Posts Tagged ‘expat life’
My Life in Havaianas
In March 2008, Loquinha Gauchinha moved to Brazil with a simple desire to take ownership of her life. She is now living the expat life in Porto Alegre.
The Travel Expert(a)
Marina Villatoro is a passionate traveller-turned-expat who just moved to Guatemala with her husband and son, after living the expat life in Costa Rica.
Where in the World are the Kittels?!
The Kittels are family of seven living the expat life in Costa Rica. Kelly, mom, writes the blog, which provides a fascinating insight into life abroad.
4 Ways to Help Kids Adjust to the Realities of Life Overseas
My children officially became Third-Culture-Kids (TCKs) when they stepped off an airplane into a hot dusty Saharan night in April, 2001. The stars were obscured by sand and the wind felt like it was coming off an oven, but we were all too tired to care. My oldest was nearly 6, and the twins had just celebrated their 4th birthday. In 28 hours, including layovers, we had traversed the globe, moving from Portland, Oregon (USA) to Nouakchott, Mauritania (West Africa) with 12 suitcases and one guitar. None of our luggage showed up with us.
Although I had read myriad articles and books on raising children between cultures, nothing really prepared me for that first meal of goat head; or for how I would react to children wanting to sit next to me on the couch when it was 115 degrees out and I was sweating in places I had no idea it was possible to sweat.
How I Learned to Shut Up and Listen
I sat at a table of no fewer than fifteen people on the street Pio Nono, entry to Bellavista, the down-home party section of Santiago, Chile. I’d been invited to go out for a beer after the monthly critical mass bike ride, and we stacked our bikes tidily (handlebars to rear wheel) against a nearby tree and set to the matter at hand. We sat at a long series of card tables extending down the street, each of us perched on one of those ubiquitous white plastic chairs, serving ourselves beer into small glasses from the liter bottles of Escudo on the center of the tables. Some, drinkers of fan-schop (a Chilean specialty), mixed theirs with Fanta. I drank mine plain, and listened.
I arrived to Chile in 2004, with way more than a passing knowledge of Spanish. Between high school and a couple of travel and study stints in the mundo hispanohablante (Spanish-speaking world), I could express myself fairly well, if not cleverly. Hadn’t I explained the electoral college to a group of teachers in Antigua, Guatemala in the 90s? Wasn’t it me who grabbed other travelers by the hand to take them to the post office, the bus station, to get their hair cut? I enjoyed helping, expressing, being in charge. I could get you a seat on the bus, a doorstop, tape to fix a book – you name it. I could ask for it directly or circumlocute it. I spoke, and people understood. At the time, I felt that this was the only necessary linguistic accomplishment. You, listen to me. And then it was over.
