Gifts

I’m sure other expats find that friends from home don’t understand your expat years and current friends don’t understand our early years. In some cases there is no interest in the other life. Although it isn’t a situation worthy of seeking counselling, I found I was given a huge gift when I found a new friend from Massachusetts who has lived abroad longer than I have. What a delight to be able to speak both Boston Baked Beans and Raclette.

Words became torrents as we compared our interests and attitudes. Although we both love museums, we find equally fascinating discoveries in exploring small villages: an artisan who makes cheese, a water fountain of an unusual design, a famous chef, an underground river, the history of absinthe. Combined with our mutual devotion to writing we explored communication methods, childhoods, parents, the Middle East where we both have had wonderful experiences, the list could go on forever and ever and...

On a cold day in a small French village overlooking Geneva, I toured my new friend’s new house. No matter the view of the Alps and Jura were hidden, I was happy to imagine them. She showed me the tile that will be on her kitchen floor, and where the armoire from the 1600s will go. I had touched the carving of that armoire and wondered what the life of the person who pitted the knife against the wood was like.

We stopped at a bakery for pastries to go with tea. As in most French bakeries, the decision between delicacies is harder than deciding to change countries. A photo of the village in another time is on the wall, but the streets have not changed that much.

My new friend had another gift for me. She spoke of the poet Rumi. I said I had never heard of him. She loaned me a collection of his poems. Poetry can not be read fast, even for a speed reader like me. I look forward to days and weeks of savouring his words in the same way I look forward to the unfolding of a new friendship.