My Expat Life

I used to really love to go to the movies. I went all the time. There were times when I could see 3 or more movies in a week. I was even known to see more than one movie in a day. I loved to go to the movies.

When I lived in Cork, I started to go a little less often. Going to the cinema was replaced with all too frequent trips to the bookstore. There were only 2 theatres that were within an easy walk for me, and they didn’t seem to have a lot to offer. I still managed a few movies a month, but the desire just wasn’t the same.

The 2005 Academy Awards were the first in many years in which I had not seen ALL of the films nominated for best picture. I was pretty freaked out by that fact. It wasn’t that I missed them, it was just that most of them hadn’t yet played in Ireland. By the time of the award ceremony, I had only seen one nominee, Million Dollar Baby.

When I moved to Singapore I was back into my movie going habit. With nothing better to do on the weekends, I was back to catching 2-3 movies per weekend. The only thing that ever held me back was a lack of new films to watch.

As the 2006 Academy Awards approached I again became a little frantic to see all the best picture nominees. Luckily, I was in Austin for 2 weeks and was able to catch several of the nominated films. I even managed to catch Crash on the flight in which I moved from Singapore to Sydney. By the time of the awards I think I had managed to see all but one of the nominated films.

Today was the day of the 2007 Academy Awards. I managed to see 3 of the nominated films. I could have seen more, but oddly I just had no interest. In the last year, my compulsion to see movies has just vanished. I saw several films during the two weeks of the Sydney Film Festival, including a few that won Oscars. As much hype was out there, I just couldn’t make myself want to go the movies. Perhaps some of the lack of desire has to do with the fact that the movie theatre in Manly (which I do absolutely adore) has only 2 screens and shows only 4 movies at a time; many of the movies playing long after their release date. The options for the last minute movie going are pretty slim. If I plan ahead I can take a ferry into the city and go to The Dendy for an “art film”. But that requires a lot of planning ahead. If I plan a little less ahead, I can take a bus to a nearby mall and catch a movie, but if I go too late the buses stop running and I have to taxi home. Of course the main reason I’ve lost interest in the movies is the Pacific Ocean and the beautiful Sydney beaches. Why be indoors when you can be outdoors?

All that said, congratulations to Martin Scorsese and the movie The Departed. It was one of only three movies that I watched in the past year that I absolutely loved. I was glad to see it win.

Last night I made my first ever attempt at cooking enchiladas. Living in Texas most of my life, I never felt the need to learn to make them. Why cook them when you can just go down the road in any direction and find a great Mexican restaurant?

In Melbourne I tried a Mexican restaurant that was ok, but still not right. That was when I decided it was time to suck it up and learn to make my own. I asked plenty of friends from home for recipes and I scoured online recipe sites. I started to feel confident this was something I could do. I could indeed find a way to fulfil my Mexican food cravings.

I like to cook, and I really like to have someone to cook for. So, to put a bit more pressure on myself I decided that I would ask a friend over to taste my experiment. Crazy boy; he agreed. Friday night, I was still frantically asking people for recipes for the sauce. By Saturday morning, I just had to stop and pick one (or three) recipe and get my shopping done. If I had planned right, I could do some cleaning, then shopping, get my beach time in, do some more cleaning and then start the cooking.

Everything came together quite nice. It only took two stores to get everything (gluten free shopping isn’t that easy in Manly, but my dinner guest needed a gluten free option). I got my beach, swim, laze time. I did the basic apartment cleaning (although I forgot to clean the chairs on the balcony, later turning my guest part black). And by combining a few recipes, I had a sauce that resembled TexMex. I even put fresh tomato on the enchiladas since my guest was the person that convinced me to eat tomatoes.

All in all, the night went well. The enchiladas came out ok (I know what I’d do next time to make them better). I didn’t kill my guest with food poisoning. And I really enjoyed having him over for the evening.

For me it was a very nice Saturday indeed.

I love to laugh. Really love to laugh. It is one of my absolute favourite things to do. I love laughing so hard that my stomach starts to hurt or tears come to my eyes. My favourite is when I laugh so hard that I can barely breathe and my laugh turns into a series of rhythmic, squeaking sounds.

My favourite people are those that can make me laugh. I’ve got several friends that never cease to make me laugh. There are those with the dry or quick-witted sense of humour that find all sorts of wicked things to crack me up. There are those that just have an entirely different approach to life, and never cease to find and send me amusing things. There are those that I can be absolutely silly with, laugh at the dumbest things, find the tiniest thing hysterical. I even like the friends that tease me until I have to laugh at myself.

Almost anything can make me laugh. I laugh at good jokes, bad jokes, dirty jokes and even nonsensical jokes. I laugh when I am nervous. I laugh at inappropriate times. I laugh if I am embarrassed. I can be very ticklish, and I admit to liking to be tickled until I laugh. If I get really tired, I laugh like a loon at everything.

I am happiest when I laugh. Today I didn’t laugh nearly enough and I am grumpy. I’ve been grumpy for several days. I can’t take it anymore. There is a dark cloud hanging over my head. I can take a walk on the beach to try to clear my head. I can stick my feet in the Pacific Ocean to try to ease the anger. But when it comes right down to it, the only sure way that I am going to get out of my foul mood, is to have a really good, deep, belly aching, eye tearing, not able to breathe laugh.

Today is my Aussie Anniversary. It was about this time a year ago that my taxi was delivering me to my hotel after arriving in Australia for the first time. I can honestly say, that 365 days later, my excitement about being here has not yet begun to fade. I have absolutely, completely, whole-heartedly fallen in love with this country. It even drives me to making sappy pronouncements.

Looking back it feels like I have barely even scratched the surface, yet I know it has been a fast-paced, excitement packed, fun filled year. Thanks to my parents I travelled around and saw Perth, Fremantle, flew through Ayers Rock, Cairns, Brisbane and Melbourne. I’ve done a snorkel tour of the great barrier reef. I’ve cuddled a koala. I’ve been to an AFL (Aussie rules for the Americans) match, and absolutely loved it. I saw many, many, many, many matches at this years Australian Open (and thus completing my quest to attend all four major tennis tournaments). I’ve toured one of the many wine regions. I’ve seen an Opera at the Sydney Opera House. I attended the Sydney Film Festival and got to see some very good films from all over the world (including a Palestinian film). I took in the fantastic New Year’s Eve celebration at Sydney Harbour. I’ve made my way through several cities reliant on public transport. I’ve spent many an hour at the fine Aussie beaches. And most important, I’ve made some terrific new friends.

I’m leaving in 7 weeks. It is the friends that I will miss the most.

It’s the weekend. The sun is out. It’s nice and warm. If you need me you can find me at the beach. I’ll be napping on the sand, playing in the waves, listening to the iPod or reading.

The rule in my house was that I had to take two bites of anything before that I could declare that I didn’t like it. Two bites, easy enough. Well, except for spinach. At least once a week I tried to see how small an amount I could put on my fork and still have it count as a bite. But I could deal with those rules. A bite of something icky could easily be washed down with a drink of milk or a bite of something else more tasty. And lets not forget that lots of salt made anything taste better.

During the summers, I went to a day care run by a church in Austin. I usually enjoyed my time there. There were often trips to the lake, cool field trips, normal kids fun stuff. Being an exceptionally, picky eater, I usually took my lunch with me. One day, I did not have a lunch and had to eat the cafeteria offering. On my plate that day were stewed tomatoes. There was absolutely no way that those were going in my mouth. No way, no how.

As everyone else was finishing their lunches, the teachers noticed that one other girl and I had not touched the tomatoes. We were told that we would not be allowed to leave until ALL the tomatoes were eaten. All? You have to be kidding. One or two bites I could gag down, that was reasonable. But all? No way, no how.

I’ve been accused a few times in my life of being a bit stubborn. This was one of those occasions. I was totally prepared to sit there in the lunchroom until my mom came to pick me up. Those tomatoes were never going in my mouth. After what felt like hours in kids time, and in reality was probably about 30 minutes, the other girl relented and ate the tomatoes. Mine still remained untouched. The teacher with us was at the end of her patience and seeing that I clearly was prepared to sit at that table all afternoon, she gave in and took us back to the classroom. In the elevator on the way up to the classroom, the other girl, in all her glory, proceeded to throw up the newly eaten stewed tomatoes. ALL OVER THE TEACHER!

That is the kind of trauma that lingers. Decades have passed since that summer day. And I had yet to purposely eat a tomato. Sure I’d eat them in salsa, I even love to use tomato sauce and tomato paste for cooking. I have even admitted that at some point I should try a tomato because I had a feeling that I just might like them. But that childhood memory was just too strong.

Tuesday night I find myself sitting at La Guillotine. After trying escargot, my dinner companion found it incredible that I would willingly try snail, but refused to try to get over my fear of tomatoes. Eventually I relented and gave them a try. And of course I liked the tomatoes and finished them. I guess some childhood traumas can be overcome.