A big fat expat wedding

Firstly, yes your shock and bewilderment is justified. It is me, the one that would pop up weekly in your feeds, spilling my expat guts. So whilst the shock of my return to writing is shared between us, I hope that my first post back, after my little self imposed blogging break, won’t  disappoint.

When I read expat blogs, many delve into the ins and outs of friendships. I myself have fequently mentioned that there is a fine line between the the ones you had in your old life and throwing yourself into potential new ones. I can only speak of my experience, which thus far has been extremely positive. There haven’t been any transisant, right for right now, kind of friendships, so for me they have been a massive part of my journey.

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Location, Location, Location

Unfortunately we can’t all have Phil and Kirsty at our disposal, so when it comes to choosing a new expat location, do we always have the expertise to make the right choice? I know that in both our moving decisions, we have been led by the opportunity, rather than an emotional or situational need to move. Luckily for us it worked out, but I do look back and wonder were we just to blasé about the whole thing, what if it hadn’t worked?

On shaky ground

I’m by no means in a blip right now, but I am definitely unsettled somewhat. As I am approaching my three year mark in the sand, so too are some of the original desert girls. Those ladies that touched down within weeks on my arrival and who have been part of my social circle every since. Now, many of us  on these nomadic trails have a limited timescale and quite a few are contracted out to this random corner of the desert for a set period. Hubby and I have never embarked on a fixed term contract anywhere, allowing the decision to move on to be our own. But for many, particularly in this part of the world, they are on countdown from the moment they arrive, so as I approach three years, so too do a lot of contracts and departures are imminent.

Pumpkin spice and all things nice

On the first of October, I did what I do every month, I scrawled through Pinterest to find a nice image for my personal Insta page, I obsessively like to have some kind of order to my snaps. Anyway my crazy Virgo-isms are not the point in question and I stumbled across a glorious autumnal visual, uploaded, job done. Or so I thought. Later that week, my eagle eyed followers may have noticed that I posted a “throwback” shot from my life in Prague. A beautiful shot (even if I say so myself) I took one Sunday morning, as we strolled through our local park, the colours, the light just screamed the season, and for some reason that morning, in the desert,  I pined (trees, autumn, get it?!) for a seasonal change. 

Why?…Why not

It occurs to me that some people may think my life a bit strange, odd and the last thing on earth they would ever want to experience. Expat life isn’t for everyone granted and whilst I never imagined this life for myself, I love it. The younger me would have been scared stiff of venturing anywhere past St Ouens and didn’t have a spontaneous, adventurous bone in her body. So I asked myself what happened to that shy, reserved little island girl?  Well, she fell in love with a nomad and an adventure didn’t seem so scary, when there is someone to quite literally hold your hand. So when people ask me why I choose to live abroad, I simply answer why not!?

Going the distance

The obvious thing about living abroad is that you are no longer living in your own back yard. Your exciting journey brings new discoveries and for the first few months old home is viewed as the mundane routine of normal life and you feel freedom by escaping to your new adventure. You are away; away from home, away from the norm, away from everything familiar which makes it both exciting and scary.

Our life in Prague was a good “toe dipping” experience into expat life. A European city which wasn’t too big but was a big enough change from my little island life and at the end of the day was Europe, so wasn’t too hard to make the adjustment. Luckily by the power of the little orange planes, we were less that two hours from London, straight into Gatwick, perfect for my island hopper connection home. I could leave my Czech loft apartment at 7am and be on Jersey soil by 2pm. It was far enough to feel away but close enough to get home comforts by lunchtime and all on a budget.

30 something seeks

I have always prided myself on being a good friend, loyal, committed and invested in making people part of my life. I am lucky enough to have a group of friends who have been part of my life since that first day at school. We met in the book corner and established that we had mutual admiration for Care Bears and Rainbow Bright and have successfully cultivated our relationship over the last 30 years (wow that really makes us sound feel old, sorry girls). We have been there for each other through the good times, the bad times crying in toilets at parties because a certain boy won’t speak to us but we have remained constant even as our lives have evolved and physical distance has come between us, we can pick up were we left off, the same group of 5 year olds huddled round the play dough table, although this time it usually involves coffee or wine.

Lights, camera, action

I must confess something to you all; this is an addiction which has no doubt cost me thousands over the years, caused friends to leave me alone and was the only sticking point when I met my lovely Husband. I am a movie geek.

I’m not some celluloid freak that will only listen to the critics or avoid the Hollywood blockbusters like the plague, only to focus on the beautifully shot indie filmmakers latest artistic triumph, I have one rule. Will I be entertained. Simple. I want to watch a movie and be transported to Hogwarts, be cheered up by comic one liners, inspired by true stories of adversity, seduced with moonlit walks through Central Park, be in awe of the classic glamour of the bygone age of movie stars and kick ass with superheros. It is the best kind of escapism and I’m first in line to put on the ruby slippers and click my heels into the new world.

Love is in the hair

Yesterday was a big day in my Kuwait life; a make or break day; if this went badly then possible departure would be necessary. This is something all expat women have to face at some point upon their arrival in their new country, facing the fear of the unknown and walking boldly over the threshold. Holding their breath with anticipation and saying a small prayer to the gods, as they take a seat in the waiting area, hearts beating. So the leap of faith is taken, no going back, the scissors are out………the hairdresser approaches.

A woman who cuts her hair is about to change her life – Coco Chanel

Now I have never been a vain person and growing up was not someone who would spend hours upon hours applying makeup and doing hair. In fact I remember turning up for my first day at dance college, an ethusiastic fresh-faced 20 year old, hair pulled back into a frizzy pony tail (I’m blessed/cursed with curly hair which just went into frizz before I discovered straighteners) and being told that we could no longer come to class without a full face, which must be re-applied throughout the day. So a trip to Covent Garden and more than my student funds could afford I walked out of MAC ready to take on the world. I subsequently went home and relegated my Body Shop pressed powder, which had served me well since I was 15, then came the realisation that there is a whole beauty world out there, waiting to be discovered. And so it began……

Procaffeinating

The tendency not to start anything until you have had a cup of coffee

Each morning I roll out of bed, looking like an extra from The Walking Dead and head straight to the kitchen, for what I like to call my shot to the system. As the daily ritual begins, my blurry eyes cast themselves over the little pods of nectar and I wait impatiently for my monogrammed (I know pathetic right, but this is what coffee does to me!?) espresso cup to fill.

In my defense I never used to be one of those people that refuse a coffee,when you pop in for a cuppa and find they only have instant. What kind of uptight snob does that? Me that’s who, I hold my hands up and say it’s not my fault, it’s the expat lurking inside of me.