Good Timing. Sometimes.

Timing can be good, or bad. Usually, at least for me, it is bad. Last night, though, there was that exception to the rule, when timing was perfect. A welcome exception to the rule, I must say.

The plan was to see two movies at the Independent Film Festival Boston at the Somerville Theatre, ”The Way, Way Back” at 7:45pm and then at 9:45pm the documentary “The Punk Singer” about Kathleen Hanna. There was also a free ticket available for me to see Josh Rouse live at the Sinclair. The Man, had won two tickets and he was going to be at the Sinclair before me. He was going to ask if he could leave the second ticket at the box office for me to pick up, and text me the details. Rouse was going up at 10pm, so there was the chance I could catch his full set.

“The Way, Way Back” started 15 minutes late, at around 8pm, which meant it would go until 9:45pm. That was cutting it close. At 9:30pm there was still no text from the Man. The movie was almost ending, but not quite yet. At 9:38 I got the text, that he had my ticket and I would text him when I got there, so he could meet me at the door to hand me my ticket. A couple of minutes later the movie ended, and as the credits started rolling, I rushed out (which by the way, is something I hate doing, I always want to see the credits. Also, the movie is hilarious, I recommend it).

There was a gazillion people in the lobby, but I had to be quick. It was 9:45pm, the exact time “The Punk Singer” was supposed to start. It looked like there were seating people, and I had heard that it was sold out. I went to the rush line outside, where five or so people were standing. I asked if anyone wanted a ticket to the Punk Singer, the first two people were together, so they wanted two, the third one, a woman, needed one. I sold her my ticket, and the seconds it took her to find the $10 bill in her wallet, felt like 10 minutes. I was sorry I was going to miss the documentary, but I hope it will be shown again at some point in my area, so I can eventually catch it.

With the ticket sold, I ran to the T station right next door, tried to get through the gate, but I didn’t have enough money on my Charlie Card. It sounded like a train was coming, I added value, went through the gate, and as I was running down the stairs the inbound train was opening its doors.

I got on the train and sat down to take a breath. OK, good timing, I thought to myself. Harvard Square is only two stops away from Davis, so it was a quick train ride, and at that moment I thought how great it was that all the cool things I wanted to do were so close to each other and so close to where I live. North Cambridge, I love you!

I got off at Harvard, went up to the Church Street exit, walked down Church Street. At that point I realized I had never been to the Sinclair before, so I didn’t know exactly where on Church Street the entrance was. For some reason I thought it was next to the Fire+Ice. I went in through that door next to the Fire+Ice, and it looked like an office lobby with elevators at the left side. OK, not the entrance to the club, I thought. Through the doors straight ahead and to the right, I could hear music, but the doors weren’t labeled or anything, they looked more like exit doors. Nevertheless, without thinking much, I went to one of the doors ahead of me, I pulled, it opened, and just like that I found myself inside the Sinclair, with a couple of surprised people looking at me. OK, that surprisingly worked, I thought. The stage was ahead, and no one was playing, so that was good, I hadn’t missed any of Rouse’s set. I went to the right, where the bar is, and then I saw the entrance next to the bar. Good to know where the actual entrance is, for future reference.

Josh Rouse was still not on stage, I texted the Man to see where he was, but the text wasn’t going though. I started looking around, I saw him standing by the bar, and I went in front of him and went “BOO!” He was like, “What, how did you get inside, I have your ticket?!”, and I told him the whole story. It was like I went to that show for free twice, not only did I have a free ticket, but I had also made it in with no ticket at all. Which could very well mean that I used up my free-entry-to-shows quota on the same show, but what can you do.

We got beers, settled closer to the stage, and in a minute Josh Rouse and his band came on stage and started playing. It was a great set. We took the T to head back to Davis, and as we made it to the platform the train was pulling in to the station. We got on the train, sat down, and there was a quarter on the seat right next to mine, like a tiny goodbye gift concluding a good day. Perfect timing, or what?

2012 Year In Review

Here we are on the last day of 2012. A year that went by fast, and looking back, it was a mix of good and bad. Now is the time I am looking through my notes to see what happened in the year expiring soon. Here’s a summary of what fun things I did, what I liked and didn’t like, and the notable things that happened in my life in 2012:

Movies: I counted them all, in 2012 I watched 83 movies, that is an average of 1.6 movies per week. During the Independent Film Festival of Boston I would see up to three movies a day, but generally I go to the movies at least once a week. It turns out this year I saw plenty of classic and old movies at the Brattle, and finally did the wise thing and acquired a Brattle membership, which saves me some money. The movies I liked best this year were ‘The Kid With A Bike’, the Belgian movie by the Dardenne brothers; ‘Jiro Dreams of Sushi’ a documentary about the Japanese sushi master Jiro Ono; Wes Anderson’s ‘Moonrise Kingdom’; the offbeat, different ‘Safety Not Guaranteed’; the heart breaking ‘Take This Waltz’; the tough and incredibly moving ‘Oslo, August 31st’; the touching ‘The Perks of Being a Wallflower’; and the fascinating documentary ‘The Imposter’. A quick note to mention ‘Lincoln’ for the superb acting by Daniel Day-Lewis, and Paul Thomas Anderson’s ‘The Master’ for the visual beauty. I also liked a lot Bradley Cooper and Robert De Niro in ‘Silver Linings Playbook’. The movie that creeped me out the most, made me feel extremely uncomfortable and wish I had not seen was Pedro Almodóvar’s ’The Skin I Live In”. Oh, and I am not seeing ‘Les Miserables’ because I absolutely hate musicals.

Music: I went to 18 live shows this year. Some shows stood out, like the Radiohead show, the Mogwai show, which finally happened after two prior cancellations, and the Saint Etienne show at the Paradise, where everyone was dancing happily away. I saw the most interesting lighting and staging at the Grizzly Bear show at the Orpheum. The worst show? The Jesus and Mary Chain, no contest. The Paradise still remains the best venue in the area to see live music. I just wish it was located somewhere in Camberville. I can’t say there was a band or album this year I adored, but I did listen to some music I liked a lot, like Tanlines, Alt-J, Beach House, Lower Dens and Beach Fossils. After seeing Frank Ocean and the Dirty Projectors making everyone’s best music of the year list, I tried to listened to them, but I find them unbearable. Frank Ocean’s music is plainly boring, and the Dirty Projectors singer sounds like your friend who keeps singing along to every song he hears, and he is always off-key.

UPDATE: I can’t believe I forgot to mention this but my favorite song this year was Japandroid’s ‘The House That Heaven Built’. Yeah.

 

Theater: Not too much theater in my life this year. I mostly went to plays my friend TMB was in, like ‘Measure For Measure’, ‘Waiting For Lefty’ and ‘Anne of the Green Gables’. I also saw an interesting production of ‘Uncle Vanya’ at the Apollinaire Theatre in Chelsea, and David Adjmi’s ‘Marie Antoinette’ at the ART, a play I found was trying too hard to be witty.

Art: I visited the ICA and the MFA a couple of times each. I liked the exhibition Degas and the Nude the best, because I really, really like drawings. Really. Also at the ICA I saw Sam Green’s live documentary ‘The Love Song of R. Buckminster Fuller’ with live music by Yo La Tengo. And I love Yo La Tengo.

Food, Drink: I liked Casa B in Union Square in Somerville, a space with unique and pretty cool interior design and delicious tapas. I finally made it to Santarpio’s where I discovered the best pizza in town. I also liked Strip T’s in Watertown, West Bridge, and Belly Wine Bar in Kendall Square. I was impressed by the food at the Garden at the Cellar, which might be Cambridge’s best kept secret. The food is amazing, how come I didn’t know? I also paid many visits to iYo the new frozen yogurt place in Davis Square. The square will soon be fro-yo central, as a second fro-yo place opened, and there are plans for a third. I had some very good cocktails at Stoddard’s downtown, and at Brick & Mortar in Central Square.

Travel: Nothing extraordinary travel-wise. I spent three lovely days in Provincetown, I love this happy and laid back place, and the amazing beaches. Speaking of beaches, I discovered Duxbury beach this year (the best beach area is south of the bridge), pretty much one of the best beaches around Boston (sorry, North Shore beaches, no comparison, really). I went to Greece for a couple of weeks to see family and friends, eat well and swim in the Mediterranean, and that’s always pretty neat and relaxing. I also visited my brother and his family in Germany. I finally got to meet my nephew, who is a very cute baby, and got to see my niece again, who is a very cute toddler.

Exercise: In the beginning of 2012 I found myself ten pounds overweight, and ten pounds is a lot for a person of my size. I had a hard time shedding off the extra pounds just by eating less. So, I started eating less and exercising more,  the magic combination that always works. After hating running for as long as I remember, this year I followed a 5k training program, and after eight weeks I was pleasantly surprised to see I could comfortably run 3 miles. I participated in my first 5k race in December, and completed the race in 28 minutes. I also started taking tennis classes, and I loved it. I can’t wait to start new classes again. I biked a lot, as usual, and I took a bicycle repair class at the Broadway Bicycle School.

A couple of other notable things from 2012: I refinanced my mortgage and once again discovered how inept the people who work in this business are. After twelve years of living here I finally decided to apply for citizenship, and became citizen on September 11. I voted for the first time, and was happy with the results. I got to meet Elizabeth Warren, the new senator from Massachusetts, so now I have met both Senators from MA in person. Oh, and being a citizen means I can now run for office, but don’t worry, I don’t plan to.

In 2012 I experienced some disappointments, but no reason to talk about that now. I do not have any major new year’s resolutions, but I will definitely try to do certain things different: I will try to visit places I haven’t been to before. I would love to have someone willing and able to travel with me, but I am also willing to travel by myself. I will try to read more, and after many years I have cancelled my New Yorker subscription in order to free up time to read the untouched books in my bookcase. I will try to get back to creative things I used to like, like drawing.

Above all, in 2013 I will do my best to find time for all the small and big things that make happy. Happy New Year.

My first 5k race

Last Sunday December 2, 2012 I ran the Yulefest 2012, my first 5k race. It was fun, the weather was not too bad, and I managed to finish it at 28:36, my best 5k time so far. As someone who only started running in April, it felt pretty good to be able to run it comfortably. My overall ranking was 787th out of 1,363 runners. The race course was around Harvard Square, and was mainly flat, apart from an uphill section a little before the finish.

There was a cool after-race party on Bratlle Street with music, snacks, and free-flowing beer. And good beer, mind you, from Pretty Things, Notch and Slumbrew. So much beer on a virtually empty stomach made me very happy for the rest of the day.

The thing is, it is a nice surprise to see my body liking this new running thing. Every time I go running I feel strong and powerful afterwards. I might be a little obsessed with it too, as I now plan to concentrate on improving my running form and my running time. And the plan is to run many more 5k races. On one condition: there has to be (good) beer at the after party.

Just ran my first 5k race! #c5kyule @cambridge5k, a photo by Acidgalore on Flickr.

Running

I was never a runner. I never liked running. I remember Phys-Ed classes when we had to run laps around the school and I couldn’t do it because my throat, my stomach and my sides ached. I remember the much-hated warm up for the rowing class when we had to run 3 kilometers, and I wish I could exchange it for a hundred sit-ups and a hundred push-ups. I was an active child who became a relatively active adult. Although I am of good health, I am not the one who goes to the gym. There are many things I hate about gyms, like the proximity to strangers’ warm and sweaty bodies, the stale air.  I do realize the significance of staying active, and in the past five years I have taken modern dance and yoga classes, I bicycle and walk a lot.  I do it because it makes me feel better, walk better, breathe better.

I live on a bike path, and I always admired the runners and joggers going by. They do it when it is cold, they come out like snails after a rain, sometimes even during a rainstorm. A month ago I looked up an 8-week training program to run a 5k. The idea is that working on your running stamina by the end of the 8th week you’ll be able to run 5 kilometers (or 3.11 miles). It was called ‘couch to 5k’ which I think is a dumb name. I don’t necessarily consider myself a couch potato. But being one who never ran, I thought it was a good program to gradually introduce my body to running. The training program includes different routines 3 times a week for 8 weeks. I was skeptical, as after running even the shortest distance I would feel like puking and like I was going to die. But what the heck, I thought, out of shape people can do this why not me? I can bicycle everyday 20 miles, why can I not run 3 miles?

I downloaded a couple of apps on my iPhone to help me keep track of my progress, or lack thereof. The app keeps track of the time, which is important in the beginning when you have to alternate between running and walking. I started the training in mid April. I stretched beforehand.  Week 1 Day 1 of the training program called for a 5-minute brisk walk for warm up (that was easy), and then 1 minute running and 1.5 minute walking (repeat 6 times). By the end of every 1-minute run I could hardly breathe. But I didn’t give up and I managed to complete the routine. By the end of the first week I was feeling stronger. Every training session is around 30 minutes long, including a 5-minute warm up and a 5-minute cool down.  Sometimes I had to deal with side stitches. I tried to figure out ways to phase those out. I realized that I shouldn’t eat anything for at least 4 hours before I went for a run, and I had to properly stretch my sides and torso. I also learned to avoid shallow breathing and tried for deeper breathing. Still, there were days when I would come home feeling like puking, and not be able to eat anything for hours afterwards. I generally trained on the bikepath. In the beginning my knees would hurt every time my feet would hit the pavement, but those aches wore off. I experimented with different angles of striking the ground, different angles of knee bends, different upper body posture. I tried a couple of different routes. The worst surface to run on is brick, the best dirt.

I found that overall I was doing well. Sometimes when the trainer’s voice in the app would say “start your cool down now” I would think “that was it?!”. The simple fact that some running training was easy for me and I could do more than what was required was both surprising and satisfying. It would put a smile on my face. Not every day went well. There was one day that I didn’t do well, I paused my running to walk when I shouldn’t have, I was feeling heavy and everything was difficult. The fact that it was pouring and I was dragging my rain-soaked cotton clothes was not of much help either. So I repeated that training routine the next day. The next day was dry and I managed to do it better and easier. Now I am in the 7th week, that is the penultimate week of the training. On Monday which was Day 1 of Week 7 I was supposed to jog for 25 minutes (or 2.5 miles) with no walking or stopping. I managed to do the 2.5 miles but my time was 30 minutes, so I need to improve my pace. But the fact that I jogged for 30 minutes with no walking or stopping feels awesome to me. Seven weeks ago I could hardly run for one minute straight.

That night my dreams were filled with scenes of me running. I was light on my feet, the terrain felt soft under my feet. I felt strong and happy. I could visualize new routes, turns, uphill, downhill stretches and everything was easy and possible. Back to reality, according to the training plan by the end of next week (week 8) I will be able to run 3.11 miles in 30 minutes. We shall see. But the truth is there is no possibility of failure. I will keep doing it until I get it right. I will keep doing it until I get a better time, until I do it smooth and graceful. I think I might be hooked on running.

I Stand Corrected

I’m at work listening to a discussion between two of my co-workers. I’m not part of the discussion, but they are outside my office, so I can’t help but hear what they say. Let’s call them C and M. C narrates what happened to a meeting last night, what decisions were made and how this affects M. She tells M “because you are in this position, based on what they decided on the meeting last night, this thing will happen to you.” M responds with a “yes”.

The thing is that everything C says about M is wrong: he is not in the position she says he is, so he will not be affected by the meeting’s decision the way she is describing. C talks like she really knows what she’s talking about. When C goes to another office and she’s out of earshot, I tell M: “What C says is wrong. You are not in that position. Nothing of what she just said will happen.” He laughs and says he knows.  “Why didn’t you tell her”, I ask. “Oh, because she thinks she’s right”, he responds.

And this is something I don’t like. M didn’t bother to correct C. Now C will go on and tell the same thing to other people  in the same confident manner. And possibly spread the same incorrect thoughts and conclusions to others. Why does one not bother to correct someone is something I can’t understand. I can’t stand quiet when someone says something I know for a fact is wrong. I will correct them. Not because I like correcting people, but because I like people to know the true facts.

We all have opinions, we all have perceptions. Some of them are right, some of them are wrong. For instance, I always thought the singer of Beach House is a man, because it sounded like a man to me. Once in a conversation, somebody referred to the singer as a “she”, which prompted a back and forth, “it’s a she”, “no, it’s a he!”. In the end I googled and turned out I was wrong. It is nice to now know the singer is a woman and not make a full fool of myself the next time I’m talking about Beach House.

There are people, though, who do not like to be corrected. They take corrections as arguments or negativity. When something is objective (e.g. if it is 9 a.m. it is morning, it cannot be night) as opposed to subjective (e.g. mornings are great or mornings suck) there is really no argument to be made. Correcting people is not an argument. It’s continuous education, it’s continuous learning. When I say something with the wrong accent or use the wrong preposition (by the way, why is it so hard for me to use the right preposition?) I want to be corrected. Because this is the only way I will learn how to say things right. This is how I will be a better person, this is how I will not sound ignorant or stupid. I want to improve, I want to be better. All corrections are welcome.

I Bore You With My Last Night’s Dream

Our dreams are boring to everyone but us. So let’s get the boring rolling with my last night’s dream:

I went to a bar that was supposedly owned by Jennifer Lopez. I ordered a beer that was on the list. The woman behind the bar was Trina of Trina’s Starlight. She entered the name of the beer in her iPhone, and said that it would take the delivery person one hour to get it to the bar.  ”One hour?”,  I asked surprised. “Yes, one hour”, she said “because they make it in Waltham. ” I was trying to understand the concept, so I asked her “So, if it was a Harpoon it would take less time, because they would bring it from South Boston?” “Yes”, she replied.

I drank another beer that they had, and I paid for it. Trina apologized for not having the beer I had ordered first, and said the next one would be on them. Unfortunately, I had to leave. I tried to find my jacket, but the place was getting very busy, so they had moved it around. I got a little anxious trying to find my jacket, but I located it on a planter. The crowd was now women and men in their 40s-50s.

I got home and a little while later the phone rang. It was Jennifer Lopez’s mother saying that Jennifer would like to talk to me. I said sure. Jennifer came to the phone and said she was sorry that they didn’t have the beer I had ordered. She sounded like she had a cold. She said that they had recently opened the bar, so she was looking for feedback from the customers. I told her that it wasn’t a big deal really, I had ordered something else and was happy with it. She asked about the staff and I told her they were all very nice and helpful. She said that I could go back to the bar sometime next weekend, and my beer would be on them, as an apology. I thanked her and hang up. I don’t think she had asked my name, so I wondered how they would know at the bar, I was the person who got to have a beer on J-Lo.  And then I realized it was bizarre that I was on the phone was J-Lo and she was asking for my feedback. I couldn’t wait to tweet about it.

The only question I have now is how did J-Lo get my number.

Disconnection / Connection

I spent the past weekend in New York City. I walked a lot around the city, which resulted in bruised calves and a sore Achilles tendon. While the body got tired, the eye got full of new and familiar images, and I felt surrounded by that special NYC vibe that I have become to love.

On Sunday, my last day there, I went to Staten Island. I took the Staten Island ferry from the Whitehall terminal in lower Manhattan. The ferry is free and quite big, it holds up to 4,450 passengers. It offers nice views of downtown and lower Manhattan, as well as the Statue of Liberty, all lovely. When we arrived at Staten Island, I got off the ferry and walked along the path by the water, and came to a memorial. It turned out it was Postcards, Staten Island’s 9/11 Memorial, honoring its residents who died that day. The vertical stones look like envelopes, and on the inside you could see the names of the honored. It was a bright, sunny day, the blue sky was decorated with white puffy clouds, and there was a nice breeze. The flags made nice contrast with the blue sky as they were blowing in the breeze. I kept walking until I reached the end of the path, and then decided to go back towards the terminal.

When I came to the Memorial again, I saw there were four or five people around. There are many benches around there, so I decided to sit for a little while and rest my tortured feet. I sat on one of the stone benches. I sat on one half of the bench, not exactly in the middle. All other benches were empty. A minute later a woman came and sat next to me. It was somewhat awkward, since she had to sit close to me to fit on the bench. And, of course, it was quite strange, since there were so many other benches around, empty. There was even an empty one right next to mine. I had the urge to stand up and go sit somewhere else. I kept thinking “seriously, lady, there are like 10 other empty benches around, and you come and sit right next to me? Why?”. Under normal conditions I would sigh, look at her irritated, and go sit somewhere else. But at that point, I was very tired, both emotionally and  physically, so I just sat there. I didn’t move. I tried to be less annoyed. I looked out to the water, while wishing she wouldn’t talk to me, as I didn’t feel like talking to anyone. I was enjoying the silence.

The precious silence was broken, when the woman started humming. My first reaction was disbelief, “Seriously?”, I thought to myself. “What is next?” Everything was getting annoying again. Then a little bit later, I realized her humming was not irritating me. It was actually soothing. I did not recognize the tune, if any, but it was agreeable. It was like my private soundtrack for a beautiful day at the Postcards memorial on Staten Island. I went along, I was willing to accept what was happening. It was all slightly absurd, but it turned out pleasant.

A couple of minutes later a man came over, and started talking to the woman. In French. I do not know if it was Canadian French or French, I cannot tell the difference in the accent. They both looked like tourists, cameras hanging from their necks. They looked to be in their mid 50s. The man asked a question. As I do not speak French, I didn’t understand what he had asked. The woman ignored him and kept humming. A minute later the man asked something again, and the woman gave an abrupt answer, or at least that’s how it sounded. Then the man lodged himself on our bench, putting the woman in the middle between him and me. I’m sure we looked absurdly entertaining: at least ten benches around us empty, and we three people sitting on one bench, looking cramped. I was occupying one half of the bench, and they, the other half. I made a slight move, one inch to my right to give them more room. The dialogue between them consisted of short sentences, then silence. Three minutes later they left.  “Well, that was weird”, I thought to myself. I was glad I had the bench back to myself.

I looked at the path, and there was a woman pushing a stroller talking on her cellphone coming towards my direction. There was a little black poodle with a tennis ball in his mouth walking along with her. The dog came right up to me, and placed his tennis ball right next to my foot. I had my legs somewhat stretched out in front of me, so that my legs, the ground and the vertical surface of the bench were forming a triangle. The dog wedged itself in that triangle under my legs. He was moving his little body pressing against my legs, while wagging his tail. Was he asking to be petted? I didn’t pet him. I smiled. The woman called the dog, and in an instant he was gone.

I found both incidents slightly strange. A woman and a dog demonstrating something that looked like a need to be close to me, to be around me. I felt like some sort of magnet in that peculiar quiet setting. What had attracted them to me? Earlier someone had commented on my unwillingness to touch and be close. Did I look lonely? Did I send out come-close-to-me signals? I felt quite the opposite, I felt like I wanted to be on my own, alone and think. Perhaps I looked sad, because I felt sad.

There is a sense of irony in having strangers briefly cancel the alienation from people I was feeling that day. An abbreviated connection took place. For an instant it felt like a random woman and a random dog wanted to reassure me that there would always be someone around, I would not be alone. It was good to know.

I Predict Songs

Lately, it seems that at least one morning a week the following happens: I’m going down the stairs singing a certain song, I get in my car, turn on the radio and station I’m tuned in is playing that particular song. Sometimes is happens slightly differently; I wake up with a song in my head, turn on the radio and that song is playing.  I remember last week it was ‘Will Do’ by TV On The Radio, this morning it was ‘Options’  by Gomez.

This morning actually when I realized I was singing ‘Options’ my next thought was “I bet when I get in the car and turn on the radio WERS will be playing it”. And that’s what happened. But instead of feeling that the whole thing was peculiar, it felt normal. Like it was bound to happen, and of course, it did.

Post Vacation Hard Landing

You went away for two weeks, you enjoyed yourself, you relaxed, you got lazy. Then you came back. You thought that everything must have gotten better in two weeks. You were irrationally expecting things to be different, improved, lighter, brighter, just like your vacation. Then you realized all stayed the same. The office, the work, the people. Head on collision with the pedestrian reality wall.

You went away for two weeks and you thought you would come back and conquer the world. But the world didn’t get the memo. You settle. You shrug. You carry on.

Home Is 4,600 Miles Away From Home

November 17, 2010 marked a big personal anniversary, my ten years in the US. Ten years ago when I was in my 20s I came in this country for the first time, without having any idea how long I would stay for. Ten years later, here I am, living in my adoptive country, my adoptive home. And I’m not complaining, not a bit.

Why did I come here? Well, I came here for a guy, an American I had met in Edinburgh, Scotland where I studied for my master’s degree.  After we finished our studies in the UK, we wanted to stay together. We decided it would be easier if I would come to the US, to see if I liked it, and maybe we could start a life together. I landed in Boston on November 17, 2000. My first impression of the airport was that of a dump: it was under construction, no signs anywhere, it looked like a small town airport remnant from the 1970s. I was pretty sure Boston was a big city, it had to be better than that, right? This is the area that MIT and Harvard call home? Horrors! The then boyfriend picked me up and we drove straight to Maine. It was dark as we were driving out of Logan, and having caught a glimpse of East Boston only, I could not stop thinking how ugly Boston looked. We stayed in Bar Harbor, Maine for a couple of weeks. Lovely town, but I, a city girl, could not see myself staying there for a long time. I wanted to see more places, I wanted to explore the new country.

One of the first things I noticed in the US was how big everything was. Big roadways, big cars, big distances, big pieces of furniture,  big portions of food, big people. And then I noticed that everybody drove everywhere, walking seemed to be an almost forgotten ability of the human body. Gas was astonishingly cheaper than it was in Europe. My impression of the Americans was that they were extremely friendly and open. Back in Edinburgh, we considered the American students loud and obnoxious, but visiting here I found Americans to be better than that. People that we didn’t know too well, would have us stay at their house, they would let us borrow their car. They would always be nice. Having conversations with them I discovered how removed they are from international affairs and situations. They would sincerely ask questions like “Have you ever seen snow?” (answer: yes, it does snow in Greece), “Have you ever eaten pizza?” (answer: Yes. I’ve eaten pizza in Italy, actually, which by the way, is next to Greece), “What language do you speak in Greece? English?” (answer: Greek, from which a good portion of English words is derived.)

Oh, yes, the language! I had studied British-English since I was 10 years old, so I had to adjust to the American-English spelling, the American accent and to same words having different meanings. I learnt that pavement here means roadway and not sidewalk, colour is color, kerb is curb, programme is program, tyre is tire, jewelery is jewelry,  laboratory is pronounced quite differently, and oh, my God, these people don’t know meters and kilos! And, wait, what do you mean there are 12 inches in a foot? A measuring unit that’s not decimal-based?! Well, at least, there are 100 cents in a dollar, thank goodness.

In the beginning it amazed me how flat the Northeast is. From Maine, to New Hampshire to Boston I found the terrain pretty flat. In Greece wherever you are, almost always there is a mountain in the horizon.  Here, it is almost difficult to find a place with a nice panoramic view. But I got used to it. The then boyfriend got a job in Manchester, NH, where we moved to. Same there, everybody drove everywhere. The lack of decent public transportation came as a shock. I used to walk to the center of the town, and I wouldn’t meet any other pedestrian. The center was dead and boring. It seemed that everybody was hanging out at the shopping mall. And with every visit to Boston, which turned out to be a very beautiful city offering  a million interesting things to do, the need to move closer grew urgent.

At some point while living in Manchester, NH I got bored enough doing nothing and I started looking for a job. The task turned out to be relatively easy. (Those were the days.) Employers were open to hiring a foreign engineer, and the interviews weren’t that difficult. ( I remember I had an interview in Edinburgh, for a GIS position and the questions were very technical, detailed and tough, none of the where-do-you-see-yourself-in-five-years stuff I was asked here.) I got my first job here at a South Boston surveying & engineering firm. The owner of the company was an older German gentleman, who confided that he prefers to hire Europeans, as they are more hard-working than Americans. Interesting, I thought. After a little while, I got used to inches, feet and miles, I learned the terminology, and a whole new set of rules and regulations.

After six months it was time to move. My crazy commute from Manchester, NH to South Boston had to be reduced, so we moved to Coolidge Corner in Brookline, and a couple of years later in Ball Square in Somerville. Lots of things were happening and time was going by.  I met interesting and not so interesting people, people seemed to like chatting me up, especially when waiting for the red line or the green line, or the mighty No 7 bus. I made some friends. The personal relationship worked out until it didn’t. At some point tired from renting and moving, I bought a little place, and for the past three years I’ve been living in Cambridge. I also changed jobs, from the engineering firm in South Boston to an engineering firm in Somerville, and then on to the public sector, my third job now, where I recently had my fourth year anniversary, and I am pretty happy with it.

And I’m pretty happy with my adoptive city. The Boston area is, honestly, awesome. Sometimes we forget to appreciate its beauty. Just think of the view of the city and the Charles river, when the red line train goes over the Longfellow Bridge, and you’ll see what I mean. Boston seems to me pretty European, a walkable city with decent public transportation options. There are many parks and always some relaxing path or trail to walk or bike on to clear the mind. It’s a youthful city, all these college kids make it feel young. You get the opportunity to learn and try out new stuff. I took guitar, modern & jazz dance, drawing, yoga, photography and video classes in Boston, Brookline and Cambridge. There are so many things going on all the time. My favorite bands will always play in Boston, there is a rich theatre scene, plenty of galleries, museums, art house cinemas, restaurants, bars. This area offers high quality of life and top-notch options. In other words, you cannot be bored here, and I am deeply grateful for that.

Sometimes people ask me if I ever go back to live in Greece again. I don’t know what will happen in the future, but at this point I’m not planning on moving back. I visit Greece once  a year, every summer to enjoy the beaches and the sea. Sometimes I look at a map and see how far Boston is from Greece, and only then does it occur to me that I live on a different continent now. Sometimes I think that I never planned on living on a foreign land, I didn’t plan on emigrating, but things just happened. This land is not foreign to me anymore.  Home is where I stand, home is where I live. Sometimes when I say ‘home’ I mean Greece, other times I mean the US. Yes, home is 4,600 miles (that is 7,400 kilometers) away from home. And that is quite alright.