This would be our third Thanksgiving abroad (!) and our first as newlyweds. Apparently, new brides char the bird or commit otherwise heinous culinary atrocities in the kitchen when first attempting a Thanksgiving meal. The statistics stacked against me, I set out to create a traditional Thanksgiving feast for my husband and six friends, in a country devoid of pumpkin paste (despite ubiquitous pumpkin farms), pie dough, cranberry sauce, yams and Butterball turkeys. With each misadventure, my mom’s wise words echoed in my mind: embrace the chaos — it’s much more fun that way!

Step 1: Locate a Whole Turkey.

Technically, I accomplished this on a ride a few weeks ago, having found turkeys running around the woods by the road. While not what I had in mind, they at least confirmed whole turkeys exist in this country (though not in any market). After a week of watching people screw up their eyes at my request, I met a local farmer willing to oblige the special order.

On my way to pick up the turkey, I realized with trepidation that I hadn’t clarified how I wanted the turkey prepared. I had just ordered “one whole turkey, please,” hoping not to inadvertently order a goose in my attempt at dialect.  For all I knew, they might hand it to me squawking on a leash.

Thankfully they did not. Savoring this small triumph, I carted the properly de-feathered turkey home to prepare for roasting the next day, only to discover the feet, neck and head (and beak and gobble!) intact upon removal from the bag.

Naturally, I googled. Surely, someone in cyberspace would know how to remove a turkey neck. As it happens, lot’s of people do, and they all say the same thing: just reach in and pull out the bag. In the US, prepared Thanksgiving turkeys are packaged sans feet, neck or head, with innards and neck (gizzards) neatly packed in a small plastic bag, tucked in the body cavity. Not so with the large foul in my kitchen.

Dear Internet,
Thanks for nothing.

Step Two: Prepare the Turkey.

For the record, to remove a turkey’s neck and feet, chop them off. As for the gizzards, you really do just reach in and pull them out . . .  but they’re not in a bag.

With the turkey properly butchered, I prepared a rosemary/cider/orange brine in a bucket (yes, we are that fancy around here) and brined the turkey overnight.   The “other bits” got roasted and thrown in a pot with fresh von Bauern onions, celery, carrots, rosemary, sage and thyme, then simmered to make a stock for the gravy.

Step 3: Apple Pie.

By this time, I began to feel like a pioneer, butchering my own bird, brining it in a bucket, making fresh stock and now pie crust from scratch.

A good flaky pie crust is tricky. Using a recipe from my mom (and her mom, and her mom’s mom), I cut chilled butter into flour with two knives. One could do this with a food processor, but we don’t have one. Welcome to tedium defined. Once I managed to cut the solid butter into tiny beads, each coated with flour, I rolled ‘er out, filled ‘er up and sealed ‘er off with a fluted edge. You know it’s gonna be good when the juices run as the pie bakes — lekker!

Step 4: Roast the Turkey.

I borrowed a roasting pan from my friend Betsey, only to discover it didn’t fit in our small oven. Thankfully the lid fit, even if it did create a little see-saw over the handle when flipped upside-down for this purpose. Ah well. I’d made it this far.

Into the lid, I tossed potatoes, carrots, onions and The Turkey (brined and cleaned), then roasted and basted the heck out of it with a maple-butter concoction as it rocked back and forth in the oven.

Step 5: The Rest of the Menu.

Montage! Our menu included: hors d’oeuvres of toast with goat’s cheese and caramelized onions, baked bourbon sweet potatoes topped with roasted candied pecans, romano garlic mashed potatoes, chestnut/apple/sausage stuffing, cranberry sauce (with real cranberries, not lingonberries!), gravy (from fresh turkey stock), an acrobatic maple roasted turkey with veggies (pronounced “wedgies” with a Deutsch accent — never gets old), and mom’s apple pie — all dishes made from scratch, with local, farm-fresh ingredients, including fresh herbs. Even the salt came from Salzburg.

Step 6: Round Up The Troops.

Our guests, four Americans and two Swedes, brought a delectable selection wines, whiskey and beer. My friend Carolyn (fellow American expat – check out her blog here) made a fresh feta cranberry salad and deliciously gooey warm brownies as finishing touches for the feast.

This is by far my favorite part of Thanksgiving. Without the gathering of friends (and family, when possible), Thanksgiving would be little more than a pile of food, because that motley mix of characters forms the heart of the celebration and renders the whole far greater than the sum of its parts. As my Uncle Ron would say, it’s Stone Soup.

Step 7: Strap on the Feed Bag.

We ate, drank and became increasingly merry into the evening and a wee bit of the morning, and by that time, I think we were all thankful for bed.

(images by me)

Forbes has had some interesting articles on retiring abroad, and Panama is still one of the top ten destinations. As we’ve discovered recently there is no place in the world that is totally immune to nature’s occassional rampages, but Panama is still “paradise” for many of us.

Panama has almost everything: year-round sun, low taxes, massive discounts for seniors, first-world amenities, quality private hospitals, bird-filled rainforests, a dollar economy and easy flights from the U.S. Panama City is considered safest of all Central American cities, with worldly buzz because of the canal, and a World Heritage Site.

Downside: pockets of corruption.

Here’s the article from Forbes by Richard C. Morais . . .

The 10 Best Retirement Havens

Forbes cannot promise retirees “paradise on $30 a day.” Quite the opposite. We promise seniors wishing to move out of the U.S. that they will not find paradise anywhere. Each country is unique–with assets and liabilities–and the key to successful retirement as an ex-pat is carefully matching your own personal priorities and finances to the country that has caught your eye.

To help matters along, Forbes has compiled its own list of the 10 best retirement havens, based on a wide variety of criteria ranging from safety to retiree-friendly visa requirements to decent medical care. The countries on our hit list: Austria, Thailand, Italy, Panama, Ireland, Australia, France, Malaysia, Spain and Canada.

No place is perfect. Some countries rank high in one area but lower in others. Australia is by one well-regarded rating, the Country Brand Index, the most livable place in the world. (For the Country Brand and other rankings, see “Retire At Home Or Abroad?”) But if you plan to return to the U.S. frequently, Australia makes for a long slog. Canada is No. 2 in the Country Brand ratings and certainly convenient for Americans, but its harsh winters are well-known. Italy scores high on quality of life, medical care, and even cost of living and climate for retirees residing in the Southern parts of the country. But its complicated taxes and bureaucracy require patience.

So, the key to any decision: Know yourself and do your homework.

If you’re a sun-worshiper determined to protect your assets from overreaching Western governments, consider countries like Panama or Malaysia.

If you are solidly middle-class with a taste for high culture, then there are pleasant surprises to be found in Europe. Who would have known, for example, that France is so friendly to American retirees? Or consider Ireland. Its top personal income tax rate is 43%. That’s not terribly appealing on the surface, but a couple over 65 is entirely exempt from Irish tax on any income below $59,000.

Are you eager to live abroad but totally tone-deaf to foreign languages? That’s a fine argument for Australia, Ireland or Canada. The key to lowering costs and receiving first-rate medical and other services in foreign countries is the ability to “work the system,” and to do that, you have to speak the local language passably well. Sheila Trifari, an American who had cancer while retired in Paris, says she received excellent medical care precisely because she was fluent in French and could work her way through the local medical establishment.

On the other hand, going totally native can bring on unexpected and powerful bouts of homesickness. Kathleen de Carbuccia, president of the Association of Americans Resident Overseas, recommends that prospective retirees seek out cities, towns or villages where there is an existing American or English-speaking ex-pat community. Fellow ex-pats will be of great help during those inevitable moments when cultures clash, and they’ll perhaps help you see the humor in the situation.

Decent and affordable medical care is a key issue for retirees, of course. Most nations, when a retiree applies for a visa at their consulates, require proof of income, such as private or public pension payments and bank account statements, as well as proof of private medical insurance. They don’t want seniors who haven’t paid into their health care systems to become a burden on the locals who have been paying into the system all their lives.

But listen to Donald Johnson, an 80-year-old American retiree in Paris, when he says, “the largest advantage we have is our health care [in France.] We are not sure we could afford to return to the U.S., where health care costs are completely out of control.” In short, factor the costs of medical care into your overall analysis, because in many cases even the costlier E.U. countries become attractive when the quality and cost of medical care is included in a retiree’s projected budget.

Look for the unexpected snafu in your plans: Most American retirees abroad receive their income in U.S. dollars; their expenses are in a foreign currency. Managing this currency risk is one of the most difficult elements of living abroad, and it is likely to be a growing issue, as we enter a period of prolonged dollar weakness.

So, be wise. If you calculate you’ll have to live month-to-month on your pension and Social Security payments while in a European city, then consider village life, or one of our lower-cost alternatives, like Thailand, where you’ll have enough income to maintain a cash reserve and a fine quality of life. No one, after all, wants to be forced home when the dollar drops 25%, as it can sometimes do in a period of just a couple of years.

But there is a means, on our list, to eliminate even the currency risk, if that is your priority. Exotic Panama, that sunny nation in Central America, gateway between the Pacific and Atlantic oceans, has adopted the U.S. dollar as its official currency. Move there and your assets and liabilities are matched.

So, retire abroad, by all means, for it can be richly rewarding. But do so with eyes wide open.

What Country TV programs can I watch on my PC?

The advertising from some of the suppliers of TV on PC programs and services indicate that some 70 country programs can be accessed by their services.

If you are an expat, and miss your home programs then this could well be for you.

Take a look: http://05b070rv-6530qevah8fes8q72.hop.clickbank.net/?tid=PCTV2

Please let me know how you get on and which countries you want to follow.

Thanks

Chris

After growing up in the US, everything here in the Middle East is new to me, and like a child, I am always in wonderment. Just as small children walk around touching, tasting and asking the what, how, and why questions. So do I.

Yesterday I watched the students at HCT as they celebrated the 38^th year of the joining of the independent emirates into the United Arab Emirates. As I viewed the UAE marching bands and military parade, I marveled at being here as a resident which is entirely different from experiencing a country as a tourist. I compared and contrasted their “National Day” to our “Independence Day”, both of which represent the beginning of a new nation. It was interesting to note that they display lights on buildings and along streets for National Day just like we do for Christmas in the US.

I walked through the narrow alleyways of the Indian fabric souk (market) in Nakheel with child’s eyes and wondered about all the little shops and shopkeepers. I wondered how they managed to stay in business when there are so many of the same shop. I wondered about their lives in those small, dust covered alleyways where one has to watch their step to keep from falling into a hole. The shopkeepers seem so relaxed. No one hurries. They don’t even call out to sell their wares. I was dazzled by the colorful fabrics hanging along the storefronts. For a moment, my husband and I just stood on the corner and watched them watching us.  

While talking with a fellow expat from Canada via Istanbul, she mentioned that she was amazed at being here, which surprised me. I thought she would be used to these things that are so new to me. I am now getting a glimpse into why expats move from country to country. One never gets used to the constant buffet of new sights, sounds, and experiences.

The world is much more exciting through a child’s eyes.

Till next time

 Well, it’s not really broken. It’s just that nothing seems to work like it did anymore. It all began when I gave my maid three days off. Friday was a religious holiday anyway and she normally has Sunday off, so I thought it wasn’t worth her coming back here just for the Saturday. That’s when the troubles started.

It’s not that I don’t know how to run a household. That’s really easy. It’s just basic project management anyway, and umm … being decisive, and … you know – organised. Like me. After all, I’ve been doing it successfully here in Bali for six months now. I mean, women do it all the time, so I can too. I just don’t complain about it. Well until now anyway, because for some unfathomable reason, everything seemed to suddenly go pear-shaped at once.  

The first thing to break was the kitchen. On Friday morning, I put a few dishes and glasses in the sink, as I always do, and went out. Later that afternoon, I walked in – and they were still there! What the …? That’s never happened before. Ever since I have lived here, I have put glasses in the sink, and within an hour, they are clean and sitting in the cupboard where they are supposed to be. Now the damn sink seems to be broken.

And it’s not just the kitchen – the bedroom has stopped functioning as well. I got up at the crack of noon - rare for me, I hasten to add - and went out for a leisurely brunch. When I got back, I was staggered and amazed to find the bed still unmade. How could this have happened? It worked perfectly before. Worse, the laundry basket was still full! I mean, I do my fair share of the housework around here and always make sure I pick my clothes up off the floor and throw them in the direction of the hamper – but for the thing to just fail like that is unconscionable. It’s not even out of warranty! I also have an uneasy feeling that the clothes replenishment system is starting to fail too – my undies drawer seems to have items missing, and there are at least three polo shirts missing from the shelf where they used to mysteriously appear, clean and folded. If this continues, I might have to buy more clothes on eBay, or iTunes, or wherever you get them.

The litany of systemic collapses distressingly continued over the next three days. The bathroom has never let me down before, but now there’s water on the floor and the bath has this strange scummy goop on the bottom that smells a bit like soap or something. But that’s impossible – I shower in there, so how could anything get dirty during a shower? Surely the running water keeps the bath clean? That porcelain stuff that the bath is made of is obviously faulty.

By day three, I noticed that all the garbage bins were full too. What on earth has happened to the automatic emptying system that had worked so well up to now? I suspect it’s the same ailment that has afflicted the ashtrays – they’re all full now and I will have to buy new ones that work. Even the pool filter has stopped coming on by itself in the morning and switching off at night. I must call a technician. And the garden isn’t immune to this malaise either – the plants seem to be wilting a bit and there are all these dead stalks and leaves and things that were never there before.

But the worst thing has got to be the tiled floors. There seems to have been a total collapse of the mechanism that used to keep the surface absolutely sparking day after day. Now there is this stuff – I don’t know what it’s called, but I’m sure there is a technical term for it – that sits on top like a very fine powder, sort of greyish white in colour. I’ve never seen it before. And there are footprints in it. Someone has obviously been in my house. I’m determined to catch him at it, but it does worry me a little. From the prints, he’s about my size, so I’d better be careful about tackling him in case he’s one of those confrontational types. The same stuff is now on the wooden furniture too, so it can’t be oozing from the tiled surface. I’m going to Google it to see where it comes from.

I really don’t like what has been happening. I want my pembantu back. I’ve probably accidently turned off the secret switch that operates the villa and I’m sure she knows where it’s hidden. I told a dear friend about my troubles today. She is someone I used to live with – for quite a long time - a few years back. We get along fine normally, but today she seemed somewhat less than sympathetic. In fact, after a long, meaningful stare, she just shook her head, sighed and said: “You haven’t changed a bit, have you?”

I was pleased at first, because I like getting compliments. But after thinking about it, I’m not entirely sure that it was …

I have lived in Chile for over a year now and if you remember back my biggest fear was the smog.

Here are my words on this topic from May 2009:

As Smog was one of my main concerns about living in Santiago I will be reporting about it throughout the winter

Since I do receive a fair bit of traffic from people searching for Smog combined with Santiago I wanted to give my impression: The smog in Santiago was not a big problem for me!! Yes it is easy to produce pictures that look awful and disgusting (usually from the top of Cerro Saint Cristobal) but if you are down there on the street in Las Condes then it is not that bad or at least it does not feel it for me. I cannot tell you about the center of Santiago because I did not go there this winter.

In May I started a poll.  Here is the result of the Poll:

The question was: What about the smog in Santiago

There is one important point to bear in mind:

* I have spent my winter in Las Condes and not in the center of Santiago. The Center is worse as the altitude of the center is lower.

Below you will find a map with the smog levels in each “Comuna” on the 30th of September 2008 The image is from a government site which does not get updated anymore. Here is the link to the site if you want to see more.

I know some people suffer from Smog and I hope Santiago will improve the already very good public transport to cut the smog but since Smog was my number 1 concern I wanted to mention that I had expected the winter to be a nightmare and I was pleasantly surprised it was not and I enjoyed my winter here.

Hello All,

Before I embarked on this journey into the desert of Arabia to become an expat veterinarian, I told everyone I knew to stay tuned for the debut of a blog about my adventures. Well, three months have come and gone, and most of you that are still waiting have probably become narcoleptic trying to keep your eyes open in anticipation.  The wait is over my friends. This is the beginning of my attempt to determine if I have what it takes to write something that can keep my little brother’s attention long enough to tell the stories of my adventures in Dubai.

How bad of a blog host am I to start off and not even introduce myself? My name is Nick Smith, a 28-year-old horse doctor from the bluegrass of Kentucky. I am the only person known (by me) to have graduated with a doctorate from veterinary school, before graduating with a bachelor’s degree from undergrad (while it’s not that uncommon to graduate from professional school without an undergrad degree, most people aren’t really inclined to go back and finish their bachelor’s degree after graduating – very long story, maybe for another time.)

While I am a veterinarian by trade, I am a saltwater fly fisherman by heart. My perfect days are spent patrolling the nice calm flats of the Caribbean tracking schools of bonefish. I read about rumors of a twenty pound bonefish seen in the local fish market here in Dubai shortly before I touched down. After seeing the conditions of the dredged up beaches (think sewage run off and oil spills) and the man-made atrocities (palm tree and worldly shaped islands) out there in the water, I don’t think I am going to have too much luck in that hunt. I am stubborn to a fault though, so I will keep looking. So far the best spot I have found is on the beach of the Atlantis Resort at the crest of the Jumeirah Palm Islands. Luckily I have managed to sneak on to the far edge of the beach a few times by parking in their ‘free’ parking lot, a nautical mile from the resort, and walking right onto my fishing hole. I have only recently discovered that the whole Palm Islands and surrounding waters have been declared a ‘nature preserve’ by the municipality in Dubai. Someone please explain to me how man-made islands are in any way natural? I guess their reasoning is because that is the probably only place you can go in Dubai to see fish who don’t have three eyes or two tails.

What gets me out of bed everyone morning is the love of my beautiful fiancée, Lauren, who is both an inspiration and cattle prod. Without her, I am an unmotivated slob. Without her, my life would be a lot more dull. The favorite parts of my days are spent concocting ways to make her smile and laugh, and I cannot wait until she gets to take  some time out of her crazy schedule back in Kentucky to come and spend some time with me in this oasis. The 7,394 miles separating us have been very trying so far. However, we have since learned that the greatest invention since sliced bread is Skype, a free internet video phone service if used to connect computer to computer. How cool is it that you can talk to someone across the world for free, most times in better sound quality than most cell phones and with video that makes it fell like you are right there. With technology like this, I wonder why we even need to pay outrageous cell phone bills. With the expansion of WiFi signals and the conversion of cell phones into micro laptops, if it were not for the daunting political influence of huge cell phone companies, I think we would all be walking around talking for free. Someone over here told me that Skype was invented by a couple of Estonians who were fed up paying insane long distance rates. So they invented the cold fusion of the communication industry, and then they sold it to Google for a gazillion dollars.

The other love in my life is University of Kentucky sports. I was fortunate enough to fall into a season ticket for the last year of the Bill G experiment of Kentucky Basketball. While there was nothing special about that season of basketball, going to those games and experiencing the passion for a team doomed from the starting gate is one of my favorites memories. Besides being away from my fiancée, giving up those season tickets for John Calipari’s first season at the helm of the program, was the hardest part about coming over to Dubai. This brings me to another great feat of technological genius, Slingbox. What is this Slingbox you might ask? Basically you hook it up to your TV and internet modem at home, and it allows you to watch AND control your TV from anywhere in the world. Depending on your internet connection and the capabilities of your computer, you can even watch in HD and record via DVR. Simply amazing. I am not up to that speed yet, so I am watching in real-time with a slightly grainy picture, but beggars can’t be choosers, so I am grateful for the chance to wake up in the wee hours of the morning and cheer on my Wildcats. Although, a lot of the football games this season have been at night this year which means that they have started at either 3 or 4am here. Most mornings I leave the apartment at 6am to head into work at the stable. This means that I have only seen the first halves of most of the football games this year. I should have noticed the trend earlier in the year, but the team that was winning at halftime usually was not on top at the end of the game. This was the cause of unbelievable joy and unbearable heartbreak this fall when I would go to check the scores on the internet in between the sets of horses going the track. It has been an amazing season nonetheless for the Wildcats, and I am proud of the way they have faced adversity this year. It’s time to turn to the basketball season now, and I cannot wait until December 5th when the UNC Tar Heels come to Rupp Arena so we can see exactly what Cal’s Cats are made of.

Well I think that is enough rambling for one day. Hell, I need to save something to write about next time. Seeing as how I am the world’s slowest putter of thoughts into print, I am not sure how often these entries will appear on here. I will try to keep you posted as things happen, though. For the first few posts I need to catch up on some interesting things I have seen so far. So stay tuned, and in the words of the late Cincinnati Reds radio announcer Joe Nuxhall, “this is the old left-hander, rounding third and heading for home”

Good night folks…

Weddings in Lahore are dressy affairs that play an important part in people’s social calendar. The dress code is formal, expensive and glittery.

Having a party dress made in Lahore goes something like this:

First you buy the fabric. Pictured here are two kinds of silk jamawar. Both fabrics were white with the details in gold. I had them dyed in a turquoise shade to complement the gold, which is not affected by the dyeing process.

Once the dyeing is done, the fabric is taken to an embroidery shop, where a motif and pattern are chosen.

After the beading is complete, the fabric is taken to a tailor, who will put the outfit together.

I had this outfit made for the wedding of one of my husband’s relatives. The closer the relationship, the more formal the dress and heavier the embroidery.

This weekend while completing my ritual pre-jog bowl of oatmeal with a healthy dose of New York Times on the side, I came across an editorial that caused me to stop and think…

A Thanksgiving Toast by Anonymous

Sitting down with friends and family today, there will be thanks for the steady currents, flowing out of the past, that have brought us to this table… But it’s worth raising a glass (or suspending a forkful for those of you who’ve gotten ahead of the toast) to be thankful for the unexpected, for all the ways that life interrupts and renews itself without warning…

It will never cease to surprise how the condition of being human means we cannot foretell with any accuracy what next Thanksgiving will bring. We can hope and imagine, and we can fear. But when next Thanksgiving rolls around, we’ll have to take account again, as we do today, of how the unexpected has shaped our lives…

Isn’t that the truth! To think I now live in a city that as a little girl I had no idea existed!

Back to Thanksgiving… Thursday evening, while dining on turkey amongst friends from Syria, Palestine, Egypt, South Africa and Virginia, I told the table that I was thankful for my health, fantastic husband, family and friends. But, having read the aforementioned editorial, I would like to add an addendum…

A Toast To 2009—Whose Unexpectedness has brought so many delights, challenges and wonders!

1) I am thankful that I can read.

Recently, upon arrival to Oman via Air Arabia, I was asked to fill out a standard entry/exit form before passing through customs. While filling in the details I felt a tug at my purse, which immediately cause me to turn and grab hold of my bag. Staring at me was not a pickpocket, nor a little kid, but a 39-year-old laborer from Hyderabad that spoke not a lick of English or Arabic. Wondering what he wanted, I said “Yes?” upon which he thrust his passport and entry/exit form into my hand with a look of “I don’t know what they want from me, but please help me get through customs”. His look was that of desperation and I was reminded of my arrival 6 years before to Japan where I too knew not a lick of the local language. Happy to help, I opened his passport, filled out his form, smiled and pointed him to the right counter.

Not being able to read is like missing one of the vital senses. To Mrs. Cooper and Mrs. Kinney—my kindergarten and first grade teachers—Thank you for teaching me how to read. The skill has come in handy!

2) I am thankful that I am free to dream, do and be.

To come from a place that says that if you dream and work hard, regardless of social circumstance, you can do and become just about anything is very empowering. Or in my case (as a petite female), anything except for a Giants quarterback!

Minor details aside, I remember that before coming to Dubai my friends and family asked questions like—Are you going to have to wear an abaya? Will they let you drive? How are women treated in the work force? What about your freedom? Well, to make a long answer short my responses are no, yes, very well and fine thank you. What I have learned is that freedom comes in many forms… While in NYC I may have the freedom to vote, it is difficult to walk down the street free from whistles, catcalls, requests for money, the sight of daily crimes… Here most expats will tell you they love Dubai because they feel so free—free from violence, from the worry of making ends meet (Although recent news may start to change this. Inshallah, I hope not.), free from whistles, catcalls, cold weather, etc. Freedom to and freedom from… both are vital freedoms!

…

More on freedom to… I recently attended TEDxDubai and was surrounded by a room full of Dubai’s most motivated people. The energy was palpable and the dream-o-meter on high. Surrounded by women covered in black—whispers of excitement, plans to do great deeds and general happiness permeated the air.

Despite what the papers say about the current economic situation… people still come to Dubai for the freedom to dream, do and be and for the freedom from certain things “at home” as well. In the land of palm shaped islands, indoor ski slopes and tall towers, the built environment is a testament to the imagination and will power of its people. This is an amazing place indeed!

3) I am thankful for the unexpected.

What would life be like without the unexpected goat that walks in front of your car, the endless visits to the “male side” of the local courts to get stamps for a business license, the surprising lack of canned pumpkin for certain North American holidays, the tiny fish that brush my ankles in the turquoise blue waters of the Gulf, the friends made via visits to a hidden warehouse in Al Quoz, the newfound ability to run in 100 degree heat (something I never would have been able to do in New York), the vicarious excitement experienced via random quotes and announcements of weddings and now children on Facebook (seems like the world has decided to breed in this year we call 2009), the joy experienced while driving through the desert to Zig Zigler as he explains what life was like growing up as an aspiring businessman in America’s Deep South, the beautiful sounds of Syrian hip hop at a recent concert…

To health, happiness and unexpectedness in 2010 and beyond!

A

P.S. Happy Post Thanksgiving and Eid Mubarak!

It’s been an interesting week.

Not too long ago, my husband and I made a trip across the river from Buenos Aires, Argentina to Colonia, Uruguay.  We’ve made this trip many times before, usually just for the day (and to renew our visas).  But this time, we spent a week or so doing research for a book I want to write.

We stayed with local expats–people from Canada, the UK, France, and the US.  These individuals were choosing to live in Uruguay part-time or full-time.  Some had discovered Uruguay through online resources and discussions with those who had visited.  Others had stumbled upon it on a trip to Buenos Aires and fallen in love with it.  Some had felt compelled to move to Uruguay without ever having visited it.

Although there are all kinds of ways to live in Uruguay–and most countries–we were particularly intrigued by those who had moved to Uruguay in order to purchase property and live closer to the land.  One couple we stayed with has spent the last 20 years in Manhattan, but bought 50 acres and a 100-year-old farmhouse in Uruguay, where they are happily settling into country life.  Keep in mind that these people had never lived on a farm before and knew nothing about gardening or raising animals.  They are learning–and loving the process of discovering what it’s like to be so in tune with the seasons, the soil and the sounds of the country.

Despite my city-girl persona of the past three years since moving to Buenos Aires, I felt a remarkable pull toward the countryside.  I was raised on a ten-acre piece of land three miles down a gravel road from a small agricultural town in Oregon with a population of 360.  I grew up working in fields of all kinds, and my family had a massive garden.  My mother was raised Mormon and still followed the two-year-supply-of-food rule, so we had a room in our home dedicated to the storage and display of beautiful glass jars of the fruits and vegetables she canned.  But she went way beyond the usual strawberry jam and preserved peaches:  she made her own pickles, pickle relish, ketchup, tomato sauce, and sauerkraut.  We had a food dryer and always had containers full of dried apples and prunes.  We made our own granola and muesli.  My grandmother made her own yogurt–back in the sixties!

So, despite becoming a more “modern” American woman these past 30 years–one who shops at supermarkets and turns her yard into a perennial garden and maybe a few herbs, but no vegetables in sight–I’ve been pulled back to the idea of having enough land to grow my own food.  Potatoes, onions, carrots, beans, tomatoes, corn.  All kinds of herbs. Loads of fruit trees. And yes, some herbs and flowers.

I found a piece of property in Uruguay, about 20 kilometers from the coast.  It’s about five miles outside a small town. It has just under five acres–and 18 different fruit trees.  It also has a lovely new 3-bedroom farmhouse.  And a well.

Having recently moved into a studio apartment in Buenos Aires–after selling our 3-bedroom place once the kids moved out–I have been enjoying the simplicity of one-room living.  We have just what fits, just what we need, just what we really love, and nothing else.  I like the sense of security that comes from knowing I have just this one room, and that I can lock the door and leave and not worry about it while I am away.

But now, I find myself fantasizing about living in the country.  Or rather, I dream about having this wonderful little studio in the city but also having a beautiful piece of land upon which to garden, grow things, and reconnect to the earth.  I envision a place that will evolve over the next decade or two to include a lush and beautiful garden, a guest house, an outdoor campfire area….and not much else.  Just land. Crickets.  Maybe some chickens, a few sheep to keep the grass short.  I want to buy my clothes at the feed store–tall galoshes, long underwear, overalls–and keep them there so that when I arrive, I can slip into my country clothes and head outside.  I want to drink mate in the morning with a view of the country, and get my hands into the soil every single day.

I never thought this would appeal to me.  As a teenager growing up in such a remote area, I swore I would never make my kids live out in the middle of nowhere.  Instead, we lived in a small town (a quick walk to Main Street where they could buy ice cream cones or read magazines–or visit their parents, as my husband and I had a small business in the downtown area).  Then we lived in the suburbs.  I hated the suburbs, but I am so grateful we had that experience.  If I hadn’t lived in a subdivision, I wouldn’t have felt compelled to leave the US, and then I would not have discovered what it is like to live in a beach town in Mexico or in a city of 13 million people in Argentina.  Or on a farm in Uruguay.

Things keep changing.  I keep changing.  I am trying to let go of my “nevers”  (I should have mastered this by now) and be open to where my heart pulls me–even if that means a piece of property in the middle of nowhere.

I’m not a teenager anymore.  My kids have never lived in the country, and they aren’t likely to live on a farm–ever.  But I love the idea of having this place for our family to congregate, to share holidays and watch grandchildren playing in the garden.  Studio apartment life in the city is exhilarating, but I am longing for a place that inspires more contemplation.  Living in the country won’t be simpler than living in a studio apartment–there is more to maintain–but it will provide a perfect balance.

I think.  Or, I might find it terribly boring.  Who knows?

All I can do is follow my heart.  And right now, it’s pulling me to this piece of property which I have not yet seen.

More soon.

NaBloPoMo is almost finished, but I find myself unable to concentrate on any of the posts I’ve had in mind.

I’m feeling a bit low these days, as it usually happens to me around the holidays. My family has gathered this weekend in America and as I cannot be there, I’m suffering the eternal sadness of an expat. Will you blame  me if I tell you that I wish I were at home?

Well, enough moping. I always try to have that “temper to be happy” that makes everything right again. In the meantime, I’m looking forward to the movie A Christmas Carol very much. I read it’s very faithful to the story, and as it is one of my favorites, that is very important to me. I had put up the trailer in this post, but the link isn’t working, so I’ve taken it down.

There is a myth that Boquete has gotten “too expensive” which needs to be debunked. Yes, prices have gone up. Panama uses the US dollar as its currency and imports a lot of items, so as the US dollar has devalued prices have gone up. Like everyone else in the world, Panama is dependant on oil. As the price of oil has risen so has the cost of fuel, essential in an agricultural area like Chiriqui. Since Boquete has been “discovered” as the paradise that it is, land prices have gone up as well.

Expats like us have moved in and build foolishly large houses: who needs 4,500 sq ft for two people? OK, like a lot of people we got carried away building our dream home. But for a lot of perhaps more sensible folks, 4,500 sq feet of house to maintain and 4.5 acres of land to cultivate isn’t their dream of a relaxing retirement! There are nice, North American-style homes available on the market in Boquete ranging in price from $250,000 to several million dollars. But what if you can’t afford that? What if you don’t need, or that?

Take the house we’ve almost finished renovating for my brother. It was a simple house we originally built for our farm worker – block, tin roof, Panamanian-style windows [no glass, decorative concrete block]. We needed to have my brother close at hand to deal with some of his physical challenges, so we renovated it. He has a really cute house, about 1,100 square feet, very nicely done . . . and almost finished. We have some final painting touch up to do inside and out, but he has two bedrooms, a living room, a small kitchen with dining nook, walk-in closet, bathroom with washer and dryer. He has a nice yard . . . and our total cost $32,000.

Here’s how that breaks down:

If we had to buy 1000 sq meter lot at today’s price of $15/meter in Palmira $15,000
Original cost of the worker casita $8,000
Cost to renovate to “gringo” standard (i.e., hot water, washer, dryer, microwave, stove, refrigerator, nice windows, grills, metal doors, new electric, tile floor, hung ceiling) $9,000

$32,000 for a really cut little house in Palmira . . . 10 minutes from “downtown” Boquete.

You can buy a nice, small, buildable lot in the outskirts of Boquete for anywhere from $15 to $25 a square meter, if you look around. Many of these small, buildable parcels already have community water supply, electric, and public road access. [Buying a lot without electricity can cost you a small fortune to get connected!]

One expat gal in our community, facing a major change of life after divorce, and with virtually no money, you’ll meet a gal who created a whimsical “hobbit” home out of a dilapidated old worker’s shack. With a lot of creativity, and virtually no money, she created a unique, interesting, a fun little house!

Two other gals bought an old run-down Panamanian house beside the river, invested about $25,000 and have a cute little house . . . unfortunately it is right next to the river, which may not be such a good idea.

Another guy took two 40 foot shipping containers and made a unique dwelling. 40 foot containers run around $3,000 each delivered.

Today I received this . . . I’m not necessarily trying to sell this guy’s house . . . but just to show you what $59,000 will buy if you get a little outside Boquete proper . . .

Now I know it’s hard to read since I just had to work with what the guy posted. But you can click on the above images for a little better view . . . or email these guys at ctgage@shaw.ca or call them (in Canada) 250-423-3582. They can give you all the details.

The gal who cuts my hair has a nice home in Alto Boquete for sale for under $50K. These homes are around, you just have to look for them. That means coming to Panama, spending some time, if you don’t speak Spanish finding a local who can help you, and searching. Understand a real estate agent would naturally rather work with people who are buying $400,000 homes since they work on commission, but, if you said to someone . . . this is what I want. Find it and I’ll pay you $5,000 or $8,000 . . . they’d find it . . . and if they wouldn’t a dozen other people would.

I still can’t believe I married my high school boyfriend in July. It has been 11 years since we are graduated and we didn’t see each other for 9 years of it! How did love survive… no, not survive, grow!? I actually have a couple of hypotheses:

1) If there really is “The One” or if really two people can belong to each other than he is my “One” and/or we belong to each other. Than it was only a matter of time that our lives crossed again and this time  never to split. (Hmm… is it too strong an argument?)

2) We indeliberately “shaped” each other with our criticisms as first boyfriend and girlfriend. You know, it hurts most when you are an adolescent. You define what you want to be when you are at those ages. And we really loved each other then. Not as sweethearts but as great friends. Romance came after. Then we were separated because it was time for university; separate universities. I had several other boyfriends and he had many (!) other girlfriends. And apparently, we couldn’t find what we were looking for. I know that I gradually became the lover he wanted me to be, and he became the lover I wanted him to be. Then, again, it was a matter of time…

Having a scientific background, I like it when I am rational. It is not to say I am not emotional, though. I am seriously emotional when it is rational to be so. An I am really good at rationalizing things (Well, you will find it out as you read more of my confessions!). Therefore, I stand closer to the second hypothesis. The best part is, both have the same result: I am a happy newlywed!

Oh, also an expat. An expat in Dubai. And this is where my daily struggle begins. No matter how happy you are, being a newlywed is a tiring and stressful thing. Adding to that, being an expat is not easy. So I am left with many things to complain, cry about and, yes, CONFESS…

To celebrate one of my favorite holidays, we gathered every American I could find in France and an assortment of other Europeans for a feast with just about everything but the turkey. When I came home from work and began to prepare the pork roast, cranberry sauce and green bean casserole I realized I would never have enough time and oven space to make the pumpkin pie. Fiona came to the rescue and despite having never before had pumpkin pie and having to convert the recipe from American measurements, the result was a spectacular success.

Pumpkin Pie - A Taste of America in France

This Thanksgiving I am thankful for good food and great friends.

Thanksgiving in Japan, 2008: 

The equipment: Two gas burners, one toaster oven, one microwave, no kitchen counter.

The menu: Pan-roasted chicken, Maggie’s World Famous stuffing, mashed potatoes, canned corn, green bean casserole, gravy, dried cranberries, Mon Frere red wine. The Veuve Cliquot Champagne was a congratulatory gift from Nakata-san after Obama was elected. 

Thanksgiving in Ireland: 

The equipment: Four gas burners, an oven, and a microwave.

The menu: A roast chicken, green bean casserole with homemade French-fried onions, Maggie’s World Famous stuffing, gravy, homemade Irish cheddar-and-parmesan macaroni and cheese, red wine, After Eights. Not pictured: mashed potatoes and homemade apple crumble. 

Two countries, two dinners. The constants: stuffing, green bean casserole, mashed potatoes and chicken. No turkey in Japan. No turkey in Ireland before Christmas. No Thanksgiving, of course, in either Japan or Ireland. The gloating Turkey-filled facebook status updates come fast and furious and I feel lonely, left out. But the bright side? I have my pick of anything I want in the supermarket at 4 pm on the day of. And the T-day food? The food is delicious anywhere you eat it. 

Besides – when you’re young, healthy, loved, and a Master’s student in the course of your dreams, every day is Thanksgiving.

Yesterday marked the first Thanksgiving that I have ever had to spend without my family. Despite missing my family like crazy, I think our expat celebration in the UK turned out quite well! It definitely brought a bit of home across the pond.

We made it a potluck celebration, so everyone brought their favorite Thanksgiving dish. I was slightly worried that we wouldn’t have enough food, but we actually ended up having leftovers, which was pretty amazing! Check out some of our goodies (wish I would have taken more pictures!) :

Lindsay’s Pumpkin Pie! Note to those celebrating in the UK: stores don’t sell canned pumpkin here. You have to buy a whole pumpkin and actually mash it and make a real pumpkin pie… a bit intense. Fortunately for Lindsay (and for everyone involved in the eating process), her lovely mom shipped a can + evaporated milk + crusts across the pond. Mmmmm!

Here’s Aaron cutting into his fierce Turbaducken, which was essentially a turducken (duck inside of a chicken inside of a turkey) with layers of bacon, andouille sausage, spinach and stuffing inside. It was definitely a feat (12 hours of roasting + ridiculous prep), but I think Aaron definitely ran away with MVP. His turkey looked great plus it fed EVERYONE there!

I made a vat of candied yams since sweet potatoes are my most favorite food in the world! Unfortunately, the bag of marshmallows were a mix of pink and white (the only ones I could find in the store!) and I had to use the pink ones because there weren’t enough white to cover everything. Thus, my potatoes look like a Valentine’s Day dish instead of a traditional Thanksgiving fare. Still quite good!

With Sean & Wen, a couple of our guests!

This picture of Ronan & Pooja is probably my favorite of the night! Love these two <3.

I’m so thankful for everyone that came and celebrated, it definitely felt a bit like celebrating with the fam. To everyone back in California: miss you, love you and hope you had an amazing Thanksgiving!

xoxo,

The first number of years that I lived here in Holland I tried to have the usual American holidays in my home like Thanksgiving and an American Christmas meal. I invited my Dutch family and friends and they enjoyed the meal but the ‘feeling’ of the holiday was not there. After a few years I pretty much left it. It was a lot of work for me and no one seemed to understand what the hoorah was about so I just stopped.  As my children grew I did have small celebrations for them here in the house. They loved Thanksgiving with a few of their friends and Halloween was a big favorite. Now I only have one child at home and she’s not small anymore. They do like an American Christmas so we make it a point to keep that but Halloween and Thanksgiving has been left on the side.
Yesterday I started the day wishing my American friends and family a happy Thanksgiving on Facebook then went to work. I got home late and exhausted and to my surprise my Dutch husband had a small Thanksgiving meal waiting for me. He had to go to the next town to find a turkey and he looked on the internet what to make, he even made cranberry sauce himself. If I wasn’t so exhausted I would have been teary eyed. Unfortunately I almost fell asleep at the dinner table. I will make it up to him today but it really was a nice surprise.

A couple of weeks ago, while I was minding my own business online, our broadband access went out. For expats, the internet is akin to a vital  biological function, like breathing. When it disappears inexplicably it is never good.

After much poking at wires and turning off and on of the router, (pretty much the sum total of my technical expertise right there) Mr B, who arrived home in blissful ignorance of this unfolding domestic drama, promptly copped the flak.

It turns out our landline bill has not been paid.

Since we moved in.

In June.

Apparently, even though we’ve never used it and even though ADSL service is part of our rent, a monthly fee has to be paid for a landline in order to keep the ADSL on. After a mercifully short excursion to China Unicom where one employee spoke enough English to help me fill out the myriad forms in Chinese characters, we were told to wait a week and then service would be resumed.

My problem with this is not that we were cut off. That’s normal for non payment of bills. What is totally baffling is that we have not received a single bill, reminder notice, or in fact ANY kind of communication from China Unicom telling us this was coming.

When I mentioned this little episode to one of the very helpful employees in our building, she looked at me as if I came from another planet. Which in many ways I do.

Her response was, “but everybody knows that around 20th of the month bills must be paid!”

“Even though there is no bill sent? No reminders? And there is no mention of this in any of our contracts?”

“Yes, of course. This is China. Everybody knows this is how it works here,” she confirmed.

Everybody except a remedial wife it seems.

]]> http://talesfromthehaolife.wordpress.com/2009/11/26/paring-down-before-hitting-the-road-how-to-liquidate-your-life/ Thu, 26 Nov 2009 21:55:20 +0000 katmatthews http://talesfromthehaolife.wordpress.com/2009/11/26/paring-down-before-hitting-the-road-how-to-liquidate-your-life/

It’s the end of November in Cowtown, where Geoff and I have lived for what is quickly approaching four years, and Calgarians are enjoying what may be the last of the relatively warm Chinook weather before winter barges in for a minimum four month stay. In years past, I have responded to the impending snow and cold in the same manner as many Albertans and Canadians:  an unhealthy combination of dread, carbohydrates, and pajama pants. This year, and with any luck for years stretching as far into the future as we choose, is different. We have just over one month remaining in Canada, and rather than hunkering down for another Alberta winter, I am selling what remnants remain of our life here: our house closed two days ago, and we are camping out (almost literally) in a vacant apartment owned by our Realtor for the next month; most of our furniture is gone, and the little that remains includes but traces of our former life — a coffee table, an area rug, a few small kitchen appliances and travel mugs from which we can imbibe all-important coffee and chocolat chaud.

And how does it feel to be living quite literally on the floor of an almost vacant apartment (what we’re currently referring to as our Japanese lifestyle)?

Liberating. Uplifting. Exciting.

I feel similar to when I rid myself of my cell phone — part criminal, part spy; I can get in touch with you, but YOU can’t get in touch with me — only this time we are outcasts and degenerates escaping materialism and consumerism. Except we’re not: just because we’ve rid our lives of excess linens and light fixtures, window coverings and wine glasses, dishes and decorative figurines doesn’t mean we’ve escaped. After all, we had to consume these things in the first place. But that is another post entirely. Where I’m going with this is the process, the time, and the surprising emotions involved with getting rid of STUFF. Below is a simplified month-by-month schedule of how we got rid of our things in preparation for leaving.

~ 7 months prior to D(eparture)-day: We began sorting through boxes of our memories: box upon box stored in our basement and filled with photographs, notes and cards from friends and family, ticket stubs, flags signed by friends from countries in which we’ve lived, and Frisbees from teams against which we’ve played Ultimate. We put like items together (i.e. all memories from my time in Denmark were put in one pile, and items from Geoff’s childhood in another) and went through each pile with a goal of cutting each pile in half. By having all like items together, we were able to make decisions about which remnants and souvenirs were more important or more representative of the memory than others. By cutting each pile in half, we were effectively able to cut the total number of boxes by half, and what we have left are all memories we truly cherish and want to keep. This process took us about a month: slower and with more yelling at first, and then once we got into it, quite quickly and smoothly. Once we got into it, we were both surprised by the fact that much of what was in the original boxes was crap, and wasn’t all that difficult to chuck. For this reason, I’d recommend committing at least a month to this process: once you’ve gotten rid of what you assume is everything you can possibly give up, put the boxes aside for a week or so and don’t think about them. Then, go back and get rid of more.

TIP: Once sorted, don’t completely pack your memories back up. As we were cleaning out other rooms in our house, we found a few items that needed to be added to the memories boxes.

~ 6 to 4 months prior to D(eparture)-day: We started staging our house to get it ready to sell about 6 months before leaving, and it took us 3 months or so of staging and liquidating before putting the house on the market. In addition to performing minor repairs around the house and covering the orange bedroom walls with beige paint, we reduced the amount of stuff in each room (including decorations, furniture, electronics, etc.) by about half. In hindsight, we should have sold most of it (see below, when I get into Kijiji mania), but instead we gave most of it away to friends and goodwill (also nice). We went through the entire house, room-by-room, and made a list of all the large items we needed to rid ourselves of before we could put the house on the market. Slowly but surely, we matched people with pieces, and those things we couldn’t match with a friend, we took to Goodwill. Many, many, many trips to Goodwill. We went through every cupboard and closet, and got rid of everything we don’t absolutely love or wouldn’t use in the final few months. Around this stage, we also started fielding innumerable comments from friends, family, and acquaintances, almost always along the lines of: You’re Getting Rid of THAT?!????!! You can’t get rid of THAT!!!!

Stay strong.

~ 4 months prior to D(eparture)-day: Based on our Realtor’s recommendation and our own research about the market, we put our house up for sale on September 15, approximately 16 weeks before our targeted date to leave Calgary (December 27). It sat on the market for about a month, and during that time there wasn’t much we could do as the house had to be kept spotless. As soon as it sold and conditions were lifted, I created a Kijiji profile and began to sell virtually everything that remained: our kitchen table, our barbecue, our patio furniture, one of our two vehicles, decorative jars, arts, craft supplies, dishes, and more. We have made about $500 so far selling things (excluding the car) and estimate by the end of it all, we’ll have made about $1000 from selling furniture and nicknacks (enough for 100 nights in a South American hostel, or two weeks in South America based on our travel budget of $70 p/day). Karol Gajda’s post 7 Tips: How to Declutter Your Life Using Craigslist has some good tips on effectively selling things online, although I would add that in Calgary, Kijiji seems to be more active than Craigslist.

~ 1 months prior to D(eparture)-day: We had to be out of our house on November 23, just over a month before our leaving date. So we packed up what remained in the house (the aforementioned memory boxes, some furniture we’re giving to family members, artwork, and anything required for one-month living in a temporary apartment) and dumped the majority of it in a storage locker. I cried when I saw how much stuff we still have: 6 months of work, innumerable trips to Goodwill, and a summer lost to sorting things in the basement, and we still have enough stuff to fill a 5′ by 10′ storage locker.

Our next steps: The plan is to leave Calgary on December 27, and drive our remaining belongings to Vancouver. Once we give the remaining furniture to various family members, we’ll have a better idea of how much stuff belonging to us still remains, and we can go through a final round of sorting and purging before packing it up for good, or getting items prepared to ship to Taiwan for use.

Every fourth Thursday in November in the US, families countrywide join to celebrate Thanksgiving Day, which literally in Spanish is translated to, “The Day of Active Thanks”. How cool that this is a holiday!! Thanksgiving transcends racial, ethnic, political, and socioeconomic lines: from Hessidic Jews to African immigrants to Muslims, Hindus, the Asian community, exchange students, and many others. Everybody celebrates Thanksgiving, and if you don’t, usually you will get invited to somebody’s house. It’s the spirit of the day. Obviously you see this in how Thanksgiving weekend travel is chaotic as friends and family cross the country to be together for the long weekend.

And yeah okay, Thanksgiving is iconic for its food. Even after nearly a decade of living in Chile, Thanksgiving is still the holiday I miss most; the holiday tradition I keep true as if I was still abroad. The only difference is now I celebrate with my husband, his family, expat friends, and Chilean straggler buddies who lived abroad (a.k.a. my extended family). And it’s hot. Usually in the 80s, so stuffing yourself smells just silly.

Historically, Thanksgiving marks the grand party that the Pilgrims and their Indian compadres threw on Massachusetts shores in 1620 to celebrate the first harvest before the cold winter. I always imagine that spread, the prepared bounty of the land: wild turkey, sweet corn (or succotash), roasted pumpkin, sweet potatoes, wheat ground into flour for hearty bread. I love to learn about Thanksgiving’s regionality in the US: from the New England coasts and cranberry chutneys to the Southerners from Louisana who swear that injerting a turkey with spices (including cayenne) and frying it is s-u-b-l-i-m-e; or Texans corn bread. Growing up in Pennsylvania, we had the usual suspects: creamy garlic mashed potatoes with gobs of butter, sweet potatoes covered with gooey-sweet marshmellows, green beans in some form or another, juicy savory stuffing, and of course pumpkin pie. Pumpkin pie this year sounds like it is morphing into pumpkin cheesecake. After all that, cheesecake? Really?

I finally understood the timing of Thanksgiving after I realized Chile’s Independence day, September 18, is their holiday equivalent. Things start early in the day with a lot of cooking duties: make the empanadas and massive barbeque with salads, desserts, and the works. So like for Thanksgiving, much of the morning is spent in the kitchen and the drinking starts anytime after the guests arrive and/or the game starts (2pm). Dinner is usually around 4pm after the soccer match or rodeo is over (or football in the US, are you seeing the parallel?), and of course, a big siesta ensues.

But before demolishing the feast,  wise words are shared (not necessarily religious), known as the blessing, where give thanks for the food, being together, and especially appreciating what one has. We actively take a moment to pause and give thanks for what we have and what we have created in our life. That’s the part of Thanksgiving that is so meaningful for me. This is  especially intensified and felt when shared with others. There definitely is an invisible energetic tie that unites me to the US by partaking in the holiday on the same day, even from 5,000 miles away. Somehow, I tap into that energy too and share it here with my family. In this accelerated go-go-go-do-do-do world where everyone considers themselves as a priority and we live cut off from each other, reconnecting with yourself, then with others, and stopping to thank the Universe for all the abundance and being alive is fundamental. Actually, it is something we should do every day, not just once a year.

So this November 26, I will be actively giving thanks, even though I’ll be at the end of world in Patagonia. The menu will be king crab and quinoa instead of turkey and sweet potatoes, but I’ll celebrating with you all.

Happy Thanksgiving.

You hear rumors, urban legends.  But you don’t believe them.  Nah, that is not realistic, you say.  And if it does happen, well, there must be some cruel stuff going on.

I am talking about babies and toddlers that go to sleep early and then stay asleep all night.  You know, good sleepers.

Tonight is the third night in a row that both children went to bed before 7.  We have no idea what to do.  How do you have an adult life again?  We wander around, exhausted, talking, watching a little TV, waiting for the kids to get up.  They have to get up.  But they don’t.  They sleep. (Not until morning.  No, we don’t have kids like that.  But, for them, they sleep soundly.)

We made it happen to some degree.  We got real hard about no naps after daycare for NK – even 20 minute ones.  We are finally ready to pounce on the 6pm drowsiness, not waiting until the 7pm drowsiness.  As for the baby, he no longer has an ear infection, is not teething at the moment and is not learning any new skills.  So he can rest a bit.

Tonight, they went to sleep early after a big Thanksgiving dinner.  Here is an expat Thanksgiving for you.

Wake up.  Wish everyone a Happy Thanksgiving.

Take toddler to daycare.  Go to work.

Remember Thanksgiving occasionally.  Forget it completely most of the day.

Work.  Go to meetings.  Edit stuff.

Talk to the daycare teacher about Thanksgiving.

Come home to turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie made from scratch, among other things.

Almost cry of joy at the smell of the pie.  Thank your Swedish wife profusely.

Try to explain to the toddler that the turkey decorations and pilgrim candles are not for her birthday, but for everyone.

Eat.  Do a video call with grandma and grandpa.  With the cousins.

Watch the toddler obsess over the pumpkin pie, which she knows from the end of the second verse of “Over the hills and through the woods.”

“Hurrah for the fun.  Is the pudding done?  Hurrah for the pumpkin pie!”

Children sleep – magically and mysteriously.

Watch football.  Eat more pie.

Be happy.

• Happy Thanksgiving
• Holiday time is stressful for teachers
• Teachers start to snap at each other under pressure
• Have you seen New Moon?
• Tom’s take on the book series
• I’ve always avoided things that are trendy
• Turkey day!
• American holidays abroad
• My first Thanksgiving experience in Thailand
• My only thanksgiving dinner in 9 years
• Would you like a little turkey with your salt?
• Thanksgivings past….
• Over the river and through the woods…
• The Macy’s Day parade
• Wishing for cold
• almost still smell and taste the food
• The feast and compulsory naps afterwards
• Things I’m thankful for…
• One of the worst things about living in Thailand
• An upcoming important Thai holiday
• Andrea’s comment on the last episode
• Things we know but don’t talk about
• It’s much to easy to have language based misunderstandings
• One thing Thais take Very seriously
• Facebook and new listeners
• Pattaya Passion website and message board
• SBA and a month of daily podcasts
• Tom on an upcoming Tiggercast?
• Juggling the time difference between Thailand and home
• Stop by the blog and say hello
• Closing remarks and ramblings

Email me at tominthai@gmail.com, please go Comment on my page or call my voice line at 1-206-426-2152 and leave me a voice comment for the show!

Download Tom in Thailand: Click Here | The Freak Network | The RainbowPodSquad

Subscribe to Tom in Thailand in Itunes: Click here