Blue Skies, Fake Britain and Imaginary Friends: It Gets Better (For Now)

Four days ago, I was quite dissatisfied with Shanghai and with living abroad in general.

I wanted to go home to Canada, to go live in the forest and bake bread and raise goats and make really awesome goat cheese and to say, quite pleasantly, fuck it to this whole expat/travel lifestyle. I was fried. I’d had enough of being an outsider far from my family, far from my own language and far from my own past. I wanted to remember who I was again. I wanted to feel like I was fully inhabiting my own skin, not just trying on a million others for size.

I’ve been doing this (living/travelling abroad) for nearly 17 years now so it’s not something I just jumped into and found to be not up to hyped expectations. I’ve been in Shanghai for over two years now as well. Again, no newbie culture shock to be found there. I mean, it’s not even China that was shocking me. Objectively, I quite like the place, heavily censored internet, heavy metal rice and toxic water excepted. It’s a really easy place to live, to be perfectly honest.

I have a good job with remarkably affable students who make me guffaw with snorty laughter at regular intervals. I live in a lovely flat in a building with non-abusive neighbours. I have unlimited access to really good cilantro and hand-pulled noodles. It’s a good life, objectively.

 

Yes, a poke in the ear

 

Unfortunately, I’m not really an objective person. I’m crap at it. I can see the objective aspects quite clearly but that’s as good as it gets. The objectivity is skin deep, penetrating about as deeply as a finger poke in the ear (see above). I could be surrounded by stacks of gold bullion (all mine!), adoring fans, an infinity pool with a Balinese view, and ten weeks of paid holiday per year and I’d still have a small nervous breakdown every Saturday morning like clock work, expressing my deep dissatisfaction with the way I’ve sculpted my life.

I mean, I don’t want gold bullion! It’s meaningless! And the fans are depriving me of my calming solitude whilst affording me no real companionship. ย And an infinity pool? Nice, but I miss trees and the ocean and I don’t want to be yet another pampered foreigner in a delusional paradise (at least, not all the time). ย And the paid holidays? Actually, those can stay. I like paid holidays.

The thing is, unfortunately, things can be perfectly marvellous in an objective way but if they aren’t what the inside voice is craving, then, well, they’re just wrong. And things have been quite frequently wrong here for the past two years. And before that, for 6 years in Turkey, on and off wrong (but with great, unbridled optimism!), and before that… pretty much more of the same. I’ve been on the move since 1994 trying to find that elusive combination of feeling like I belong, mixed with a lovely sense of surprise, challenge and mystery.

And what could be wrong with living in shiny, modern, international Shanghai, really?

There’s a very strong brunch-eating, bar-going, stuff-doing, quite affluent expat bubble here that I can’t quite penetrate becauseย I’m a bit out of the loop and don’t really like bar-hopping or brunch-eating with people I don’t really relate to. And I will admit that this city has been one of the hardest I’ve ever lived in, socially. I just don’t feel it. Too much business, too much money, too many suits. People don’t come here for art or poetry or spirited debates in dark cafes. ย It’s a very Type-A kind of city and I’m a Type QZX kinda gal. I feel like a lonely misfit a lot of the time.

 

Shanghai does good food

 

At work, I have no colleagues in my program. I work in a wholly Chinese campus that’s rather deserted most of the time, in a very hectic, dusty, noisy, urban Chinese neighbourhood in North Shanghai. I teach 18-20 year olds, so they are my main contact during the day. I like them but they aren’t my friends. They are my students. I am still responsible for their behaviour and achievement.

Their English isn’t great and my Chinese is generally worse and my contract stipulates that our interactions be in English (because, well, that’s my job). Our communications tend to be fairly superficial for a number of reasons, some of which are mandated by the government (don’t talk about anything interesting, especially if it begins with the letter T), some of which is due to the kids’ really sheltered upbringings and limited life experience. They really haven’t got a clue about a lot of things that are important to me. Which is fine, because I’m sure they feel the same way about me.

I imagine it’s somewhat like being a stay at home mother of a dozen toddlers, craving adult company and adult conversation at the end of the day. ย It’s rather lonely and isolating on bad days, whimsical and calming on good ones. ย I’d love to go for a beer after work for a venting session but, well, there ain’t nobody there. Literally. My campus is like an afterthought to the main one. It echoes with emptiness and unlit hallways. After a year and a half in this position, sometimes I wonder how I’ll deal with another year and a half.

 

I can’t read the ads and this frustrates me.

 

I could go on about the lack of trees, the lack of green-space, my yearnings for a hint of hill or dale or anything to breakup the sea of tall buildings, demolished buildings, construction sites and overhead expressways.

I could say I have issues with carelessly homicidal scooters and cars that plough through red light intersections. I could say that I miss having healthy skin and non-lank, electric hair and tap water that isn’t actively bad for the body.

I could bring up the fact that I probably consume more pesticides than I ought to, and possibly more than my fair share of melamine. I could rant to no end about the increasingly limited access to the ย internet and the bull dozing of life-line VPNs. ย I could bring up my daily heartbreak over the brutal poultry executions I walk past on my way to work. The blood on the streets. The feathers.

I could. Except, really, they aren’t intolerable. ย They’re all kind of interesting, in a tangential kind of way. As I said before, Shanghai is a very easy place to live, objectively. It’s just not a very good fit for my very fussy, very vocal inner voice. Something just isn’t quite sitting right. Maybe it’s my isolation. Maybe it’s the incompatible ideological fit. ย Maybe it’s just restlessness.

I have to tell myself daily that we’re here for the money and for the massive paid holiday time that university jobs provide, here to save for future travels, here to save for not-so-future travels. Working in Shanghai lets me comfortably go to Burma for a month, to Cambodia for a fortnight, and soon home for 3 weeks then to Sri Lanka for another month. All within a year. Objectively, this is pretty damn amazing.

We eat well here, which is something I haven’t always had the privilege to indulge in. Shanghai has a million amazing international restaurants and import grocery stores as well as a million amazing places from all over China. I drink Oregon microbrews here. I have a cupboard full of La Costena tomatillo salsas. At our favourite Hunan place up the road, we drink Belgian Trappist beers with our spicy pickled cabbage and garlic shoots. We have a favourite little Italian place run by a Shanghainese Italo-phile that makes the best tomato-basil-fresh-mozza salad and they know us by name. We were invited to Nepali Kitchen’s 10-Year Anniversary party and were plied with free drinks and cheese balls and repeatedly thanked for our patronage.

Shanghai is no Kayseri, where I once spent two years trying to figure out how to make something, anything that didn’t taste Turkish out of the seasonal-only local produce. Eating locally and seasonally is marvellous until you hit mid winter in central Anatolia and are sick to death of peppers and eggplant and not much else.

 

Adding sumac and pul biber to everything in Cappadocia

 

I remember feeling so damned isolated out there in the middle of nowhere with the same repetitive choices and the same stares and the same goddamn Nescafe.

I remember dreaming of coffee, of sushi, of spices that went beyond sumac, pul biber, nane, tarรงฤฑn, dereotu and whatnot. ย I knew it was irrational and selfish and culturally absurd to expect to find exactly what I craved in a place that had no reason to carry it. I knew that Kayseri had no real obligation to provide me with turmeric and galangal and limes– but I still felt overwhelmingly sad that I couldn’t get them.

I dreamed of being able to take control of my life and to choose the spices I craved. ย Yes, by that point, spices had taken on a greater meaning than I’d ever anticipated. ย I envisioned rows of little jars filled with everything you’d need for a proper jalfrezi or madras curry. After my second year in Turkey, I went home and assembled a thorough spice collection to take back with me.

Here, I can get it all.

So, objectively, this is a good place to be, at least for now.

And if I’d told myself that a week ago, I’d have smacked myself hard across the cheek and told myself to shut up and get real.

 

Signs of springtime

 

But you know what? Sometime over the weekend, Spring came. Clear days with blue skies started to outnumber the hideously oppressive grey ones. ย I started doing my interview series and ended up talking to a dozen really interesting people who are in roughly the same boat but in different countries. ย I had coffee with one of them and am planning to do so with another.

All my words that had been pent up just poured forth– those words that should have been slowly trickling out over after work beers with friends and colleagues.

And this past weekend I spent two days running around Shanghai with Unbrave Girl who was brave enough to come down from Wuxi to meet me. ย We journeyed out to the absurd new suburb of Thames Town and spent an ironic Sunday taking pictures of a million brides in a fake British ghost town. We drank ironic German beers and laughed at everything. Suddenly, Shanghai is almost kind of sort of maybe possibly okay.

Ask me again next week when it’s cloudy and my students are snarky and I have no visitors.

But for now, I’m okay. I think.

 

Unbrave Girl took this picture of me and the Ironic German Beers

 

Comments

18 responses to “Blue Skies, Fake Britain and Imaginary Friends: It Gets Better (For Now)”

  1. jenna Avatar

    hey maryanne, enjoyed reading this.

    it’s so honest, and i loved your descriptions of shanghai, especially the feathers and chickens, and the photograph of the hanging baby clothes.

    i imagine that i would feel the same way over there- lost in a “type-A” focused environment.

    saying that though, i also feel isolated in my own hometown sometimes, where everything is absolutely familiar, mainly because i think my world view is very different to the people that i know, so i do get that feeling of not being able to relate to people too, especially after having travelled.

    i think having your blog as a necessary outlet is great though, and it does sound like it is creating opportunities to meet to people that are on the same page- which is good to hear- enjoying the expat interviews too!

    1. MaryAnne Avatar
      MaryAnne

      Thanks, Jenna! I also know how it feels to not fit in in your own hometown after having travelled (been there, done that a few times) so I sympathize. The blog helps, both for venting and for making connections.

  2. Melissa Avatar
    Melissa

    Hey, I live pretty near Thames Town!

    Also, very good post. ๐Ÿ™‚

    1. MaryAnne Avatar
      MaryAnne

      Are you in Songjiang? I do testing out there at SIFT every so often. It’s quite… far and windy. I like the uncrowded roads though!

  3. Megan Avatar

    Lady, I have been there, and I have been there frequently. ALL of that–I get it, totally, 100%, get it. I’m trying to change my outlook on a lot of things, but it’s hard sometimes. Sigh. The life of a wanderer, eh? It’s not easy…

    1. MaryAnne Avatar
      MaryAnne

      I had a feeling you’d been there! We should start a club or something. Nobody knows the troubles we’ve seen…

  4. Michi Avatar

    Again, you are such a wonderful writer!

    Those grey skies and cold days can do a lot. I felt like I was going through a major life crisis (sleepless nights, lack of appetite, crying for no reason) and then the skies started to clear up, it became warmer, and suddenly living in this itty bitty town didn’t feel so bad. But who am I kidding? I need to get the heck out of here ASAP.

    The reason, for me, mostly lies in the fact that I feel I have no one to truly talk to, other than my significant other. But let’s face it, you can’t tell them EVERYTHING. Sometimes you need your friends to talk about other topics with, or do other activities with. As charming as this town can be, I have yet to establish any deep bonds with anyone here. I have friendly bonds, sure, but I’d like more.

    This was part of the reason why I enrolled in a Master’s program here – in the hopes that by having the go to the city and attend classes, I would meet people and expand my tiny social circle. Indeed, I met a Spanish girl around my age who comes from Madrid but is now living in a tiny town (two hours from where I live) and is bilingual like me. And it has truly been a Godsend. The conversations we have keep us on our toes, and she is just the smartest, loveliest person out there.

    In the end, though, we make our own paths. Remember that happiness isn’t the destination – it’s the journey! (Objectively, easier said than done). I hope you find what you are looking for. As they say here in Spain, ยกรกnimo!, or “have spirit!”

    Sending many positive vibes your way. ๐Ÿ™‚

    1. MaryAnne Avatar
      MaryAnne

      Aw thanks. I’m kind of in the same situation as you in that Doug is my main contact here. I have one friend that I met through him (a colleague of his) that I meet for lunch once a week and, well , that’s about it really. We sometimes meet his colleagues for a few drinks but they’re pretty busy with their own lives. Everyone here is pretty busy. Hell, I’m pretty busy. It’d be nice to have a close circle of friends that I could relate to but I seem to be able to only find that in the imaginary world of blogging ๐Ÿ˜‰

      Am working on the happiness, step by step.

  5. Zoe Avatar
    Zoe

    really enjoyed what you wrote as always… it is so beautifully put and straight out there. ๐Ÿ™‚
    I remember feeling like that, away from home, at home and where i am now… it think you explained it so well of not feeling like the lot of them….

    thank you for sharing, your blog is great!

    1. MaryAnne Avatar
      MaryAnne

      Aw, thanks ๐Ÿ™‚

  6. Sally Avatar

    You forgot to mention our visit to Mexico. Mexico makes everyone feel better! (Okay, this may not be true… I’ve never actually been to real Mexico, but margaritas always make me feel better, so that counts, right?)
    It was lovely meeting you this weekend & getting a chance to talk to someone who gets it. When are you coming to visit me in Wuxi? We have tons of green things here! And no dead chickens in sight (okay, I can’t really confirm that… but I haven’t had to deal with any dead chickens since moving here).

    1. MaryAnne Avatar
      MaryAnne

      Oh, how could I have forgotten Mexico? We were there a few times at least! Does Wuxi have any, say, Basque Tapas bars or maybe a nice Indian take away? We can’t just hang out in China, you know! I’ll try to get there in April after the Grave Sweeping weekend. I think we need to visit that film studio and that fake old water town. I’m becoming quite entranced by hollow, shallow facades.

  7. Dyanne @TravelnLass Avatar

    Great read. Gives me pause about my plans to join the expat ranks myself come October. But… ehhh. Guess I’m “…not really an objective person.” like you. I never thought of it that way, but guess I’ve always lived life from my gut. That and… yup, blue skies can make all the difference in the world (pecked as I sit here amid the gray drizzle…)

    1. MaryAnne Avatar
      MaryAnne

      Thanks, Dyanne. I hope the pause my post gave wasn’t too long- I wouldn’t want to put you off living abroad! I’ve also lived life from my gut and it has taken me to a lot of amazing places… but it has also caused me much distress when, as I noted here, things aren’t perfect but I’m not in a position to just pack up and move on at a whim, trying to placate that fickle, sensitive gut. Sometimes, maybe, the ol’ gut just needs to be told to shut up and put up… at least for a while!

      Crossing my fingers for blue skies today.

  8. Richard Avatar

    Oh, MaryAnne, I found your post to be so comforting. As one who has gone to China a half dozen times to teach at universities myself over the past decade, I found such resonance with the dilemma you describe. Your writing is so involving and so visceral.

    It’s so strange — despite the pampering and comforts, we reach the breaking point in our expat experience. Then, when we finally arrive back to our home country (in my case, the U.S.), we overindulge in everything we missed for a few days, and then begin to make negative comparisons of our lives here and how things were back in China.

    And now…I’m anxiously looking forward to reading more of your stuff. Take care!

    1. MaryAnne Avatar
      MaryAnne

      Thanks, Richard. It is kind of hard for those who haven’t done this to grasp all the nuanced crap that comes with being a perpetual expat. For me, I don’t fit in here… but I don’t fit in at home either. At least here I have an excuse for not fitting in. Here, I miss the small details that make up who I am, things like language and tastes and gestures, but when I’m at home I find that familiarity eventually stifling, frustrating. As much as I ache to go home and be settled with goats and bare feet and trees, I know I’ll be aching for Other Things quite quickly. I always have. It’s a stupid loop of my own making. Possibly some sort of karmic retribution.

      Am glad to have made your acquaintance, by the way. Hope to see you ’round these parts again ๐Ÿ™‚

  9. Nancy Lewis Avatar

    “At least here I have an excuse for not fitting in.”

    Interesting point. That might be a more common motivation for moving abroad than we think.

    Nostalgia is an interesting condition. When we’re away from the familiar, we look back on it fondly. But when we’re surrounded by it, we scorn familiarity. I think we need to be able to miss things so that we can recognize what’s important to us.

    1. MaryAnne Avatar
      MaryAnne

      Indeed.

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