I tilted my head back and let the warm shower water run into my mouth and trickle down my throat; I was back in the good ole' U.S. of A. My old indicator of being back in the States after living abroad, was the pure joy I once received on the airplane ride home. The anticipated moment of being able to flush my toilet paper down the toilet. I would become giddy at the loud flush and the vision of toilet paper being fiercely swept away. Thanks to good plumbing in Mexico, I left the airplane lavatory emotionless, on our most recent trip north of the border.
Just like past visits to the United States, Sam and I spent almost an entire day doing chores. Typically, our biggest priority is an afternoon at the bank transferring money between foreign and American accounts; which is always a drawn out, long process because the chatty banker wants to know our whole life story and doesn't care that five other people are impatiently waiting and listening to our conversations. Your typical questions: "Is Mexico safe? Is it scary? How long will you be there? Do you teach English?"
A week of gluttony that makes my belly ache and rumble is ALWAYS on the list. My attitude about eating in the States is that I need to eat everything that I've missed; and fast. As if I will never have the opportunity to eat it again... Tofutti Cutie ice cream bars before 9 a.m, grilled cheez sandwiches for breakfast, lunch and dinner, as well as plenty of Strongbow beers. It is a pork-out fest. I am your quintessential American consumer; I give myself a one week pass; two times a year to do everything I typically despise.
Just like past visits to the United States, Sam and I spent almost an entire day doing chores. Typically, our biggest priority is an afternoon at the bank transferring money between foreign and American accounts; which is always a drawn out, long process because the chatty banker wants to know our whole life story and doesn't care that five other people are impatiently waiting and listening to our conversations. Your typical questions: "Is Mexico safe? Is it scary? How long will you be there? Do you teach English?"
A week of gluttony that makes my belly ache and rumble is ALWAYS on the list. My attitude about eating in the States is that I need to eat everything that I've missed; and fast. As if I will never have the opportunity to eat it again... Tofutti Cutie ice cream bars before 9 a.m, grilled cheez sandwiches for breakfast, lunch and dinner, as well as plenty of Strongbow beers. It is a pork-out fest. I am your quintessential American consumer; I give myself a one week pass; two times a year to do everything I typically despise.
We were super lucky that our friends offered us their cars for all of our errands and our trips up the canyons to snowboard. I did not tell them at the time, but I was freaked the 'f' out to drive. For reals, I was white knuckling it down the highway; which at one point was 6 lanes across. Strangely, I was missing the comfort of the Mexican roads, where making a left hand turn from the right lane now seems so safe and logical. Sam and I both laughed at our dread of the organized road systems we had quickly forgotten how to drive.
My backpack home was heavy; maxed-out. New clothes. Beer. Food. Vitamins. Lotion. Shampoo. Soap. Conditioner.
Side note: In case you are wondering, Mexico sells many natural products. However, we are now collecting the water from the bathroom sinks & showers and washing machine; grey water to use for our garden, so we bought all biodegradable products (more on this fun backyard project in the future). As far as the food, not too many dairy-free alternatives.
Back to the immigration line; where I was anxiously standing because I had not reported the clandestine packets of vegetable seeds on my immigration form; which were deep inside my backpack. As my bag was scanned at immigration the official yelled out 'cerveza' and I was escorted to the inspection table. Two officials asked how many liters of alcohol I had and my American mind could not do the equation. Shame on you American education for not teaching the metric system in public schools. So,...out came my undies, shoes, a colossal pile of tampons, and all the other goodies that were crammed into my bag. The immigration officers were intrigued by the Epic beers; and part of me thought they would confiscate them just so they could drink some good Utah beer. They gave Sam their seal of approval on the high alcohol content and the beers went back into the bag. It was the black cardamom seeds from the Indian market that required a third officer's approval. After some careful thinking and several explanations of what I would do with the seeds; they too were re-united with the inside of my backpack and we were walking out of the airport, sipping margaritas offered to us at the immigration exit point.
Now our goods are stocked upon our shelves. The ultimate test of self control. Can I make them last longer than two weeks? Doubtful.
You might be an expat living abroad if....the things that you once found mundane or routine, now fill you with excitement; grocery shopping, going to the bank, driving down the highway. When every little task you complete in the land of your birthplace now feels strange and new. If you feel like you have a new set of eyes, discovering the world.
My backpack home was heavy; maxed-out. New clothes. Beer. Food. Vitamins. Lotion. Shampoo. Soap. Conditioner.
Side note: In case you are wondering, Mexico sells many natural products. However, we are now collecting the water from the bathroom sinks & showers and washing machine; grey water to use for our garden, so we bought all biodegradable products (more on this fun backyard project in the future). As far as the food, not too many dairy-free alternatives.
Back to the immigration line; where I was anxiously standing because I had not reported the clandestine packets of vegetable seeds on my immigration form; which were deep inside my backpack. As my bag was scanned at immigration the official yelled out 'cerveza' and I was escorted to the inspection table. Two officials asked how many liters of alcohol I had and my American mind could not do the equation. Shame on you American education for not teaching the metric system in public schools. So,...out came my undies, shoes, a colossal pile of tampons, and all the other goodies that were crammed into my bag. The immigration officers were intrigued by the Epic beers; and part of me thought they would confiscate them just so they could drink some good Utah beer. They gave Sam their seal of approval on the high alcohol content and the beers went back into the bag. It was the black cardamom seeds from the Indian market that required a third officer's approval. After some careful thinking and several explanations of what I would do with the seeds; they too were re-united with the inside of my backpack and we were walking out of the airport, sipping margaritas offered to us at the immigration exit point.
Now our goods are stocked upon our shelves. The ultimate test of self control. Can I make them last longer than two weeks? Doubtful.
You might be an expat living abroad if....the things that you once found mundane or routine, now fill you with excitement; grocery shopping, going to the bank, driving down the highway. When every little task you complete in the land of your birthplace now feels strange and new. If you feel like you have a new set of eyes, discovering the world.
“Once in a while it really hits people that they don’t have to experience the world in the way they have been told to.”
~Alan Keightley
