The Blues

What Expats (really) Do

On October 25, 2009, in Family, Travel, by Rosie

If you have read the second in the ‘Fangirls’ series – ‘The Deleted Scenes’ - you’ll know I love to tease my favourite expats with the stereotype that arises from this lifestyle. As we are in the middle of enjoying a stay with my very special expat, I wanted to shed some light on what this group of temporarily transplanted folk really do with their time.

(Any resemblance between the following stereotype and a real person – either living, dead or residing on the Equator – is purely coincidental.)

Expats are by and large a busy lot. Due to the extreme heat, they have numerous coping strategies to help acclimitize between life in the Antipodes and existences in SE Asia. Unlike this stereotype, however, they do not start each sentence referring to themselves as ‘one’ - due to my need to stir the expat soup with mirth, this entry will be written in accordance with what one does on any particular day when one is inhabiting a slice of Expatsville.

1. One doesn’t really rise too early – this depends on whether one has children to deposit in various international schools ’bout the city. If one doesn’t have this responsibility, one is able to meditate between the moment of alertness (remembering the meditative class they took on their recent pilgrimage to Laos) and the instant they alight from bed.

2. One embraces suitable local customs – usually this is via strict process of elimination. If the native practice is distasteful, for instance, one would admit it does exist, but ignore its impact on life. An example might be the ‘hoiking’ of throat phlegm so that sputum is cleared from the throat – one doesn’t warm to this practice! Yet a local custom involving fun and festivity must be truly embraced. Like ‘The Festival’ (no matter what festival) with its colour and glamour and historical significance. Or ‘The Celebration’ (whether religious or national). The rowdier the better. The more libertine the better, as long as it entertains one.

3. One eats and drinks. The climate dictates how much, the swooning is dependent on the amount of alcohol and the forgetfulness of one to ingest food prior to drowning a refreshing gin and tonic; the hygenic Hawker Stall is a necessity where one can support the local food industry by partaking in traditional cuisine while still having accessibility to a stall serving Tiger beer, gin and tonic, chilled vodka, iced tea or lime juice.

4. One takes young children along on excursions for the lark of it. The folly escaping their sweaty lips is enough to entertain one for an entire afternoon soiree.

‘I am low on antioxidents so I need iced tea

‘I would like some more lion (lime) juice, please’

‘I think the park ranger should be here to give the monkeys a shot. They need to be put to sleep.’

(The fact that this gang of monkeys stole lunch from Mac’s hand is enough to inspire one’s children to voice such wrath, but more on that aspect of expat living later).

Following the Sunday afternoon promanade, one can distribute ones offspring into the arms of the loving family maid/nanny in order to pamper and prepare for dinner in the tropics.

5. One slows down. The expat needs to shuffle rather than stride, whisper along rather than race. The heat, it drains ones energy and deflates ones ability to shine without the sheen (of sweat on the skin.)

6. One speaks loudly to the indigenous country folk/members of the native community. One sometimes uses ones hands to get a point across, one can gesture with face or expression to convey disapproval, gratitude, friendliness, displeasure. When one thinks another cannot HEAR them (rather than not speak English) one can speak with volume – it doesn’t matter that the problem is not a hearing disability, rather the language barrier. The expat can overcome this with Loud Talk and Shrugs.

7. One gets exhausted. (see Point 5)

8. One uses city club facilities, if one is lucky enough to know a member and/or have access to swanky clubs in their own cities that allow reciprocal rights. Clubs offer olympic sized pools, the same sized gin and tonics, smaller glasses of iced tea, buffets for lunch, banquets for dinner and snacks for eating in between. When one gets hot, one lifts ones body from the longue and plunges into the blue, crisply-tiled pool.

9. One lingers. Over lunch, over chat, over the air conditioner. One reads ‘Expat Living’ to discover where to get cosmetic dentistry, botox buffets, abdominal replacements, chin retractions. One expresses interest in journeying to less fortunate countries to do good works and learn soulful stuff. One thinks of home often, but remembers that even though home is where the ‘heart is’, the expat environment is where the liver can liver in happiness and the experience is great for growth.

10. One sighs. One is glad when relatives visit, but even more grateful when friends and relations find their own things to do. Otherwise, one can be overcommitted and miss yoga/painting class/meditation/tennis/mahjong/silk garment design/historical debate and discussion.

Lots of love and waves from a holiday with the expats I hold closest to my heart. One feels as though one could quite comfortably become one . . . but someone has to keep the home fires aburning!

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