Stranger In A (Not So) Strange Land

Tag: love

  • Two countries separated by a common language?

    Now that I’ve been living in this Strange Land for four months, I thought it would be a good time to reflect on how I’ve adapted.

    Food – Definitely well. I love getting fresh fruit and veg daily (so it’s really fresh), and the variety of types of food available is great. Haven’t tried the MacDonalds because, frankly, I never ate there in the States. I did finally venture into the Dunkin’ Donuts in Manchester, and am happy to report the coffee blend is awfully close to what I used to buy daily. Can’t vouch for anything else on the menu; however, the coffee is all that really matters to me. But my schedule gives me time to cook more often – which leads to

    Time – Extremely well. The hectic pace of Jersey life has been tough to shake but I’m glad that I have unloaded that particular burden. Getting started early is not a competition. Working late is not a necessity. I’m task oriented, and letting the tasks be accomplished in time is much more relaxing for sure. Not feeling like I’m hurrying to get to the finish line (which, let’s be honest, is either retirement or death) has done wonders for my stress level. Speaking of stress

    Health – Even better than expected. I’m not a fan of “exercise” but I like to sneak in activities without my body knowing it. I walk everywhere. My blood pressure is good; my weight is the best it’s been in 18 years.

    So I’m doing well with my adaptations. Yet what about the big barrier? How am I doing with learning the language? We all know George Bernard Shaw’s opinion on this: “England and America are two countries separated by a common language.” Not sure about the accent – I only wish I could sound as beautiful and the Mancunians with their open vowels and lilting tones – since I won’t notice the differences myself. I’m focusing on how well I have adjusted to the phrasing. Have I adopted local terms?

    Here’s an example. Getting off the bus, the rider always gives a departing word to the driver. “Thanks” is very American. “Thank you” is more British. “Cheers, mate” feels like the goal. I’m still working on consistency, but I’m definitely settled between 2 and 3. I’d even say it’s about a 2.75 for now!

    There are sayings I can’t stand and am very glad to hear that they are not popular in my new home. Early on in my time, I contacted the person who has oversight of my work to ask about something that seemed like it might be trivial. Didn’t know if I needed her okay but I wanted to get it just in case. I thanked her for not making me feel like I wasted her time, and she said, “One thing I never abide by is that “better to ask for forgiveness than permission” nonsense.” Oh, I so agree with that. It’s never made any sense. It takes a moment to get the approval; it can take a lifetime to make up for a screw up.

    And I’m noticing that I never hear my least favourite of all statements. I even hesitate to write it. Okay, here you go:

    I’m sure they meant well.

    Makes my skin crawl. I mean, clearly, they didn’t. If they meant well, they wouldn’t have done whatever it is they have done that’s pissed me off. Don’t justify someone’s ridiculous actions or words because you can’t imagine that they were not being mean or vindictive. If they “meant well” they could have kept their opinions to themselves. Ugh. Now I’m in a bad mood. I need tea.

    (By the way, isn’t this the most British of mugs?)

    “Well meaning” isn’t a substitute for being kind, and those intentions should not be excused.

    Enough on that though. Being able to use “brilliant” or “lovely” in non-sarcastic ways is, frankly, quite lovely. So I plan to just keep working at it, learning my new language until everything falls into place, and Bob’s your uncle. Even if you don’t have an uncle. Or you have an uncle but his name is Henry or Sam or something.

    I just said I’ll learn the language. I didn’t promise to truly understand it.

  • Settled in?

    Just for the record, yes, I’ve settled in.

    It’s interesting what has become a standard conversation piece. Oftentimes in the states it would be “did you watch the game last night?” or “how are you coping with the weather?” or even “can you believe what Politician X did?!” (the last one is only when you know you’re safe.) So I prepared myself for local conversation by having a standard answer to what I assumed the question would be:

    1. Weather: “Oh, I’m used to it getting even hotter than this.” Which evolved into “Yes, it is rather warm.” Then “this is a miserable heat wave!” (because they couldn’t hear that 28/82 degrees C/F was lovely beach weather.)
    2. Sports: “I actually have been watching York City, so I’m not partial to either Manchester team.” This in turn has evolved into “Wow, if Stockport has a team I’ll root for them!” (like politics, this has turned out to be a safe answer.)
    3. Weather, Part 2: “I didn’t know that Manchester is one of the rainiest places in the country.” This evolved into “I’ve been lucky.” Then “oh, I’ve got a rain coat and boots and 2 umbrellas.”

    But the unexpected conversation that I have now had with literally every person I meet – “Settling in?”

    In all honesty, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to answer that.

    Obviously, yes. I’ve got all I need for the house, gotten used to the bus/train schedules. Got my cat. Started decorating my walls.

    NICE START TO THE WALL DECORATIONS

    Sleeping well, eating much better than I have in a long time. Thinking in pounds and Celcius, not dollars and Fahrenheit. But each time I hear those words I have an existential crisis.

    What exactly is settling in? How long does it take? When do I stop giving a long answer, and let it evolve into “Yup!”

    Because when I say just that, no one believes me. Perhaps I’m missing something, a secret marker that will indicate when the settle has ended. Or perhaps the actual settle hasn’t happened, and there are still multiple hurdles that will rear their ugly heads soon. I’ll suddenly make some huge social faux paus and everyone around me will solemnly shake their heads and mutter “She thought she was settled in.”

    Like the tagline to Jaws – “Just when you thought it was safe to stop settling…”

    Of course, I won’t be really settled in until I get my belongings. The ones that I boxed up 3 months ago and handed to a (hopefully) trustworthy moving company. (Which, by the way, brings up yet another difference. In the US, it’s a moving company. In the UK it’s a REmoval company. I don’t really want things removed, I want them moved. Much confusion on my end.) The material things that matter to me, that have great sentimental value –

    Alright, you called it. My books, and a few other odds and ends. Like my summer clothes. That I could be wearing in this unbearable heat wave.

    CLEARLY SOMEONE HAS SETTLED IN

    They have gone from my garage to a warehouse to a freighter to a dock to a warehouse to another warehouse and hopefully will arrive at my house sometime before the holidays. Although not having my books has led me to a whole new habit of visiting a local indie bookshop and Waterstones on a regular basis. Even found a new fantasy author who sets his humorous supernatural novels in Manchester. He’s no Terry Pratchett, but they are really very good. None, however that will go on my bookcase in the living room. Because that will be the home of my favourite authors, the best of the best (in my opinion.)

    Why? Because that bookcase was given to me by a colleague who got it from a person who was a student of JRR Tolkien. Who gave her the bookcase when he was her tutor. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have a bookcase that once held books held by Tolkien. It is currently empty, but soon my own library will be settled into –

    Oh, wait, maybe THAT’S it! I won’t be settled in until everything is settled in.

    I hope that settles it!