Phew, am done with the two papers I needed to submit and have some time to write about things not relating to either Foucault’s meaning of power or preferential trade agreements.

In the long standing tradition of our abilities to be “bad planners” (remind me to tell you the story of how we got to Havana last year), I left immediately after the term was over for a two-week stay in Los Angeles, coming back Christmas day.  Pedram left a week earlier, going to a conference before meeting up with me.  This was bad for the following reasons:

1- Me and dog alone at home with crazy last minute library research panic and new city that is so creepily quiet and British winter which means 4pm darkness equals crazy paranoid Mahsa who wishes her dog was 5 times bigger than he is.  And that he was just a teeny bit aggressive.

2 – Finding out that there is no transportation home from the airport on Christmas day, no shuttles, no buses, no trains.  Taxis charge twice as much, which means it is cheaper to rent a car for two days, bring it back to the airport, then take a bus back home, than take to pay for a taxi on Christmas.

3 – As of a week before the trip, we still did not have a dog-sitter.  As of the day before I left, we still did not have anyone for Christmas eve and Christmas morning.

4 – Also, those papers?  Yeah, they really should have been written over a few weeks, as opposed cramming a month’s worth of work in 10 days.  I literally did not leave the house or change my clothes for the first 9 days of 2012.

Wow, I am going to stop the rambling.  And remind myself again to plan better next time.  Seriously, taking a red eye 11 hour flight and then driving on the left-side when it is already dark at 4pm on Christmas day is not a good idea.

Los Angeles, by the way, was amazing.  I have such a love/hate relationship with that city, and this time, I think even Pedram felt his cold European hate melt with the warm California sun.  And of course, there is this guy:

He is my nephew.  And we spent alot of time hanging out, catching up with the Kardashians, and judging my sister in her role as a new mom.  He is pretty cool and likes to nap.  We napped together a few times.

He does not, not matter how hard you try, like to give you a smile, but when he does, be ready, cause it will make your heart go pitter patter.

Pedram and I also took a car trip for a few days to Sedona, Arizona.  All of our other plans (Hawaii, Mexico, even the Grand Canyon) were cancelled for one reason or another.  Our drive there was interesting — leaving the LA mess behind, large, flat, open space with nothingness, and then more nothingness for hours and hours.

Euro's first cactus

And then we hit a huge snowstorm, in which I could only see about an inch in front of the car, and nothing on either side of us.  We were warned about the snow storm by the local news and the woman at the gas station, but decided to continue because Pedram could not wrap his head around the fact that there could be snow in Arizona.

Literally, as we were surrounded by snow and ice, he kept repeating that it couldn’t be right, how is there precipitation in the desert?  And the guy works on climate and geography, people.

Luckily, the valley of Sedona only had a little rain, which turned into small patches of ice on our hikes, and then eventually melted to show the beauty of the great American west.

And then we were back in LA, where the weather was not stormy at all, and we spent all of our time taking turns holding the baby, going for walks, eating delicious homecooked meals, and hanging out with my family.

If I had told Pedram that one day we would be spending a week in a two bedroom apartment with my parents, my two siblings, my sister’s husband and their brand new baby, I think he would have immediately booked a hotel.  His family doesn’t do the whole “lets cram everyone together in one tiny space and let the fart jokes begin” thing that my family enjoys.  They like a little bit of personal space and the ability to close doors and get changed without worrying about their mother-in-law walking in on them.  At one point, my sister’s husband, who when he was not working, was staying up all night with the baby and doing loads of laundry, kindly folded Pedram’s underwear that was in the dryer and left it in a nice pile.  And I imagine Pedram’s discomfort at having someone fold his personal items, and his general uneasiness at the general lack of boundaries.

But if he was bothered, he definitely didn’t mention it, except to be grateful for his brother-in-law’s nice act.  In fact, now thinking of it, I think Pedram thrived in the apartment, since I had many outlets to  vent, and he got a little bit of rest from being my best friend/family/punching bag.  He definitely enjoyed it a little too much when my family would mock me and tell embarassing stories.  And occasionally he would escape to his aunt’s house in the valley, where she would pamper him even more than his own mother.

If we both arrived in California little balls of stress, it didn’t take long for us to unravel.  Sunset walks in Santa Monica, eating outside, and the guilt-free shopping you can do when everything is an additional 40% off when translated into pounds.  I took advantage of the spas, Pedram made time to enjoy the LA street art scene, and we both indulged in lots and lots of delicious persian food, both at home and in the best kabab restaurants in the states.

We returned to England filled with Americanism (real maple syrup, Trader Joe’s mangoes, persian fruit roll-ups), and Pedram even invested in a ukelele, cause we were just that kind of west-coast, beach-loving, sing-songy cool people now.  Yeah man.

About a year ago, I received a very kind email from someone who wanted me to talk a little bit about what it is like to be a trailing spouse.

I have never referred to myself as a trailing spouse, nor any other ridiculous 50′s style connatation.  My life is incredibly glamourous dammit, and I am the queen of Sheba sitting on my throne and beheading idiots.  I am a resource of inspiration and fascination for the public, wherever I move I bless the people in that city and they name food items after me.  I did not trail anyone here, I was asked to come to Canada by Stephen Harper himself.  He begged, and I eventually submitted.  I debate the benefits of British living over high tea with Charles and Camelia.

Ever so matured and evolved, I started my response.  ”I am not a trailing spouse.  You are.”  And then I actually deleted the email, knowing that I have no idea how to respond.  And be honest.  But that is not fair to that person.  So I will try here to do so.  Without making myself sound like a suitcase that Pedram takes with him on his life journey.  And I will try to be succinct about it.

Just keep in mind, that for every person it is different.

You want to integrate, but the definition of this Belgian delicacy is "pressed head". So you just stick to Belgian chocolate.

Let’s make things clear first — I knew before I got married that I would be living abroad.  That I might live a few difference places before settling.  If ever.  I also knew that I would be moving to a new place indefinitely.  This is a HUGE distinction in my eyes.  Knowing that you are moving to a new town and city for a year or two, you have a very different attitude about the experience.  I have never had that — “lets take advantage of our adventure abroad feeling”, cause it wasn’t an adventure.  It was my life – I had no other home to go back to.  I also knew that I would be taking the more challenging route — different language means that I wouldn’t be able to go to school or work as easily, would have more difficulty making friends, engage in different cultures, build a brand new life with different expectations and understandings, only to move and start all over again.  I am also married to a European and francophone, so our transitions to new enviroments are incredibly varied.

My first suggestion is to try out markets. Great place to practice a new language.

That is where I come from, and I know from my large group of expat friends in Europe and Montreal, that every person has a different experience and expectations.  For many people, the word expat means that you have a lot of money, which was not our case either.  When I first came to Brussels, Pedram and I had just gotten married, and I brought over my US savings with me.  That lasted me my first month.  Having nothing to do during the day, I spent spent spent.  I flew back to Seattle, I went on shopping sprees, and I ate at cafes by myself.  And then one day, I was at a market, and called Pedram for the 20th time that day, and he told me to stop buying oranges, cause we simply could not afford them.  He was right. I needed to change my spending habits.  It was a very very tough pill to swallow.  And I did not take it well.

Hang out with locals to see how they eat fish

It is hard moving to a new country or city because of one person’s job and then having to rearrange your life around it.  I found a job, I was able to contribute to the family pool, but I never felt confident that I was enhancing my life goals.  It was not the same case for Pedram, who for ever move we made, has been rising up the ranks.  Even with a job, I was faced with lots of time and no idea how to fill it.  I passed the weekends planning trips with my million days of vacation, and would subsequently make all my friends jealous.  But the reality was that I would rather just go to someone’s house and enjoy a nice cup of tea and the company of a close friend than a trip to Geneva.  I am someone who is perpetually homesick.

Take your new budding hobby to a coffee shop and parade your dog in hopes that someone, anyone, might find you interesting and strike up a conversation

Now that we are on our third country together, I am very grateful for the experiences I have had and the stories we’ve created.  I may complain and groan about the moves, the difficulties making friends, the different food or electrical units, the 5 months of snow etc., but I don’t doubt that this experience has enriched my life.  And honestly, I think it has strengthen my marriage.

Be creative! Invite the local Frenchies over for clementines and tea and a game of ice hockey. Spend the whole time wondering if the word "puck" in french sounds like "puke"

I have, like many other expats I know, recreated myself through the experience.  I have friends from different cultures and identities, who have broaden my understanding of the world and myself.  I am much more independent and more comfortable in my own abilities, whether it is dealing with a visa issue at an embassy or speaking a new language, I am more confident.  I know other spouses who have turned their hobbies into a job, their personal blogs into a freelance job, and embarked on new challenges around the globe.  So I would (and do) recommend it to everyone.  But I try to be realistic about it and their expectations — it is not easy.  You have to try hard to make friends with locals and not just other expats.  You may have to learn a new language late in your life.  You must build structure in your day if you are not working, and venture out beyond your personal comfort zone to achieve goals.

You might hate it, but don’t give up, keep trying, cause you might miss it once you’ve moved on.

To be clear, I don't miss the epic snow. But it is fun to look back at the pictures.

I know I haven’t been writing much, and it is mostly due to being a grad student and how much writing and reading I have to do.  Honestly, I am not one to hate on reading, as it is one of my favorite things to do, but after years of novel reading, all this academic reading is EX. HAUST. ING.  Brain hurts.

We had a paper due a few weeks back, and I turned on my expert procrastinating skills and basically avoided writing it until the last minute.  Although my 20 year old self laughs at my current form of procrastination, cause unless you are writing your conclusion with 22 seconds left to spell-check, print and turn in the paper after 3 consecutive sleepless nights, then you are turning it in early.  My 20 year old self thinks I am currently an overachiever, and my current self wonders where exactly I had all the energy at the age of 20.

That said, I have many more papers to write about subjects that are overwhelming to me to even begin addressing, and I thought it would be nice to share some of my procrastinating tools with you.

Best procrastinating blog ever — Odycycle.

When we moved to England, we were excited to hang out with old friends of Pedram’s – Sam and Francesca, who hosted us in London when we visited before.  But they had other plans.  They quit their jobs, emptied their apartment, and took a road trip from London to Shanghai.

On bike.

Their voyage is brilliantly depicted on their blog, written with sharp wit and great humor.  You have to start from the beginning, from their trek through Europe, tracing family ancestry, Eastern Europe, and eventually, to a place they had been already.  Iran.  They started in Kurdistan, and traversed the country.

The pictures are breathtaking.  Here is one of Iran I had to put on here — a vision of Iran that I would never see otherwise:

Camping in Iran. From Odycycle

Sam and Francesca have moved on beyond China, they are now exploring Southeast Asia, and potentially beyond that.  I am so jealous of their adventure, although I am aware that I would never be able to do what they are doing…on bicycle.  As much as I can’t wait for them to come back so I can pick their brains about their voyage, another part of me wants to encourage them to continue on their adventure for as long as possible, and keep allowing us to live vicariously through their posts.