscommunication is lack of respect or understanding of cultural differences. In Thailand, the Buddhist religion teaches respect, love and compassion. Top of the list is respect for parents and elders. Love and compassion encompasses providing financial support should it be required at any stage in life, as well as physically taking care of parents in old age. Foreigners often misinterpret this obligation, depicting Thai women as money-grabbers. Countless numbers of girls working bars in tourist areas do so because they have no other way to earn money. Yes, it’s fair to say some do attempt to exploit Westerners. On the other hand, many Westerners take advantage, so why accuse the girls?

Finally, from your own experience, what would you say is the top challenge of an interracial, intercultural marriage, and can you recommend any coping strategies?
In the majority of Western-Thai relationships, one partner will be living in a foreign land. The ability to accept that many things are going to be a million miles removed from your own preferences, habits and requirements is essential. Your partner will need to accept that you, too, have some cultural differences. You may not want to eat rice for breakfast, and your partner may consider sausage, bacon, eggs, beans and hash browns a trifle unhealthy. If you see rising early to houseclean or pray to Buddha as unnecessary, then bury your head in the pillow and enjoy an extra hour in bed, knowing the chores are in capable hands.

Being willing to give and take, and having a genuine desire to understand a different culture, will be rewarded by firm bonding and appreciation. Never state that your own way of life is — or was — the best. We can all glean much from each other if we care to do so.

Can you sum it all up in a Native American-style proverb?
“Blending the familiar with the unfamiliar can lead to a more purposeful existence.”

img: Book cover and photo of Mark Damaroyd in Isaan.

STAY TUNED for tomorrow’s installment of our displaced fictional heroine, Libby, who has escaped from her prison of cardboard boxes and is busy exploring her new habitat of small town New England.

If you enjoyed this post, we invite you to subscribe for email delivery of The Displaced Nation. That way, you won’t miss a single issue. SPECIAL OFFER: New subscribers receive a FREE copy of “A Royally Displaced Tea.”

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RANDOM NOMAD: Jo Gan, Director of Foreign Teachers, Author & Blogger

Born in: Columbia, Missouri USA
Passport: USA
Country lived in: China (Yuyao City, Zhejiang Province): 2009-11
Cyberspace coordinates: Life Behind the Wall | Thoughts and Experiences of a Black American Woman in China (blog)

What made you leave your homeland in the first place?
I left America due to the economy. I worked in the mortgage field and when the housing market crashed, I needed to find something else to do…or be on unemployment. So I chose to take a job teaching English in China. Two years ago, I got married to a Chinese man whom I met in Yuyao. No, he wasn’t one of my students, as most people assume. I met him in a bar. He came over and asked if he could buy me a beer. We exchanged telephone numbers, and he started calling me every day, three times a day… Six months later, we were married. Yes, it was fast by most people’s standards but I’m not one to waste time — nor is he. It’s been an interesting couple of years.

Is anyone else in your immediate family displaced?
No one else in my family — except a great uncle who lived in Germany most of his life — has ever lived abroad for a long period. Some have been in the military and traveled around, but they always lived on base.

Describe the moment when you felt most displaced.
When I arrived at the airport in Shanghai — it was my very first time coming to China. My luggage had been lost, and I couldn’t communicate with anyone to tell them or report it. I felt frustrated and angry. Then once I got all the paperwork finished, I needed to take a bus to the next city. I couldn’t find the bus station, and no one could understand what I was saying. At that point, I wanted to just get back on the plane and go home.

Describe the moment when you felt least displaced.
When I went home to visit for the first time. Everything looked familiar but felt unfamiliar. I had spent a lot of time missing home, but when I finally got there, it didn’t feel right. In Yuyao, as I walk through the streets or sit in a restaurant and people recognize me, it makes me feel part of the community.

You may bring one curiosity you’ve collected from your adopted country into the Displaced Nation. What’s in your suitcase?
Wow! I guess I’d like to take a Chinese person — if you’d let me in with a companion rather than a suitcase. Yeah…the way they think and perceive things is so different from us Americans. Their ideas of “face,” status, and beauty are so alien to me that I am sometimes at a loss for words to explain it. I can’t get used to the fact that face — losing face, giving face and having face — is of the utmost importance to them. Also, their standard of beauty is so different: very white and very thin. The only way for you to get an accurate view of Chinese culture would be for me to bring a Chinese person along to explain it all to you.

You’re invited to prepare one meal based on your travels for other Displaced Nation members. What’s on the menu?
Since I live in Southeast China, the menu would have to consist of:

  • Steamed seafood. (I apologize in advance for its high salt content.)
  • Chicken feet that have been boiled and then fried.
  • Four kinds of eggs: tea eggs, thousand-year-old eggs, fried eggs with tomato, and boiled salted eggs that have been fertilized (there’s a chicken embryo inside).
  • And of course green vegetables… (By the way, the Chinese call all green leafy veggies “green vegetables.”)

For dessert we would have yangmei  (yumberry fruit), the local favorite.

And for drinks, a choice of:

You may add one word or expression from the country you’re living in to The Displaced Nation argot. What will you loan us?
I will choose Ni chifan le ma? (Have you eaten yet?). Everywhere you go in China, people greet you with Ni chifan le ma? Food is just so important to this culture. Weddings, birthdays, funerals — all of these events involve banquets lasting several hours. Everything tends to be associated with food, and there are many food idioms.

It’s Pocahontas month at The Displaced Nation, and we’re focusing on cross-cultural communications (or the lack). What would you say is the top challenge of an interracial, intercultural marriage — and can you recommend any coping techniques?
First I will say that the most challenging part of being in an intercultural marriage is the people around you. Usually, other people are more concerned about your marriage situation than you are, especially if you live in China. They tend to spend a lot of time telling you what is wrong, or can go wrong, with your marriage. They question the reasons you got married. For example, Chinese people will ask my husband if he married me to get a green card. He tells them: “We live in China, not America. How would a green card help me here?”

As for our personal relationship, we have learned to accept each other’s differences. If something one of us does bothers the other person, we compromise. For example, Chinese men have the tendency to put pork bones, chicken bones, sunflower seed shells, and fish bones directly on the dinner table when they are eating; I find this disgusting. So now we put a bowl beside my husband’s plate for him to discard these things. If you really want to make a relationship to work, any relationship, it takes respect, consideration, and a willingness to compromise.

QUESTION: Readers — yay or nay for letting Jo Gan 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 Jo — find amusing.)

img: Jo Gan hamming it up in the classroom by trying on her student’s sunglasses, taken by the student on her iPhone.

STAY TUNED for tomorrow’s installment from our displaced fictional heroine, Libby, when the Patrick family is held to ransom by an army of packing crates from their new home.

If you enjoyed this post, we invite you to subscribe for email delivery of The Displaced Nation. That way, you won’t miss a single issue. SPECIAL OFFER: New subscribers receive a FREE copy of “A Royally Displaced Tea.”

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RANDOM NOMAD: Simon Wheeler, Steel Automotives Project Leader & Former Cricketer

Born in: Aylesbury, Bucks, England
Passport: English (never ever say British!)
Countries lived in: Australia (Adelaide): 1996-98; California (Newport Beach): 2006-09; Slovakia (Plavé Vozokany): 2006-present
Cyberspace coordinates: Rambling Thoughts of Moon | Englishman’s travelling thoughts from England, California and now Slovakia, Plavé Vozokany… Ahoj !! (blog)

What made you leave your homeland in the first place?
My initial travels to Australia came through boredom of work. Having worked in a large pharmaceutical company from 17, at 24 I realized that I needed to have some new adventures. I am a firm believer that if you don’t like your current situation, change it. When I was asked to go play cricket at Grade A level for the Fulham Cricket Club in Adelaide, I packed my bags and left. Actually, I got cold feet about two weeks before I was due to leave. But then a close friend was suddenly struck ill on a Friday, and sadly died two days later. That was the kick I needed.

Is anyone else in your immediate family displaced?
My sister is now a Canadian citizen living in Vancouver. She has been away from England for over 15 years.

Describe the moment when you felt most displaced over the course of your many displacements.
Can I have two? The first occurred just after I’d gotten married to my gorgeous wife on top of Grouse Mountain in Vancouver. After the wedding, she had to go back to her job in California, while I continued waiting in Vancouver for my visa to be approved. In those three months of waiting, the uncertainty of not knowing if I would be allowed to join her made for very stressful times. We could simply have flown back to England, where a job was being held for me in the City. That would have been so easy, but that said, we have never chosen the easy option.

The other time occurred much earlier: May 24th, 1997. A very precise date, but I remember it so well. I was on the road from Melbourne to Sydney, all on my own, on my birthday, and not one person said “Happy Birthday” or even knew it was my special day.

Describe the moment when you felt least displaced.
I’d have to say right now. We moved to my wife’s homeland two years ago. The culture shock, combined my lack of language skills, was daunting at first. The people, especially her family, have been incredible, but finding a life was very tough. Since we moved here, we have both found jobs in the same company; had our first child, the adorable Matej; and are about two months away from moving into the cottage we are renovating in the village next door to Plavé Vozokany (we’ve been living here with my wife’s parents since our arrival). So, right now, I am on the verge of having all I have ever wanted. To settle into a new country takes time, a lot of time, especially one that is so different to your homeland. I still have some time to go, but with the growing family, a supportive wife, a good job, and soon my dream house, I am ticking all the right boxes.

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 England: My St George’s flag — not because I wish to be associated with rowdy football supporters but because it’s a symbol of my country that I’m very proud of.
From Australia: My Ugg boots from the open-air market in Port Adelaide. I have them on right now!
From California: My photographs from the incredible national and state parks in the Western United States: Grand Canyon, Death Valley, Zion, Bryce, Joshua Tree, Big Sur… I could go on…
From Slovakia: A bottle of homemade Slivovica, a plum brandy strong enough to blow your socks off!

You’re invited to prepare one meal based on your travels for other Displaced Nation members. What’s on the menu?
Whoa, that’s tough… But let me try. To start, we’d have fresh prawns and seafood from Australia. As my main, I’d offer my Mum’s Christmas dinner: turkey, sausages and bacon, Brussels sprouts, veggies galore, roast potatoes, cranberries, stuffing… And if there’s still room, I’d throw in some sushi from Masa Sushi, a tiny, simple, dirty-looking place off 19th Street and Habour in Costa Mesa, California — the host/chef really knows what he’s doing. For dessert, we’d have fresh, homemade cream cakes from my mother-in-law here in Slovakia. It would all be washed down with an Australian white, a pint of Coopers (Southern Australian beer), and a couple of shots of Slivovica.

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: Beauty (said in a heavy Aussie accent). It’s used all the time — but most especially on the cricket fields, after a player hits a good shot or the bowler gets a wicket.
From England“In England’s green and pleasant land…” We sang “Jerusulem” at my wedding and on many drunken occasions. It always takes me home…
From California: Awesome — but I’d advise that you restrict the usage to things that are truly awesome; otherwise, it loses its meaning. That pair of shoes is AWESOME; that TV show is AWESOME; You are AWESOME — no! The Grand Canyon is awesome — yes!

It’s Pocahontas month at The Displaced Nation, and we’re focusing on cross-cultural communications (or the lack). By living in your wife’s country, do you find that you’re relying on her to serve as your “interpreter” for Slovakian language and culture? Does this place a special stress on the marriage, and if so, how do the two of you cope with it?
Yes, it definitely does. When you go away on holiday and do, say, exploratory grocery shopping, it’s all a bit of fun trying to cope, but when you actually move to the country it’s totally different. So many things to sort out: banks, mortgages, identity cards, driving license — the list is endless. And she has to do all of this. Even if I have to make a trip to the doctor’s, she has to come. When you are sitting there having two people discuss your health, and you cannot understand what they’re saying, it’s very stressful. As I mentioned earlier, we are renovating an old Slovak cottage. But to communicate with all the different workers and tradesmen, again, she has to do it all… You can imagine what a workload she carries for this project, and the uselessness I feel in not being able to help her.

Our relationship, like so many others, works because one of us takes the lead, and in our case, that happens to be her. Imagine Monica Geller from Friends — well, that is my wife. She likes to be in control. Even when we were living in America, she was in charge. So for us, with some blips, it does work. But whenever I want to do things — relieve her of some of her workload and stress — it’s a struggle. My Slovak is improving, but it is not good enough to cope with these kinds of demands. It’s a very tough language, and at 40, I am a poor student.

QUESTION: Readers — yay or nay for letting Simon Wheeler 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 Simon — find amusing.)

img: Simon participating in the traditional slaughter of pigs that occurs in his Slovakian village every year. His comment: “Most village families rear a couple of pigs every year for this purpose. The custom was new to me, and I didn’t like the idea — never ever thought I’d be doing this kind of thing! But it does mean you can fill your freezer with good quality, home-bred meat and sausages, and I’ve gotten used to it.”

STAY TUNED for tomorrow’s installment from our displaced fictional heroine, Libby, who encounters her very first 4th of July celebrations.

If you enjoyed this post, we invite you to subscribe for email delivery of The Displaced Nation. That way, you won’t miss a single issue. SPECIAL OFFER: New subscribers receive a FREE copy of “A Royally Displaced Tea.”

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RANDOM NOMAD: Vicki Jeffels, blogger, freelance writer & social media consultant

Vicki JeffelsBorn in: Auckland, New Zealand
Passport: New Zealand (only, and proud of it!)
Countries lived in: Fiji Islands (Vatukoula): 1973-77; Australia (Brisbane): 1996-98; England (Tadley, Hampshire): 2008-present
Cyberspace coordinates: Vegemite Vix | A Kiwi expat in the UK licking the Vegemite off life’s fingers (blog); Digital Discussions (start-up consultancy)

What made you leave your homeland in the first place?
I first became an expat at the tender age of 3.5, when my family moved to the Fijian Islands for my father’s work: he had a contract with the Emperor Gold Mines in Vatukoula. I have wonderful memories of expat life as a child. The days were honeyed with heat, we munched sugar cane off the back of the cane truck, and we swam with the tropical fish through the intricate coral reef. Of course, a child’s experience is so very different from an adult’s, and now I’m a parent, I’m more aware of the challenges my parents faced — which included being robbed, almost being airlifted out in civil unrest, and sheltering under the house during the monstrous Hurricane Bebe in 1972.

I moved overseas again — to Brisbane, Australia — with my first husband in 1996, with a two year old and two-week-old baby in tow. On reflection, that wasn’t brilliant timing. We struggled to make a home for ourselves particularly as my (then) husband was working in Perth, an eight-hour flight away — leaving me to cope on my own in a new country with two babies. I did it, though. I made friends through the children’s networks and found work for myself — until two years later, when my husband was suddenly made redundant and we limped back to New Zealand with our tails between our legs.

My most recent expat adventure started on a holiday in Paris in 2007 when I met a rather scrumptious Englishman. We chatted, we flirted, we kept in touch long after we’d returned home — and our long-distance relationship soon blossomed. A year later, I packed up my three kids (two teens and a tweenie), dog, cat and 20 boxes of books and moved to Hampshire to live with my Englishman. After a romantic engagement atop Mt Hellvellyan (yes, he made me climb a mountain to get the engagement ring!), we married in his village church in North Yorkshire in 2009.  I’ve written about our story on my blog and am currently writing it up as a memoir — hopefully coming to a bookstore near you, shortly.

Is anyone else in your immediate family displaced?
All of my immediate family currently live outside of New Zealand. My mother, father and sister all live in Australia, but I wouldn’t say they are “displaced.” They are all happy living there and hold Australian passports, and my mother is an Australian by birth.

Describe the moment when you felt most displaced over the course of your many displacements.
When I found myself standing in front of the judge at the Asylum and Immigration Tribunal in London three weeks after our wedding, having swapped my wedding bouquet for brickbats from the UK Border Agency, as they probed and prodded and demanded to find fault with our story. Standing there pleading to stay in the UK with my husband and kids — when everything in my body was screaming “Get me out of here!” and “Get me home!” — was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. It was dissonant not only because we were newly married — and I longed to go home and celebrate with my friends and family but had been restricted from leaving the country — but also because I’m the archetypical “good girl” who has barely ever had a parking ticket. What was I doing standing in front of a judge being cross-examined by solicitors? It was scary stuff and deeply disturbing — as if the entire nation wanted me to just leave. It was the final straw after a year’s worth of feeling displaced — of saying the wrong thing and being laughed out of the room, and of breaking unwritten rules of conduct in the supermarket that resulted in an elderly woman throwing limes at me! Who knew there were rules about how and when you should put your shopping on the checkout counter?

Describe the moment when you felt least displaced.
This is a telling question, because although I’ve had some great times whilst living here in England, I can’t say that I’ve ever experienced feeling “at home.” My most recent trip Down Under highlighted for me how displaced I truly feel living in the UK, and how exhausting it can be spending one’s days trying to “fit in.” It was wonderful to have a break from explaining myself all day every day. It doesn’t help that I moved from an upmarket suburb of a large seaside multicultural city, to a parochial town in the English countryside. I wonder if I would feel more at home in London where there is a far more multicultural vibe? At times I wonder about moving again, perhaps to the US or Australia. (Is it itchy feet, or failure to fit in, that’s behind those feelings?)

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 Fiji: A frangipani flower. We used to make them into wreaths when I was a child. The smell reminds me of the South Pacific and makes me smile.
From New Zealand (which, though home, is now something of a foreign country): A pāua shell to remind me of the ocean and the beautiful Kiwi beaches.
From Australia: A boomerang because it will remind me that there is always a home behind me as well as in front of me.
From England:St George’s cross to remind me that I too can fight and defeat the dragons.

You’re invited to prepare one meal based on your travels for other Displaced Nation members. What’s on the menu?
I hope you like seafood! For starters I’ve prepared a Fijian raw fish meal called kokoda, which is “cooked” in coconut milk and lime juice. It’s divine. On the side there’s a dozen Bluff oysters from New Zealand. For mains we’ll have barbequed prawns, Moreton Bay bugs (Australia), and good quality pork sausages (British). We’d probably toast the meal with a New Zealand champenoise and down the sausages with a Margaret River Shiraz.

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 Fiji: Bula — one of those indispensable words. It means “hello” and “thank you” and “How are you?” and “See you later” and “Good luck.” In fact, it’s a phonetic smile.
From New Zealand: Wopwops, meaning out in the bush away from everyone and everything else, preferably where there is no mobile signal and Internet. We all need to lose ourselves in the wopwops from time to time.
From Australia: Barbie — colloquial for barbecue, or BBQ. Particularly when eaten outside in the glorious fresh air and sunshine, with sand between your toes and the sound of the surf crashing on the beach, a barbie is one of the finest meals you can have.
From England: Bless — because the English have a way of saying it that sounds nice but is really derogatory. It’s so English to hear someone recount the story about how they did something stupid, and have the listener respond with “Bless” — really meaning “You moron!” I offer it to The Displaced Nation as a reminder of the need to master some of the local lingo, without which you’ll have a tough time understanding the folkgeist of the country you’re in.

It’s Alice in Wonderland month at The Displaced Nation. In closing, can you tell us your worst “Pool of Tears” moment, when you wondered, how did I end up in such a predicament and will I ever escape?
It, too, occurred during my struggles with the UK immigration authorities. Having moved to the UK to be with my Englishman, I was awaiting a valid work visa so was restricted from working. At the same time, my ex stopped paying child support. As we were struggling financially, I was stuck at home feeling terribly isolated. One day I received the news that I had been served with a deportation order and had 28 days to leave the country and return to NZ with my three children. I collapsed in tears, wondering how on earth I was ever going to afford going back to NZ where I no longer had property or anywhere to go. My savings had been eaten away by legal fees, and I had no income. I felt utterly dispossessed. In the end, we won the appeal against the deportation — my most displaced moment — and I was granted a valid visa, after which I regained the self-confidence I feared had been lost in transit.

Like Alice, did you encounter a Mouse who helped you ashore?
My Mouse would have to be the first friend I made in my English town after living here for almost two years. All that time I would cheerily smile hello at strangers — and they’d run away as if I were brandishing a knife. I was bitterly lonely and would live for Facebook chats with the many friends I’d left in New Zealand. Finally, on the school sports day I met an Englishwoman who had relatively recently returned from expat adventures in Canada. We bonded over our shared status as outsiders in a town where the majority of local people have family connections back through several generations. I refer to her as Strawberry Munchkin in my blog and am so very grateful for her friendship. I think of her as an honorary Kiwi.

QUESTION: Readers — yay or nay for letting Vicki Jeffels 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 Vicki — find amusing.)

img: Vicki Jeffels, taken in the UK for use on her blog.

STAY TUNED for tomorrow’s installment from our displaced fictional heroine, Libby.

If you enjoyed this post, we invite you to subscribe for email delivery of The Displaced Nation. That way, you won’t miss a single issue. SPECIAL OFFER: New subscribers receive a FREE copy of “A Royally Displaced Tea.”

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RANDOM NOMAD: Helena Halme, Book Seller, Fashion Addict & Writer

Born in: Tampere, Finland
Passport: Finnish (only, and proud of it!)
Countries lived in: Sweden (Stockholm): 1971-74; Finland (Turku): 1975; Finland (Helsinki): 1975-84; England (Portsmouth): 1984-86, 1988; England (Plymouth): 1987; England (Wiltshire): 1989-2010; England (London): 2011-present
Cyberspace coordinates: Helena’s London Life | A Nordic view on style, fashion, art, literature, food and love in the city (blog)

What made you leave your homeland in the first place?
I left Finland for the first time as a 10-year-old with my family due to my father’s work, then moved back again for the same reason. And then I left Finland for good to marry my English husband. I’ve written 48 blog posts — soon to be a Kindle book called The Englishman — about how I came to be in England.

Is anyone else in your immediate family displaced?
My father is the only member of the family who still lives in Finland. My mother lives in Stockholm (she is remarried), and my sister lives also in Sweden (she married a Swedish man). Oh dear, that makes it sound as though we are are very man-dependent women, but I can assure you we’re strong and independent — really.

Describe the moment when you felt most displaced over the course of your many displacements.
I felt most displaced when I moved back to Finland at the age of 14. I didn’t want to leave Stockholm and felt completely alien in my home country. Since then I haven’t really felt at home anywhere. Although the two countries are divided only by the Baltic Sea, Finland was — and still is to a certain extent — a very different country to Sweden. The Finnish language is notoriously difficult, and in those days the culture was heavily influenced by Finland’s proximity to Russia (then the Soviet Union). Having lived in the very Western European city of Stockholm for three years, I saw my home country as being part of the Eastern bloc (even though it most certainly wasn’t). The radio played little pop music, and the TV was full of political broadcasts and dark plays about the struggle of the working classes. Western films took longer to arrive, and most people seemed dull and depressing. Nobody smiled and they all dressed in old-fashioned clothes. There seemed to be nothing you could buy in the shops. My sister and I would take the ferry across to Stockholm for many years afterwards — and wow our friends with the H&M clothes we brought back.

Describe the moment when you felt least displaced.
Once I had my children in the UK, I felt I belonged much more — although I took care to make sure they knew they were half-Finnish. To this day, we combine Finnish and English customs: have two Christmases, grow special grass for Easter called rairuoho, and so on… No particular moment stands out in my head where I’ve felt especially at home — yet! That said, the move to London last year has given me an even greater sense of belonging… Perhaps that’s it; perhaps it happened just this year, when we moved to Northwest London?

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 Finland (even though it’s my homeland, it remains somewhat foreign): A Finnish knife (puukko).
From Sweden: A slice of the traditional Swedish cake known as Prinsesstårta.
From England: BBC Radio 4.

You’re invited to prepare one meal based on your travels for other Displaced Nation members. What’s on the menu?
I love food and don’t think I’ve changed my tastes all that much since coming to the UK. Thus my menu for The Displaced Nation is mostly Scandinavian but with one concession to British tastes. (These days, of course, you can get almost any foodstuffs from Finland in London. Bless this multicultural city!)

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 Sweden: Fy fan (bloody hell), because it just sounds right for a sense of frustration.
From Finland: Kippis (cheers) — it sounds like “get pissed” to an Englishman’s ears.
From the UK: That’s very interesting… The person who utters these words is usually dying of boredom. (A typical English white lie…)

A statement on your blog’s Home Page strikes us as being very Alice-like: “Rye bread not toast, pickled herring not fish & chips, cinnamon buns not Victoria sponge, ice-hockey not football, wander in a forest not walk in a park, silence not polite conversation.” Does the Alice-in-Wonderland story speak to the life you’ve led in the UK?
In England I’ve always felt as if I were the largest person in the room, particularly against the slight “English roses” — just as Alice did when she entered Wonderland. When I first arrived in this country, I’d often recall the words of the Queen of Hearts to Alice at the trial: “All persons more than a mile high must leave the court.”

QUESTION: Readers — yay or nay for letting Helena Halme 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 Helena — find amusing.)

img: Helena Halme’s self-portrait on the number 13 bus. As Halme explained in a blog post last month, the No 13 featured in the British TV series On the Buses, which was broadcast on Finnish TV in the 1970s and was an early influence on her view of men in England. Also please note that Halme’s hair in this picture owes to her own efforts; she hadn’t yet discovered the Brazilian blow dry.

STAY TUNED for tomorrow’s installment from our displaced fictional heroine, Libby, who is debating whether Woodhaven, Massachusetts, is really the picture-perfect Wonderland it seemed at first sight. (She also meets a realtor who is most decidedly a Red Queen…)

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RANDOM NOMAD: Piglet in Portugal, Award-Winning Expat Blogger

Born in: Harrow, England
Passport(s): British
Country lived in: Portugal Has had a house there from 2006-present
Cyberspace coordinates: Piglet in Portugal (blog)

What made you leave your homeland in the first place?
Although we left the UK primarily due to health reasons, we were also in search of a better quality of life. The jobsworth* culture and the “health and safety” people, plus the PC Brigade**, were slowly driving us mad; we no longer had the right to exercise common sense any more than we were capable of making our own decisions. Yes, Mr Jobsworth, we know if we stand by the edge of a cliff we could fall off it. Or if we go out in the rain, we are likely to get wet. There appeared to be a whole army of people telling us what to do and what to think! England is not nicknamed the Nanny State*** for nothing!
* Jobsworth: A person in a position of minor authority who invokes the letter of the law in order to avoid any action requiring initiative, cooperation, etc.
** PC Brigade: Politically correct brigade.
*** Nanny State: A government that makes decisions for people that they might otherwise make for themselves, especially those relating to private and personal behavior.

Is anyone else in your immediate family displaced?
Our daughter moved to Lyon in France with her ice dance partner when she was just 15 years old to rain with a world-famous ice dance coach. When she gave up skating ten years ago, she met her French husband-to-be and remained in France. They have just had their first child — our first grandchild.

Describe the moment when you felt most displaced over the course of your many displacements.
I am unable to pinpoint the exact moment I felt “displaced” — it was more, shall we say, “moments” which gradually crept up on me over time. Language is a huge problem, and despite my valiant efforts to learn Portuguese, I have failed miserably. I’ve spent thousands of euros on private lessons, studied hard, but am still unable to converse properly in Portuguese. I’ve had to accept I am not a natural linguist and have resigned myself to doing the best I can. (No, I do not need any more lectures as to “you have to learn the language to integrate.” I have really tried.) Because of this failure, I now know what it feels like to be in a room full of people and feel totally alone — almost as if the room were empty or you were invisible. You are there in body but not in mind; simply a spectator. This is really difficult for me as I am gregarious by nature and a natural “chatterbox.” I am sure there are many expats out there who can relate… I am also a real foodie and, apart from desserts and cakes, am not that keen on Portuguese food…

Actually, you have made me stop and think again about this question.

Perhaps the moment I actually felt “displaced” was when our first grandchild was born recently in France. We also have another grandchild due in September, but in the UK. My first thoughts were: do we relocate to France or the UK? We have no family in Portugal so why stay here? I have begun to feel restless.

Describe the moment when you felt least displaced.
I have always felt at home in Portugal, despite language difficulties and a cuisine that is rather “basic” for my tastes. I have never tried to change anything: e.g., protest against bullfighting or insist our local snack bar serves fish and chips or curry. I accept life as it is.

You may bring one curiosity you’ve collected from the country where you’ve lived into the Displaced Nation. What’s in your suitcase?
My curiosity item would have to be bacalhau. It is dried salted cod fish and a long-time favorite with the Portuguese. I wrote a blog post about it.

You’re invited to prepare one meal based on your travels for other Displaced Nation members. What’s on the menu?
It’s a struggle for me to find Portuguese recipes I like. Most of the restaurants here in the Algarve serve up very much the same dishes: chicken piri-piri, sardines or grilled fish and meats served with salad and chips, etc. “Dish of the Day” offers other variations, but as I do not like snails, the “unmentionable” parts of animals or beans, this means the choice of food is often limited. But here goes:
Piglet’s Menu for The Displaced Nation

  • Calde de Verde (Portuguese Cabbage Soup)
  • Carne de Porco a Alentejana (Pork with Clams) [See recipe.]
  • A selection of Portuguese cheeses and crusty bread
  • Molotof — a light dessert made with egg whites. [Watch video.]

You may add one word or expression from the country you’ve lived in to The Displaced Nation argot. What word do you loan us?
My first instinct is to loan you leitão, which means “piglet” in Portuguese. My husband and I went out to lunch soon after we arrived in Portugal, and I thought I’d ordered roast pork. It turned out to be suckling pig! Hmmmm it made my trotters twitch! Mental note — I need to be more careful in translating the menu in future. Porco is pork. But perhaps it would be more in keeping for me to loan you the first Portuguese word I learned: bonita. It means beautiful.

Alice meets many curious animals when she ventures into Wonderland, including a piglet at one point. We’re curious (and curiouser!): why have you chosen the piglet moniker, avatar, and doppelgänger
Because I adore pigs. I would love to keep Vietnamese pot-bellied pigs if we had a large garden. I was nearly tempted to buy a little pig a few months ago at the local market until my head ruled my heart and common sense kicked in. Awww, but it was so cute! Some people love dogs. With me it is pigs.

QUESTION: Readers — yay or nay for letting Piglet in Portugal 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 Piglet — find amusing.)

STAY TUNED for tomorrow’s installment from our displaced fictional heroine, Libby. Kate Allison has assured us it will contain some more Alice in Wonderland references — but will there be any piglets? Curiouser and curiouser, I think you’ll agree…

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RANDOM NOMAD: Balaka Basu, Ph.D. Student in English Literature

Born in: New York City, USA
Passport(s): USA
Countries lived in: India (New Delhi): 1981, 1987-89, 1991, 2003-04; Italy (Rome): 2002
Cyberspace coordinates: The Society of Friends of the Text (collaborative blog)

What made you leave your homeland in the first place?
I’ve inherited displacement from my parents, who moved (individually) to the United States from India for graduate studies and sort of never left. They made periodic attempts to pick up stakes and move back, taking me with them, but these never lasted for more than a year at a time. My childhood left me feeling like a person without a homeland, always living between worlds, never quite belonging anywhere.

Describe the moment when you felt most displaced over the course of your many displacements.
As a child, it used to be while saying — or rather, in my case, not saying — the Pledge of Allegiance at morning assemblies. Now, every so often, out of nowhere, I’ll have this weird sense of wanting to go “home” and smell the jasmine and the honeysuckle, and the smoky, pungent mustard oil, and have someone bring me a glass of freshly pressed pomegranate juice.

Describe the moment when you felt least displaced.
This is a difficult question because the land of my birth is sort of my adopted homeland. I was born in the United States — but was taken back to India when I was 28 days old. My first language is not English, but I can neither read nor write in Bengali. I’m pretty much always feeling displaced. However, I’ve got the subway map of New York tattooed on my heart, and it’s always been the place I’ve come back to. I love coming into the city early in the morning from points east and watching the rose-gold light of the sunrise reflecting back from the million glass windows. And one of the things I loved about Rome is that it felt a bit like Calcutta — a city also caught between two worlds, displaced all on its own.

You may bring one curiosity you’ve collected from the country where you’ve lived into the Displaced Nation. What’s in your suitcase?
From India: A beaten copper sculpture of a woman bathing, a gift from my father.
From New York: A poster of the New Yorker cover “View of the World from Ninth Avenue,” by the Romanian-born American cartoonist Saul Steinberg. It depicts the supposedly limited mental geography of Manhattanites.
From Rome: A copy of Bernini’s marble baby elephant.

You’re invited to prepare one meal based on your travels for other Displaced Nation members. What’s on the menu?
Llish (a fish only available in India/Bengal) in mustard and chili paste, which has been smoked in banana leaves; rice; green mangoes in oil; and for dessert, by way of Rome, blackberry gelato and an espresso.

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 India: Arbit, short for arbitrary, used as slang in India. Whenever I hear Indian people say “arbit,” it reminds me that English is one of their national languages, too, and has evolved in a distinct and separate way.
From Italy: Prego: the indispensable word! How can you not like a word that means “if you please,” “you’re welcome,” “excuse me,” “would you mind if I walked in front of you,” and so on. You can say it any time, and it will almost never be wrong. How economical!
From New York (which I think is fair to include even though it’s my birthplace): I’ve got to go with the unprintable expletive here. When I go other places, it’s terribly difficult to remember that curse words aren’t universally accepted as terms of endearment.

This month The Displaced Nation is celebrating Alice in Wonderland as a literary analogue for disorientation and displacement. Upon entering Wonderland, Alice commits many social blunders, as when telling Mouse all about her cat, Dinah. Can you describe an instance where you inadvertently offended someone in one of your adopted lands?
Well, there was this one time when I met an astrologer in New Delhi, who apparently used to read the stars for a previous prime minister. I asked how anyone in the civilized world could take these things seriously. But I’m not sure that was exactly … inadvertent.

QUESTION: Readers — yay or nay for letting Balaka Basu 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 Balaka — find amusing.)

img: Balaka Basu by Edie Nugent, taken in Edie’s Manhattan apartment.

STAY TUNED for tomorrow’s installment from our displaced fictional heroine Libby — and see if you can spot the Alice references!

If you enjoyed this post, we invite you to subscribe for email delivery of The Displaced Nation. That way, you won’t miss a single issue. SPECIAL OFFER: New subscribers receive a FREE copy of “A Royally Displaced Tea.”

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RANDOM NOMAD: Jack Scott, Former Bureaucrat & Soon to Be Published Author

Born in: Canterbury, England
Passport(s): British with official Turkish Residency
Countries lived in: Malaysia (Malacca): 1967-1969; Turkey (Bodrum): 2010-present
Cyberspace coordinates: Perking the Pansies | A comical narrative of expat life (blog)

What made you leave your homeland in the first place?
I moved to Bodrum in Turkey with my civil partner, Liam. I was a petty bureaucrat for 30 years gently ascending a career ladder to middle management, middle income and a middling London suburban terrace; comfortable, secure and passionately dissatisfying. We thought it high time to take a break from our labors, put our feet up and watch the pansies grow while we were young enough to enjoy it.

Is anyone else in your immediate family a “displaced” person?
My father more or less ran away from home when he was 16 to join the army. If he hadn’t, he probably would have ended up down a mine or in a factory (the days when Britain had such things). He (and then we) traveled widely — to Northern Ireland, where he met and married my mother and where my eldest brother was born; then on to Germany, where my second brother was born and contracted polio; then on to Malaya (before independence), where my elder sister was born; then back to England (Canterbury), where I was born. Our family then moved to Pimlico, in Central London, living in a barracks that is now the Chelsea School of Art(!). Finally, we went to Malaysia, where my younger sister was born. In Malaysia, we lived in a large, self-contained complex on the coast near Malacca called Terendak Camp. The camp had been built along miles of golden sands overlooking the Malacca Straights for army personnel and their families from Britain and across the Commonwealth — we shared it with Aussies, Kiwis and a few people from Malta. It was all very colonial, unimaginable today. I also seem to remember Dad traveling on his own to Cyprus, Aden (in Yemen), and Egypt. He died some years ago. Maybe I’ll write something about him one day…

Describe the moment when you felt most displaced over the course of your many displacements.
It was right here in Bodrum. We were spited by a storm of Biblical proportions that was punctured by a spectacular light-and-sound show that lit up the sopping sky and cut the power. Prodigious pulses of horizontal rain assailed every crack and cranny of our house, through every easterly window frame and beneath every threshold. It was freezing, so Liam and I hid under the duvet and fought over the hot water bottle. All Turkish houses leak, have no insulation and precious little heating. Of course, it rains in England, too — but not like that. Now, that’s not in the guidebooks and travelogues.

Describe the moment when you felt least displaced.
Liam and I were chuffed when our Turkish neighbors invited us over for dinner. Our grasp of Turkish remains lamentably poor and their English is virtually non-existent — but they made us feel very welcome and the food was delicious. There was much waving of hands and furious gesticulation. We used a Turkish-English dictionary to chuck random words into the conversation just for the hell of it. Turks are blessed with an honorable tradition of hospitality long abandoned in the West. In London I hardly knew my neighbors.

You may bring one curiosity you’ve collected from the country where you’ve lived into the Displaced Nation. What’s in your suitcase?
I was very young when I lived in Malaysia. I haven’t been back since though would love to. Sadly, I’ve kept nothing from those distant days. As for Turkey, our prized possession is the fragment of an ancient Ionian capital in our garden. It’s a bit heavy to put in a suitcase, and I’d be arrested if tried. Turkey is an incredible land where history lies casually underfoot.

You’re invited to prepare one meal based on your travels for other Displaced Nation members. What’s on the menu?
Turkish cuisine is up there with the best in the world. I would offer a meze plate of tasty Turkish fare using the best produce from the local market seasoned with exotic herbs and spices you just can’t get at Sainsburys. My guests would be offered:

  • roasted aubergine blended with garlic puree; artichoke hearts with herb dressing, peas and lemons
  • seaweed with a tangy vinaigrette
  • vine leaves stuffed with spiced rice
  • sauteed beans with olive oil and tomatoes
  • white cheese with olives drizzled in olive oil and garnished with oregano
  • finally, the ubiquitous but delicious sigara borek – shallow, fried, cigar-shaped mixed-cheese pastries.

It makes my mouth water just thinking about it. Yours?

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?
Avustralyalılaştıramadıklarımızdanmışsınızcasına. This is a Turkish term pronounced as a single word and an extreme example of agglutination, the process of adding affixes to the base of a word. This word translated into English means “as if you were one of those whom we could not make resemble the Australian people.” Though rhythmic and poetic on the ear, Turkish is not an easy language for Europeans to assimilate as it is thought to belong to the Altaic language family and is distantly related to Mongolian, Korean and other inscrutable Asiatic tongues. Despite Atatürk’s valiant 1928 adoption of the Latin alphabet and the fact that the language is phonetic and mostly regular, the word order, agglutinations and the absence of familiar sounds all conspire to make learning Turkish a very daunting prospect. I’ve chosen it specially for The Displaced Nation to torture, to amuse and to remind everyone how completely hopeless many of us — particularly native English speakers — are with foreign tongues.

Question: Readers — yay or nay for letting Jack Scott 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 Jack — find amusing.)

img: Pencil sketch of Jack Scott by a local Turkish artist

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RANDOM NOMAD: Emily Cannell, Housewife & Mother

Born in: Houston, Texas
Passport(s): USA
States/countries lived in: Pennsylvania (Philadelphia): 1989-1990, 1993-1997, 1999-2004, 2006-2010; Louisiana (New Orleans): 1990-1993; Washington (Seattle): 1997-1999; Arizona (Scottsdale): 2004-2006; Japan (Tokyo): 2010-present
Cyber coordinates: Hey from Japan — Notes on Moving (blog)

What made you leave your homeland in the first place?
My husband’s company offered him a job in Japan. We were living near Philadelphia at the time, our fourth “tour of duty” in that city. We jumped at the chance to go somewhere new — location wasn’t that important. Unlike most citizens of the Displaced Nation, I’d never lived overseas. I should point out, though, that in the American vernacular “expat” is often used to describe a person who moves beyond a 50-mile radius from where they were born. By that standard, I’ve long been considered an expat, with Louisiana, Texas, Alabama, Florida, Pennsylvania, Arizona, and Washington state on my resume. At one point, back in the days when I was working as a jack-of-all-trades in the pharmaceuticals industry, I commuted to New Jersey — which in dog years counts as exile in Siberia.

Is anyone else in your immediate family a “displaced” person?
My father is a displaced Canadian living in the US. Does that count? Seriously, he was born in Edmonton, Alberta. After attending medical school, he left to do his residency, internship, and fellowships in the US, which had more cutting-edge techniques and offered more advanced studies than the Canadian system. Eventually, he became too involved in academia to return to Canada, although he still goes back and forth.

Describe the moment when you felt most displaced over the course of your many displacements.
It probably won’t surprise you when I say that the earthquake on March 11th produced one of the worst feelings of displacement — literal as well as psychological — I’ve ever experienced. I was in a small grocery store in Tokyo at the time, trying to read the back of a ready-mix pancake box. The rest of the boxes on the shelves started falling on me, and I could hear glass breaking as wine bottles fell to the floor. The other shoppers, who were mostly Japanese housewives, and I made a beeline for the door. As we reached the street, I saw a man holding on to a street lamp that was swaying back and forth, the top almost touching the ground at my feet. I remember thinking: “These 40-year-old buildings are going to fall on top of me. Where do I go to stay alive?” I headed toward the intersection, stumbling as I went — it was like running on a trampoline with someone else jumping on it. Once I reached the middle of the intersection, I stood there watching and saying nothing while vending machines crashed down, plants fell off balconies, and bikes toppled over. In that moment, I wondered how my biggest worry went from driving car pool on time, to staying alive so I could find my family — alive or dead. (Fortunately, they were all safe.)

Describe the moment when you felt least displaced.
One activity that remains consistent no matter where we live is the kids’ participation in track. Since track meets are an all-day event, my husband and I pitch tent and settle in as though we were on a campsite. This year, just like every other, we hammered in the stakes, opened the cooler, and fed or watered every kid on the track team. And our kids referred to us as “Mr. and Mrs. Noddin’” — not our real names.

You may bring one curiosity you’ve collected from the country where you’ve lived into the Displaced Nation. What’s in your suitcase?
I’ve been toying with the idea of bringing a ninja for their home security value, but once gunpowder was introduced to Japan, the profession went into decline. Besides, the poor man might suffocate if he had to be packed in my suitcase. So instead I’ll carry in these wonderful carved wooden fish I discovered in a Tokyo antique shop. Two fish are looped together with ropes to which big hooks are attached — ideal for hanging pots in the kitchen.

Speaking of the kitchen: you’re invited to prepare one meal based on your travels for other Displaced Nation members. What’s on the menu?
I can make a mean plate of fried green tomatoes, fried okra, collards, corn bread, fried chicken, and black eyed peas. To that I’ll add two dishes that are popular in the Western U.S.: 1) grilled salmon on a plank and 2) fajitas with homemade guacamole. For starters, there will be a choice of Louisiana gumbo (for which I’m famous) and tuna sashimi with ponzu sauce — yes, I’m learning how to “cook” Japanese! Please note that I haven’t chosen to include any of the traditional Amish-country foods despite my many years as a Pennsylvania resident. I can’t make any of the good stuff, and the bad stuff — especially scrapple (pon haus) — is really bad. Residents of The Displaced Nation should not be eating pork scraps if they can avoid it — though I understand your numbers include a dog named Fergus? But dogs are rather spoiled nowadays, and I suspect Fergus may turn his nose up, too.

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 the South: Hey. It’s the most common greeting. By adopting this term, you’ll have an easy way of knowing if someone is an outsider. Do they say “hello” or “hi”? Then they’re not from these parts.
From Pennsylvania: Goomba, meaning a male friend. Use it often, and it will detract the kinds of visitors you don’t want.
From the Southwest: Ride ’em hard and put ’em away wet — referring, of course, to how one rides a horse. My husband and I approach parenting in a similar manner.
From Louisiana: Le bon ton roule! Cajun for “Let the good times roll!”
From Washington state: Chinook — a type of salmon. You gotta know your salmon (also true in Japan, of course).
From Japan: So desu ne — meaning “Oh, is that so?” It’s a way of showing that you’re listening when the other person is talking — and I suspect that some Displaced Nation citizens could use some help in that department. I mean, all of us expats want to tell our stories, but how much do we want to listen?

Question: Readers, tell us what you think: should we welcome Emily Cannell to The Displaced Nation and if so, why? (Note: It’s fine to vote “no” as long as you couch your reasoning in terms we all — Emily included — find amusing.)

img: Emily Cannell deciding whether to put her carrier bags down and use the facilities in Tokyo’s Harajuku station.

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RANDOM NOMAD: Charlotte Day, High School Student (Sixth Former)

Born in: Sydney, Australia
Passports: Australia, UK and US Green Card
Countries lived in: Australia (Sydney): 1994-2001; United States (New York, New York): 2001-2010; England (Sevenoaks, Kent): 2010-present

What made you leave your homeland in the first place?
My father is Australian and my mother English. They split up when I was two. When I was six, my mother met and married an Australian who had been living in New York for thirty years. I was rather disgruntled about moving to the United States and for two or three years, remained determined never to accept it as “home.” At that time, I was deeply patriotic to my native country — though this sentiment has dissipated since.

Is anyone else in your immediate family a “displaced” person?
My mother’s family, originally from England, has long been displaced. My mother herself was born in Kenya, in 1961. Following the Mau Mau Uprising, her parents were forced to relocate, and my grandfather, presented with a choice between Australia and Canada, chose the warmer of the two countries. My mother spent her childhood bouncing between schools in England and Australia. She eventually grew so fed up with packing and unpacking, she decided to leave school at the age of 16. Her father agreed to the plan provided she spend a final year at the school in Switzerland his own mother had attended as a girl. My mother moved on from Swiss finishing school to work in London, Paris and Sydney. But she appears to have made New York her last port of call. Indeed, we had a fairly solid life in the city until I decided to take myself off to boarding school in England.

Describe the moment when you felt most displaced over the course of your many displacements.
It must have been when I first arrived in New York as a six-year-old. I stepped out of the JFK arrivals terminal into a snowy March night. My stepfather was wearing a leather coat, the interior of his car smelled of leather — and the world outside the car window seemed an undulating stream of black and silver. Though it was the end of 2001’s warm winter, my Australian blood froze beneath my first-ever coat. And their apartment — that was all leather as well. It smelled of musk and cologne. Since that time, I have felt similar pangs of displacement, some of which lasted for considerable periods. But those first few moments in New York stand out as the most acute concentration of “displacedness” I have ever known.

Describe the moment when you felt least displaced.
For the last five or so years in New York, I have felt more at home than I ever did in Sydney. I ascribe this to growing up: at a certain age, one can take possession of a city, know its streets, bridges, tunnels and transportation system. I was too young when I lived in Sydney to reach that kind of comfort level. But when have I felt the most like a New Yorker? Perhaps it was the last time I came home for the holidays, and took the 4 train uptown for the first time in months. At that moment I realized how much this train had been a part of my life — conveying me home from school every day for two years. My old life would always be waiting for me on the subway, ready for me to pick it up again. That’s something only a New Yorker could say!

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 Australia: A miniature wooden wombat figurine — a gift from my grandfather. It conjures memories of a childhood spent beating about the bush (literally) and fishing for yabbies at the dam in the company of audacious dogs who stuck their heads down wombat holes, to no good end.
From New York: A pair of fake Harry Potter glasses. These defined my first six months in New York — I even wore them to my first day of school. I think it is telling that even at the age of six, I was unwilling to give all of my real self to this new home.
From England: My school tie — representative of the alternative universe I seem to have entered. At boarding school, the sense of removal from reality can be disconcerting — especially after having spent a decade in the city I regard as the world’s capital.

You’re invited to prepare one meal based on your travels for other Displaced Nation members. What’s on your menu?
I’d like to make you a Sydney breakfast: scrambled eggs, made with cream, salt and pepper and served on a bed of Turkish toast, with avocado and stewed tomato on the side (is this being greedy?). Our meal will be accompanied by a large “flat white”: what we call perfectly strong, milky coffee without excessive froth. I suggest we consume it overlooking a beach on a Sunday morning. At least, I assume The Displaced Nation has beaches?

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: Daggy. I use this word all the time — and did not realize it was exclusively Australian until I was informed of the etymology. Apparently, it comes from trimming the soiled wool around a sheep’s bottom. Which part of this repugnant whole is actually the “dag,” I do not remember. (No, I’m not a proper Australian!) But as I understand it, “daggy” means sloppy in appearance or badly put together.
From New York: There are so many words, and most are second nature by now. However, I will choose grande-soy-chai-tea-latte because I still shudder to think of myself as the kind of person who can utter such a phrase, at great speed, with great insistence. In fact, I’m still in denial about my love for Starbucks: having known Sydney coffee, my standards should be higher.
From England: Banter. I still do not know the precise meaning of this word, but it seems to encapsulate everything that makes someone my age feel socially acceptable — and, of course, I have no banter whatsoever. I think it means the capacity for combining wit with meaningless conversation. But there are other components, too, which seem to me unfathomable.

Question: Readers, tell us what you think: should we welcome Charlotte Day to The Displaced Nation and if so, why? (Note: It’s fine to vote “no” as long as you couch your reasoning in terms you think we all — Charlotte included — will find amusing.)

img: Charlotte Day at her boarding school in southeast England

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