Friday night and the first sip of beer

I love the French author Philippe Delerm. And I recently found a wonderful English translation of his best-selling collection of short stories 'La Première Gorgée de Bière' entitled 'We Could Almost Sit Outside'. This means I have been able to enjoy the delicious little stories with my non-French speaking friends.

I never understood the pleasure of beer until I started living in the UK.
I used to think it was a wishy washy beverage chosen by red-nosed middle aged men who were in the bars a little too early in the day and a little too often (well, I suppose that's still not entirely false, but it's become kind of an endearing thought for me).

I got into the habit of frequenting the pub next to the office with a couple of (male) colleagues after work in my first year in the UK, and would have a couple of pints of Stella before commuting home.
Maybe I was taking the saying 'When in Rome, do as the Romans do' a little bit too seriously then, but the result is that it opened my eyes to the joys of drinking beer.

In Monsieur Delerm's wonderful (translated) words, 'The first gulp! Its journey is already well advanced by the time it reaches your throat. With a frothy trail of foaming gold around your lips, bitter happiness slowly permeates your palate. [...] The ritual is familiar enough: the right quantity to ensure a perfect prelude; the instant rush of well-being, punctuated by a contented sigh, a smack of the lips, or silence; the giddy sensation of pleasure teetering in the brink of infinity...'

How accurately described! I love this feeling on a Friday night, after a long week at work: as you gulp down that first sip of beer, you feel all the burdens and the worries you have carried during 5 days melt into the golden liquid.

Do I sound like a bloke? Hold on, it gets worse!! I later got introduced to real ales and the world of CAMRA pubs. The surprises in the flavours of different carefully brewed lively ales (caramel, grapefruit, and other unexpected things) makes the experience a real joy - at least until my stomach starts to protest against the overload of yeast!

Once during a work function, as I was caught drinking a pint of lager by the Operations Director, a conservative-minded Englishman, I was told that as a lady, I should be drinking half pints.
What was strange was that by switching to half pints, I still drank the same number of glasses, therefore halving my intake and the cost to my wallet. Genius!!

Nowadays I don't tend to socialise with work colleagues in the pub anymore - partly because I work from home.
But I still drink that Friday night beer fondly, and all the years I have lived in the UK and loved this country rush into my brain.

The pleasures of dim sum (yum cha)

As I received the visit of a family member last week, I found myself going and returning to London's Chinatown again and again for those dim sum made by expert chefs trained in Hong Kong, and which just don't taste the same in Paris (which can boast great Vietnamese food but not so much proper Chinese food).

Many varieties of dim sum contain prawns and mince pork, a combination made in heaven.
The firm texture and fresh briny taste of prawns, the crumbly melting texture and intensely salty taste of mince pork, underlined by the crunchy and mild flavours of cabbage or Chinese chives, wrapped in a choice of tofu skin, or thin rice paper or eggy pasta sheet.
Each dim sum is a little cocktail of carefully balanced ingredients, each mouthful an alliance of different tastes and textures having an elated party with your tastebuds.
The hint of chilli from the chilli paste that you have dipped your little parcel in is giving you an extra kick, an extra dimension which makes the party extra special, like that special fruity cocktail you made for your party which makes all your guests want to drink a little more, and encourages them to be even more sociable.

And then all the other varieties.
Pan-fried turnip cake, the wonderfully melting texture of the white cake with the soft turnip and its slightly crunchy chestnuts.
Shanghai dumplings (xiaolongbao, literally little dragon dumplings), the juicy parcel skin having started to soak some of the (dangerously) hot stock packed with meaty and veg flavours, bursting in your mouth as you take your first bite into the pretty round creamy white coloured dumpling.
Fried taro cake, the crispy oiliness of the brown hairy-looking batter stuffed with mince pork and taro, the marriage of the salty, melt-in-the-mouth pork and starchy sweetness of the taro.
Marinated chicken feet - I know it sounds awful, and I don't pretend that it's easy to overcome the repulsive idea if you were not brought up with it - the intense garlic, chilli and soya sauce flavours soaked right through the skin. The soft melting texture of the skin. The highly satisfying gnawing action, biting into the piece, separating the skin from the bones in your mouth, and spitting the bones out (I think only Chinese people can really appreciate the pleasure of gnawing through bones).

And then all the "accessories".
Tea, the only beverage that will help your stomach digest all these little parcels - dim sum are quite oily. Tikuanyin is a family favourite, its strong slightly bitter flavour balancing all the salt in the food, the heat of it comforting your stomach and kicking off the digestion process.
The friends and family, if possible a full table of 10 or 12 people you haven't seen for a long time, catching up as you express your love and care for them by putting parcels in their bowls as the waiters bring them to the table, pouring tea into their cups, making sure that their plate and cup are never empty until no more steaming bamboo dishes are brought in and everyone has a full stomach and is drinking their tea to wash everything down before getting ready to carry on with their own Sunday afternoon's programme of fun.

One of the small pleasures in my life. One more reason for me to stay in the UK!

Love languages

A few months ago, my boyfriend introduced me to a book called The 5 Love Languages.
Since then I have been fascinated by how people's behaviours and words betray their preferred way of expressing or receiving love.

To the risk of generalising and stereotyping, I would say from my observations that Chinese people tend to express love through Acts of Service and Gifts, and definitely not through either Words of Affirmation or Physical Touch, which would be more of a western way of expressing love and affection - see previous post on family and peculiarities.

The fifth love language is Quality Time, and perhaps this could be a common ground between Chinese and western cultures?

My two dominant love languages are Words of Affirmation and Physical Touch. For that reason, my boyfriend says that I am like a little cat, purring and asking to be stroked and cuddled.
To make things really easy, he and I have the same two dominant love languages, which means that without much effort, we both feel emotional safety, reassurance and trust towards each other.
It is quite interesting that we have the same love languages, even if I often joke that I am a black-haired brown slanted-eyed westerner (or "banana": yellow on the outside, white on the inside), and conversely he is a blonde-haired blue-eyed Chinese man, through years spent living and breathing Chinese culture.
He masters the Chinese language incomparably better than I do (yes, I feel ashamed), and his understanding of Chinese cultures is much superior to mine (he actively worked on understanding a foreign culture, whereas I only ever passively tried to cope with a culture gap).

I have come across a few Chinese people who would say, strongly believing that their perception of the world is the one and only truth, that the only proof that you love someone is how much money you have given them (love language of Gifts). They believe that western parents molly-cuddle their children and repeat to them that they love them (Words of Affirmation), but that when it comes to it, they wouldn't part with their money, and therefore their words are empty.
If you have read Battlehymn of a Tiger Mother by Amy Chua, you have come across this dilemma, and it has probably stirred strong emotions in you, making you want to express your opinion loudly, whichever way you lean.

What do I think as a French-born Chinese living in the western world?
I will do what I am often accused of doing, due to my loathing of confrontations: sitting on the fence.
I think that when you love someone enough, you want to have the tolerance to try and understand their point of view, even if it is diametrically opposite to what you believe in. You may never succeed, but you will definitely listen and try.
If you both adopt that mindset, you may still bicker, get frustrated with each other, occasionally feel hurt and often feel misunderstood, but you will know that you are both trying, and accept that the other person just thinks completely differently.

Think of the Buddhist concept of Lovingkindness - wishing everyone well, no matter how similar or different they are (just to throw in some more clashes, as I come from a family of firm believers in Christian Protestant religion).
Easier said than done.
In the meantime, I will relish my easy life with my blue-eyed China man.

Family members and their peculiarities

Every family has its own peculiarities. We all have an old aunt who is a bit odd, a great-uncle who has a dubious sense of humour, a brother-in-law who has an unusual personality...
As I had the privilege to receive the visit of a dear elder family member during the past week, I have been collecting a few gems, as I experienced the comical side and the frustration that these peculiarities bring.

Workaholic
Amazingly she has been doing business in English, while she never learnt it, nor ever lived in an English speaking country.

She has been up early every morning to check her business emails.
And every morning without fail, as I walked downstairs to blow dry my hair around 8am (I had lent her my blow-drier and left it in her room), she would start asking me questions:
'How do you say XYZ in English? '
'How do you spell "of course"?'
'How do you reply to a message without starting a new email?'
If I interrupt my blow-drying, at this rate it would take me 3 hours to finish drying my hair.
If I don't interrupt myself, I can't hear anything.
What do I do?
'I am taking advantage of the fact that you are by my side to ask you these questions that I normally struggle with.'
Right. Glad I can be of use from the very first moment I am up!

OCD

In my family many houses are immaculate and look like show apartments. This comes at a cost. Personally, I have been looking after my own household for 15 years, and I like my house to be clean, but I don't like to sacrifice my lifestyle to upgrade it from very clean to über-clean.
Before she arrived, my cousins were starting to tease:
'You must make sure that you have a different pair of slippers for different parts in the house which have different grades of cleanliness'.
While I was wiping the table clean after dinner:
'You must not use the washing up scourer sponge to clean all the table. You should use it to soap up only little dots on the table, then use the plain sponge to wipe the whole table.'
'You need to wipe the dishes with a dishcloth then let them go extra dry on the work surfaces before you put them away.'
She reorganised all my cupboards.
She wiped my fridge, freezer, microwave.
Free cleaning and tidying services, with tips as well!

Pride and expectations
There is a turn of phrase that sounds particularly accusatory. Why didn't you...?
The assumption is that it's obvious what should have been done, yet you didn't do it.
There are clearly certain standards that should be met when you are part of the family, and I hadn't met them.
'Why didn't you turn the toilet you are not using upstairs into a storage room?'
'Why didn't you have some bespoke kitchen cupboards for more space?' (she knows that I had a very restricted house refurbishment budget).

In the train, sitting next to a very good-looking young girl. 'Why don't you dress like this girl, she looks very classy. You would look better in long trousers, especially because your legs are a bit fat.' (I am a size 8 trousers).

Drama
I was woken up at 6.30am by repetitive sneezes the same number of decibels as a motorbike ridden by a teenager full of testosterone trying to impress his friends. 'Oh, did I wake you up? I think I am allergic to the damp smell on your bedsheets.' I smelled them, and couldn't smell anything. And I have the biggest nostrils in my family! Of course I washed the bedsheets again anyway.

'I don't like bins with a lid'. And with that, she starts to leave her rubbish on top of the lid. (The lid sticks sometimes, and she cannot touch the lid because she would have to wash her hands immediately afterwards).

Stubbornness
We went on a little walk in London. She looks up to a shop front sign.
'Oh, Pret A Manger. Is it a French company?
- No it isn't.
- Then they must do French food at least.
- No they do sandwiches and salads.
- You must be wrong, the name is French, it has to have some kind of French food.'
She kind of has a point. Why don't they do any French food with that name?

When you are an expat you have a lot of autonomy and much less influence from your family. It's wonderful to have family members visiting, and to have quality time bonding with people you just don't have the opportunity to spend much time with anymore. But you know what? After a week, I am mentally exhausted by having to think before every single gesture, just to make sure it is the way she wants it done.
And I am so grateful that I can hold the reins of my household again, and lead my life in exactly the way I like, in peace and quiet.

A Frenchwoman in Greater London

When I recently reached the 10 year-mark of my life in the UK, I looked back at how things evolved from what they were when I first arrived.




I was fresh out of university (to be accurate, a business school in France), had always had top marks and never-ending praises from teachers in English, and had never really spent any significant amount of time in an English-speaking country. Naively, I thought that if I had always been top of the class throughout high school and further education in English, then surely working in the UK was going to be a doddle (even if I didn't know that particular word back then - 'doddle').

So finally here I come to an 'Anglo-Saxon' country from the top of my 21 years old, feeling like I was going to conquer the world.




I arrived in August, to what seemed like a very cold and rainy autumn, with completely unsuitable summer clothing. My commute to work involved a short train journey from Wembley station, and in the sleepiness of the early mornings, as I waited for my trains in the middle of the cold and draughty old station, with damp wind gushing through my bones and all the Asian faces around me (in France, foreign faces are seldom Indian-looking, but rather Chinese or African), I truly wondered whether actually I accidentally took a trip to a strange unknown developing country instead.




Soon I worked out that I really could not understand what people were saying. 'This really isn't like in the American films I have been watching or any of the videos that my English teachers have been using to improve our listening comprehension' I used to think, 'what language are they speaking here?'.

First of all, when I was introduced to people, they were making this strange noise which reminded me of kung fu films, and that was making me jump back in surprise and fear. I later worked out that British people greet each other with an enthusiastic and high-pitched 'Hiya!!' when they are friendly with you.

I asked people to repeat themselves a lot, and in the first month, it didn't matter how many times that was, I still didn't get what they said. I got so frustrated that sometimes, I just walked away.

Many a time, I would have a Scottish, Irish or South African person on the phone, and the conversation was just ridiculous: I could not understand the numbers they were saying - I couldn't decide whether to burst into a hysterical laugh or to cry at how difficult this was.




Although my spoken English was formal and not at all idiomatic, people used to understand me very well. So I would end my phone conversations at work with 'could you confirm what we discussed in a fax please?'

As for a lot of French people, my reading comprehension was miles better than my listening comprehension.

I was very determined to improve very quickly - I simply could not cope with that much frustration for long - and soon my little vocabulary notepad was full of useful words and expressions which I conscientiously memorised and tried to use again.




One of my colleagues was a young and tall rugby player who used to tease me by saying that this is the best country in the world because it is GREAT Britain. I used to overload him with my language questions, to which he would sometimes respond amicably in characteristic English humour 'Bloody foreigner!'. It reminded me to occasionally pause in my continuous and intense quest to conquer the English language to laugh at comical situations and take in the progress I had made.




In Chinese education, your parents tell you that if you work hard enough, you can do anything. And sure enough, after much hard work and persistence through many frustrating and comically ridiculous situations, I started to be able to understand people quite well, express myself in a more idiomatic way, and managed to have fluent conversations at a decent level within 4 or 5 months.




Things stepped up when I had a sentimental relationship with an Englishman. He was a bit of a lad, had left school at 16, yet managed to climb up the corporate echelons through good business skills, and favoured slang and idiomatic expressions to formal words. In our first interactions, I had no idea what he was talking about, even if I understood every word. What on earth does 'doing my head in' mean? Or 'making things up'? Or even 'working things out'?

I learnt to speak like a true native.




A few years later, I found myself in Yorkshire for the majority of the working week, working on projects for my company. It was a step back in my ability to understand people, but by then I was used to having to work hard from an uncomfortable start to reach my goals. I even picked up a slight Northern accent, and when ringing my cousin in London one day, got told that she spent a few seconds wondering 'who is this northern girl ringing me?'




The best milestone was when I first found myself reading books in English seamlessly, without stopping to check the dictionary after every paragraph.




Fast forward to 10+ years after my first arrival. I still learn words and expressions from time to time, although I no longer carry a notepad with me everywhere. Sometimes they are simple words I just never came across in the past. Recently I had to ask my friend's daughter 'what's a stitch?' (I had worked out we were not talking about the sewing or the laughing kind). Funnily, this is probably very revealing of the fact that I hardly ever run!




Mostly I enjoy being able to fully understand what people mean, what they refer to, with all of the nuances that their choice of words and tone express, not just the general meaning.

It makes me able to understand the English culture and to integrate by saying the right things at the right time (or trying at least), respond to a joke appropriately, and build trust with friends and credibility with colleagues.




This will probably sound like self-flattery, and I know that my written English is still far from being perfect, but I would just like to mention that many new people I meet nowadays tell me that they thought I was born or at least raised in the UK. What a wonderful compliment to have for those efforts throughout the years! I feel very proud of that achievement.




From time to time I will have a dumb day where words just don't come in English at all - they are a mixture of French or Chinese. And conversely, when I return to my home town, I sometimes realise that I am constructing sentences in an English way and that it just doesn't sound right in French. My sister usually politely laughs and kindly corrects me.




Learning to speak a foreign language fluently is one of the hardest yet one of the most rewarding endeavours that I have ever engaged in. It has brought a lot of richness in my life, not only the ability to fully understand people in the country I live in, but also the ability to fully integrate in it and to completely feel at home here.




Today I just feel that the UK is my loved and loving, welcoming adopted country.


What is your experience of expatriation?