As every expat knows, it’s never easy to go home again, no
matter how much we miss mummy, daddy and the family hamster. I actually start
feeling nervous when the first of my co-workers asks me, “Hey… you excited to
get back to Toronto?” I smile and nod, but quite frankly the answer is usually
a resounding no, as from the second I walk through the doors at arrivals I am
already thinking of my excruciatingly painful departure. I spend most of my
week at home imagining mean-looking, burly British Airways flight attendants
dragging me back onto the plane as I cling in vain to my mother’s waist. Call
me a killjoy, but I find it impossible to relax during those visits.And my anxiety
only gets worse once the questions start.
Back on my home turf, everyone is curious about Stavanger. Understandably,
friends and family want to understand what my life is like here in Norway, and
from the minute I step off the plane I am anticipating what form these
questions might take. They range from the mundane and easy to answer, (“How was
your flight?”) to the vaguely political, (“ How about that oil price?”) But
above all, the most challenging question is perhaps the most obvious.
“So how’s Norway?”
While in Toronto a few weeks ago, this question came from a rather unusual
source. I had stopped off at my favourite government -controlled liquor store
(see, Norway, you aren’t the only ones who are stuck with politicians in charge
of your booze) and had entreated the help of 20 -something hipster dude behind
the counter. I needed to find a decent bottle of Canadian white wine, and he
looked like he might just know the difference between a riesling and a pinot
gris. When I told him what I was looking for and that I wanted to take it back
with me to Norway, the inevitable question arose.
My first instinct when faced with having to summarize an
entire nation and cultural experience in 2 sentences is to talk about the
weather.
“Um…right now I guess it’s rainy?”
Hipster dude frowned. Realising this was an unsatisfactory and wholly inadequate answer, he tried
something more specific.
“I have always wanted to go to Scandinavia. I’ve heard it’s
really nice over there, with the fjords and all… and they are kinda like us,
you know, with free health care and stuff?”
He was indeed making it sound “really nice over there”. And
when he looked at me with those big wide, hopeful eyes-I just couldn’t bear the
idea of crushing his Nordic dream with stories of 35% taxes, 30 dollar bottles
of wine, and wearing sandals only one and a half days a year. Being a natural
complainer, I somehow felt this was not the time or place to let loose with my
relatively minor expat grievances.
“It’s beautiful,” I responded. “The fjords are
stunning-completely magical. I feel really lucky to get a chance to live
there.”
As he nodded and handed over the much desired bottle- I
could see he was smiling ever so gently. 10 points for me as Norway’s new
travel and tourism ambassador to Canada. And while I didn’t exactly present an
in-depth analysis of life in the Norwegian capital city of oil-I did manage to
keep a little bit of the myth and magic of my adoptive home alive-in just 3
sentences.
And my new job was apparently just beginning. After a
blissful 10 days in Toronto, I returned to Stavanger-horribly jet-lagged but happy to see Scottish partner . Strolling
into the office upon my return to work on Monday morning, my colleagues looked
up from their desks in greeting and smiled.I instantly knew what was coming.
“Welcome back,” they said. “So how was Canada?”
