The Vex-Pat
There's an excellent article on how expats relate to their home countries while abroad in today's Sydney Morning Herald. It begins with the author meeting an expat friend in a bar on the Lower East Side of Manhattan, where he's surprised to learn that his mate has become a caricature of himself, laying the accent on thick and behaving in a totally different way than before he left the country (comparing him to the Aussie from Tom Cruise's flick, Cocktail).
This, apparently, is a common trend amongst the authors expat friends. Men and women who leave the country in search of greener pastures, who later feel the need to overcompensate in the name of staying "authentic." He goes on to examine the phenomenon, eventually addressing the typical end to these types of stories - losing interest in your new home and feeling the need to move on to another and then yet another locale. Follow the link to read the article in it's entirety, but below I've copied a particularly good passage from the end of the piece.
"But in no place will the expat know true repose. This is the terminal dilemma of the expat: linguistic reinvention in one place is never enough. New York is never enough. The act has to go on the road. "I'm sick of Sydney," is only the prelude to a more damning lament: "I'm sick of New York. Seriously — the grid pattern. Is that as good as it gets?" Done with the great capitals, done with Barcelona and Bangkok and Beijing and Dubai, the expat's trajectory deepens and multiplies, passing through Mazar-e-Sharif and Mogadishu before finally devolving into the deliberate obscurantism of Brazzaville, Baku, Busan and Bogota. And this is no bad thing, when you think about it, because fair dinkum, as a mate of mine was telling me the other day, Baku is a great place for beers."
This, apparently, is a common trend amongst the authors expat friends. Men and women who leave the country in search of greener pastures, who later feel the need to overcompensate in the name of staying "authentic." He goes on to examine the phenomenon, eventually addressing the typical end to these types of stories - losing interest in your new home and feeling the need to move on to another and then yet another locale. Follow the link to read the article in it's entirety, but below I've copied a particularly good passage from the end of the piece.
"But in no place will the expat know true repose. This is the terminal dilemma of the expat: linguistic reinvention in one place is never enough. New York is never enough. The act has to go on the road. "I'm sick of Sydney," is only the prelude to a more damning lament: "I'm sick of New York. Seriously — the grid pattern. Is that as good as it gets?" Done with the great capitals, done with Barcelona and Bangkok and Beijing and Dubai, the expat's trajectory deepens and multiplies, passing through Mazar-e-Sharif and Mogadishu before finally devolving into the deliberate obscurantism of Brazzaville, Baku, Busan and Bogota. And this is no bad thing, when you think about it, because fair dinkum, as a mate of mine was telling me the other day, Baku is a great place for beers."

