http://www.bbc.com/capital/story/20161104-how-expats-cope-with-losing-their-identity Reading this great article helped me understand why we struggle every day to fit in and reconnect with people. We are not at home in our own country and long for being back 'home'. Yes we talk weird, we don't have an accent but use the wrong words and basically many times translate from [...]
By the end of July we realised we were not doing a house renovation. According to the experts renovation means to do the cosmetic touching up without making any changes to the underlying structure. We were REMODELLING the house! Demolishing walls, rerouting the piping system, changing the entire floor and structure, is not renovating, is so [...]
And we said 'Let there be light' and there was light. We saw that the light was good; and we cut big openings in the walls everywhere we could. The living room now opened to the garden. The living room wall cleared for cutting a new window It was a hot and dry July - [...]
We went to the nearby town to see my in-laws the other day. To mark the beginning of the year of the rooster they bought one. A very much alive one, proud and pleasantly plum. It was bought for good luck - that's what they told the rooster. Actually was for the borsch - the local sour soup [...]
Growing a garden seems like the exact opposite of a nomadic life, right? Nevertheless we managed to grow and enjoy gardens everywhere we lived. Most plants moved with us...and I am not talking about potted plants. Usually I just dig them up, plant them in pots while we settle in the new place and then in the [...]
On this frosty morning I miss my sunburnt country...I love a sunburnt country, A land of sweeping plains, Of ragged mountain ranges, Of droughts and flooding rains. I love her far horizons, I love her jewel-sea, Her beauty and her terror The wide brown land for me! My Country Poem by Dorothea Mackeller
Adjud - a small town situated on a plain, between two rivers, it used to be a marketplace established by Hungarians in the XV century. Notably the birthplace of the international soprano Angela Gheorghiu. This is the rail station, now falling to pieces, house of stray dogs at times (I found this pic on Panoramio and [...]
So what is the greater horror: the dread of getting lost in some faraway place where you know you don’t quite belong or the process of becoming domestic, of acquiring a massive mortgage to that house made of ticky tacky with the long daily commute to work, where the slow poison of regret and boredom works its way through your veins until you’ve lost even the resolve to try to escape, to live your life as you once wished?