Guilty Compromises and Quarter-Life Crises: Lessons in Living Overseas

When I turned 25 last year, I was proud to feel able to say I had reached my quarter-century having accomplished many things in both a personal and professional sense. Had you known me 10 years ago, you would never have imagined I’d be living and working halfway across the world right now. I was a very shy child. My best friend was my family’s Labrador, Tom, as was Milly, my spaniel, who was not actually a real dog but a bag I took everywhere with me. My siblings tell me I had an imaginary friend called Jinky who I’d talk to under the barn steps. Much of my time was spent wandering around our fields in a daydream or incessantly scribbling down pony stories in notebooks. Like many children, I was bullied for a few years, and my way of dealing with it by saying nothing, casing myself in a shell and trying to distract myself with my imagination, has contributed to my quiet voice and love of writing. As a teenager I didn’t really fit in with the catty group of girls I found myself in a friendship group with. While they loved shopping and make-up and got attention from boys, I did sports, felt more comfortable in scruffy hand-me-downs and believed my broken nose made me ugly.

Like with many people, my experiences of being mocked through school instilled in me a quiet ambition to aspire for greater things. I truly believed that something better was waiting down the line if I kept working hard, and I was determined that in later years I would look back on the past and be the one laughing at how insignificant the events and those people inside it all seemed. I still experience moments of Impostor Syndrome when I wonder how my shy young self grew up to be who and where I am. However, the question I am most often asked as an expat is: “Don’t you miss home and your family?”

10172568_10154101270825495_1353433308_n

The answer is yes, of course I do, but I was fortunate in that my parents encouraged all of my siblings to travel and see the world. They presented time away from home as something to be excited rather than worried about. As a result, I never struggled with homesickness when I went on school trips overseas. The last time my whole family was together was in 2013. To some families this would seem indicative of a dysfunctional dynamic; for us it’s normal. We are adults in our 20s and 30s who have all fled the nest to go in different directions around the world, and we were brought up to understand that this is simply how life goes.

Even with an independent mindset however, this doesn’t mean living in a foreign country doesn’t have its extremely challenging personal moments. A lot of travel bloggers will glorify the expat life, presenting their lifestyle as a trouble-free haven to which we should all aspire – “I quit my 9-5 job for paradise”. What these people aren’t telling you is that difficult personal experiences follow you wherever you go. Everyone goes through complex emotional stages in life. Place yourself in a foreign country away from your family and there is a whole new dimension involved. Gone are those unconditional physical comforts and avenues for support. Gone is the certainty of what steps to take next (and in some cases, which steps you are entitled to take as a foreign resident). Under the impression that they should always be smiling because of living in a beautiful new country, I personally believe that a lot of expats struggle to identify when they are unhappy. I was one of them at the end of 2017.

This post is not intended to invite sympathy out of an implication that I have a difficult life, because I don’t at all. I debated sharing it for a while because some of the content seemed too personal and conceited. Then I realized that if I was to rewind back two years to when I started my visa application in the midst of a long-distance relationship, the experiences I’m about to share are things I wish I had been more prepared for. But of course, hindsight is a wonderful thing, and life is unpredictable. On the whole I don’t have many regrets, and I am a believer that things happen for a reason. If I could go back however, I would approach some things differently.

While my decision to move overseas was also largely based on a desire to leave England and experience working abroad, having a boyfriend in Canada inevitably had an integral influence on the type of experience I had in my first few months here. Realistically, both members knew we were no longer a good match and were simply staying together because of history. Regardless, I clung onto a failing relationship for a long time, and on reflection I know it was because I didn’t feel secure enough in my own life here to brave going it alone. Around this time I didn’t have a stable job, I didn’t have many of my own friends, and I didn’t live separately in my own apartment. I didn’t feel I had enough independence to become independent. All break-ups are hard, but it turns out that ending a long-term relationship while living away from home is really hard. In losing a boyfriend I had first met aged 19 on my first trip to Canada, I had also inevitably lost the strength of connection with what I had considered for a long time to be my second family. As much as a partner’s family members might insist on keeping in touch, realistically things can never fully be the same. Gone were the guaranteed Thanksgiving and Christmas invites, collections from the ferry or airport, and advice on Canadian systems and laws.

In spite of this huge change in my circumstances, I thought I was doing pretty well in the break-up’s aftermath. In a September blog post, I discussed how content I was with my Canadian life. Little did I realize how much this was more me trying to convince myself everything was great, underestimating how much my confidence had been unsettled. This was largely because I didn’t have family and close friends around who knew me well enough to understand and suggest how I was really doing. I also didn’t realize how much the break-up had affected me because I had been quickly distracted by an attraction to a new person who seemed to come along at a perfect time near the end of the relationship, when I had felt so much uncertainty about my future in a foreign country. Excited by the new attention and comforted by the prospect of immediate company, I let myself get caught up in a complicated romance without realizing that my current mindset was not in a strong place to form a new relationship. My emotionally needy self clashed with someone emotionally unavailable. The impact of the emotional collision was drawn out over a confusing period, and the final broken remnants left me questioning many things about myself and my ability to form fulfilling relationships in which my level of care would be reciprocated. Having always prided myself on being an independent person, I didn’t recognize the clingy person I had become. I had invested so much time and effort caring about someone, when really it was myself I needed to take care of. The soundtrack to my 2017 Christmas was Joni Mitchell’s ‘River’. Aided by a dose of SAD, I felt lonely, tired, pessimistic and unmotivated. Trying to understand my self-esteem was like trying to decipher a face through a cracked mirror.

Around the same time, I also went through that “quarter-life-crisis” stage common to people of my age. I was a few years into an unexpected career field, living away from home being a true “grown up”, and yet there was still a shy, indecisive person inside me who was scared by the prospect of a structured work life and unsure of where my life was going. We are constantly pressured to aspire for more – more money, more titles, more living space, more materialistic possessions – yet I didn’t feel ready or interested to follow that trend; I was drawn to the idea of a life where I could just take off whenever I felt like exploring a new place. To afford to travel, you need to work. But to have a worthwhile travel experience, you need time. And when you work full-time in a permanent role, time doesn’t come easily. When unemployed, we crave having a permanent job, and yet when we have it, we long for more freedom. The prospect of my future consisting of days spent at work seemed so confining. I was very grateful to have a job that I love, but my priorities and plans in life went through a period of feeling muddled. Billy Joel’s ‘River of Dreams’ was added to my soundtrack. (Evidently, rivers are pretty symbolic.)

I’d never planned to go home for Christmas 2017, and the same plan still stood even when I became single. Flights seemed too expensive, I wouldn’t have enough time there to make it worth the expense, I figured better to wait for a visit in the summertime, “it’s only Christmas”. Yet another underestimation of how difficult things would be. I put on a brave face to family because I didn’t want them to worry about me. I had a stubborn desire to prove that I was fine and could be a “big girl”.

DSC_0046

A last-minute decision to get away for a few days of solo travel time helped pick me up. Corny and cliche as it may sound, my trip to Kelowna helped restore my understanding of myself and rejuvenate my sense of purpose. Heading into 2018, I resolved to look forward. A single 25-year-old young professional in a foreign country – I had so much freedom to carve out the type of lifestyle I wanted. I realized this was an exciting time for me, not a sad one.

I started focusing even more on running and fitness, and even started swimming occasionally again – a sport I was not known to enjoy during my teenage days as a Modern Pentathlete. I got stricter with my diet after having let meals slip into lazy choices during December. I turned off the sad soul and acoustic blues – the Aretha Franklin, Janis Joplin and Neil Young – and turned on more optimistic Motown and funk. I started making use of my creativity again and writing more guest posts for other bloggers.  I focused on quality and not quantity when it came to socializing with people. I won my first 5k race of the season with a better time than I’d expected. As my sense of self-worth rose again, I shook off my scepticism about male intentions and relationships, and let myself give a guy I’d been wondering about a chance that turned out to be worthwhile.

As the days get longer and the spring flowers start to bloom, I now feel like I’ve truly established my own life here in Canada. I feel truly content and independent. I’m blessed to have some fantastic people in my life, some fun hobbies, and some beautiful surroundings. I feel like I’m having the lifestyle and relationships that I wanted, and it feels great.

MEC Race Thetis Lake (1)

So after everything that’s happened in the past few months, why do I sometimes feel bad saying that I’m happy?

Every so often, I’ll experience what I call ‘The Cycle of Guilt’. The guilt relates to being far away from home as my parents get older. Even if parents are fortunate to be in great health, the distance from family makes worries about the future that most children experience throughout their lives a little more pertinent when living overseas. A recent article on long-term expat experiences even suggested that a desire to look after parents often influences family members to return home, even if they struggle to readjust to their old lives themselves.  A thought of happiness I have will sometimes be followed by a voice of judgment. The voice tells me that I am being selfish and inconsiderate. It reminds me of the wonderful childhood my parents created for me and my siblings – one that wasn’t filled with many materialistic things, but with health, adventure and encouragement. How can I just get up and leave them when they did all this for me? How can I act so ungrateful?

On UK Mother’s Day in March, Victoria saw its warmest day of the year so far. I walked around in a t-shirt along the oceanfront and bought ice cream at the park. The sound of an English woman’s accent ordering an ice cream had me involuntarily spinning around to catch a glimpse of this familiar stranger, and the sight of an elderly lady on her own, fumbling with her purse and trying not to drop her walking stick, consumed me with a sudden feeling of guilt. I envisioned a similar (and very far away!) future scene featuring my own mum and, irrational as I knew it was, felt bad for having a lovely day over here rather than being at home with her.

One of the biggest challenges as an expat (or Canadian resident who has moved to the other side of this huge country!) is maintaining strong relations with people back home while investing in new ones in your current place of residence. Despite all the technological options for keeping in touch with people around the world, doing so still takes a lot of work. I will not deny that I am bad at scheduling Skypes with friends and family outside of Canada. It’s not because I’ve forgotten about or been forgotten by them, but because life gets in the way. With a Monday-to-Friday work schedule, the 8-hour time difference with the UK is very restrictive. A time might be planned on a weekend, only for something to come up and my priorities be cast into doubt. Do I miss out on a unique opportunity for an interesting outdoor or social activity, or catch up with a friend overseas I haven’t properly spoken to in a few weeks? While I’m very organized when it comes to sending cards for special occasions, I Skype my parents only every few months. The ending with my mum always seems to follow a “You hang up”-“No you hang up” pattern, and the end of every call is followed by a little cry before I snap myself out of it and get on with my day.

Although these cycles of guilt will be an inevitable occurrence while I am away, my rational self knows I should not punish myself with such feelings. I also know that as soon as they read this post, my parents will email me insisting I’m a silly billy who shouldn’t be worrying or feeling bad. Realistically, I know that my parents are happy for me. They want me to be happy, and they know that being here makes me happy. I’ve come to realize that the best parents don’t ask their children to stay close, but encourage them to go far. By trying to persuade children to stay nearby, it’s the parents that are actually being selfish. Had I stayed at home, I would not be feeling guilt over others, but I would be feeling discontent with myself. I’d be frustrated that I’d only wondered about a life overseas and not actually attempted to pursue the dream. Guilt is a natural antagonist of joy. More than guilt I feel pride in the things I’ve accomplished,  and the parents that helped me accomplish those things by “letting me go”. The past year has taught me the importance of not wasting time, of taking advantage of opportunities and trying to fill life with as many memorable experiences as possible. Life involves compromises, and time with family is a big one you have to make if you decide to move abroad. But awkward as it feels to say it, when you look at the bigger picture, the compromise is worth it.

In June I’m heading home for a couple weeks to visit family and friends. It will be my first trip back to England since December 2016. The time together will be brief, but I know I will greatly cherish every moment of it.

 

 

Advertisements

Locked Out & Snowed In: A Winter Welcome from Kelowna

As the plane began its descent, billowing clouds dispersed to reveal the sight of snow-dusted, tree-studded mountains flanking a shimmering lake. A rush of frosty air hit me as I descended the plane’s steps and walked into the airport. With no checked bags to wait for, I headed straight to the line of yellow cabs outside. Yes, cabs. No longer am I the super frugal 20-year-old student always looking for the cheapest mode of transport. There was no direct bus route from the airport, and I didn’t fancy waiting outside in this weather.

“So what are your plans for Kelowna, visiting family or friends?” asked my driver.

“Ah no, I’m here alone,” I replied brightly. “Just going to wander round, do some hiking, you know.”

“Do you ski?”

“Nope.”

At this point the driver must have decided I was a weird person, because he didn’t ask me anymore questions.

This was my first trip to the Okanagan Valley in six years, having previously spent a week doing a Workaway exchange in a tiny town called Cawston. In bitterly cold late December, it was hard to remember how hot it can get in this region during summer. I had almost come to Kelowna in the late summer of 2017, but since it was mostly on fire, opted for the slightly less smoky Rockies instead. It was actually at the Kelowna Greyhound bus depot where my backpack went missing. But hey, that was six years ago, no grudges.

The 15k drive into downtown Kelowna saw us pass large department stores, car dealers and warehouses. I paid my $40 fare and walked up the steps to my airbnb motel apartment  – an excellent choice for a solo traveller looking for simplicity and convenience. (If you’re new to airbnb, you can get $45 in travel credit by following this link.) I dumped my things and headed out to wander through City Park, located close by. Traffic roared over the bridge that leads to West Kelowna. The beach, scattered with bathers in the scorching summer months, was now swathed in snow and there were super pretty views of the mountains across the placid lake. I walked along the lakeside passing squealing children on an ice rink, a small marina, Canada geese gathered on a hill to escape the icy waters, and a Cactus Club Cafe pumping out music while its guests celebrated Boxing Day. Near Waterfront Park, two boys with hockey sticks zoomed up and down a frozen pond against the backdrop of a casino.

Tip number 1 when travelling to a new place it to research the nearest supermarket before arrival. Bernard Avenue had a nice array of bars, cafes, bookstores and boutiques, as well as a Safeway. By now my face had probably frozen into an awkward expression and through my jeans my legs stung with cold. Thankfully there was a Starbucks inside the Safeway, as if the store manager had anticipated the visit of naive English girls to Kelowna in the winter. Normally I’d prefer to support local independent coffee shops, but right now I was desperate for a sugary liquid to warm my insides.

Setting off back to my apartment unashamed to concede defeat to the -10 temperature, I pulled out my keys and inserted them into the lock, excited for warmth. But the door wouldn’t open. I blew on my fingers and tried again, but to no avail. At first I laughed about it, until a further five minutes of failure inspired me to ask for help for one of my neighbours. Five different doors and no response. Worry levels starting to rise, I tried the lock again only to cuss in frustration when the door didn’t budge.

Suddenly the door two rooms down opened and out peeked a dozy looking topless guy, followed by a strong wift of weed.

“Oh, hi! I’m sorry, I was trying to -” The door shut before I had a chance to ask him for help, although that was probably for the best…

Looking around me, there seemed no other option but to ask one of the (slightly better off-looking) neighbours across the road. An elderly lady wearing bright red lipstick opened the door.

“I’m so sorry to bother you,” I began in my strongest English accent, “but I’m staying across the road and can’t seem to unlock my door.” *Rolls my eyes self-deprecatingly*

The lady “Ooohed” sympathetically and ushered me inside before calling down her husband. “Marcel, come help this nice young lady here.”

Marcel followed me back to my door, asking with a French accent where I was from, which inevitably led to the “long way from home” spiel I’ve heard many times the past year.

“I’m pretty sure the top one is unlocked, it’s just the bottom one that’s really stiff,” I explained.

Marcel took the keys and opened the door immediately. My mouth fell open. “More power!” he exclaimed.

“Oh, silly me!” I laughed, thanking him and apologizing profusely before he went back to his wife to mock silly young English girls.

Tip number 2 (or maybe that should be 3 after “learn how to unlock a door properly”) is to make the most of good weather for hiking, even if it’s been your plan to complete a certain activity another day. I awoke the next morning to see snow falling and wind blowing the tree branches. Appropriately layered, I walked up Ellis St towards Knox Mountain…only to realize I couldn’t actually see it too well. I had a head lamp and suitable footwear, but decided a solo hike wouldn’t be a smart move if I couldn’t see the trail. I should have gone the afternoon I arrived, when skies were clearer and I’d still had a few hours of light left. Lesson learned.

Instead, I headed back south and walked down Abbott St past cozy houses and small lakeside parks towards Mission Creek Greenway, where I commenced a 6k walk on a snowy path alongside the frozen creek. It was a nice walk during which I encountered dog walkers, runners who were somehow finding traction, and elderly couples.  A pleasant oasis from the town, the greenway would make a lovely running route in the dryer months. About 3k into the walk, the views on both sides of the creek changed from residential properties to open spaces with hay barns and horses. Upon reaching Mission Creek Greenway Regional Park, I now had to find my way back to downtown. Returning the same way seemed a little pointless, but my only other choice was to walk along the fairly busy Springfield Rd. Most of this 6k walk was spent inhaling car fumes and focusing intently on the ground, because I did not want to slip on my backside in front of swarms of traffic.

I made it back downtown with my legs exhausted from around 15k of snow-walking. As I collapsed on a bench in City Park, I was greeted by a cheery elderly couple. Then I looked up to see a handsome hunky runner, who also looked at me but of course said nothing, because handsome hunky runners do not simply initiate a greeting with shivering pale people. And then a middle-aged lady jogged by and jovially remarked, “Now you just need a Starbucks cup!” Indeed, that seems to be the Kelowna attitude towards winter weather: get yourself a hot drink, and get on with it. Thankfully, it only took two minutes for me to unlock my door this time.

On my third day there was a snowfall warning in effect. It looked like I wouldn’t get any of my mountain hikes in afterall. I guess I should have been a little more realistic. Still, missing a hike wouldn’t detract from the trip. Ultimately I had a good idea of what views I could expect; it would just be a rewarding bit of exercise. Instead, heavy snow days are for art galleries, museums and cafes. Luckily for me, admission to Kelowna’s art gallery is free on Thursdays. While I’m not talented at creating them myself, paintings are something that I have recently realized I really appreciate. Based on Water St, the gallery had some lovely oil and acrylic canvases, as well as a rather dark but interesting exhibition exploring existential themes.

Outside the gallery, cars drove along the snowy roads as if there was nothing slippery on them. I spent the remainder of the afternoon reading in Pulp Fiction Coffee House on Pandosy St. Featuring a vintage bookstore and antiques section, this retro cafe played music by the likes of Johnny Cash, Jackie Wilson and Del Shannon. I resisted buying a cinnamon bun until I left. All for the good cause of supporting local, obviously…

I didn’t hike Knox Mountain and see views of Okanagan Lake from the summit; I didn’t see the trestles at Myra Canyon or witness the waterfalls at Crawford; I didn’t climb the extinct volcano of Mt. Boucherie, but I still got something out of the trip. I fulfilled my need to get off Vancouver Island for a few days and spend time alone exploring a new place at my own pace, with time to process recent feelings and events that materialized during what I found to be quite an emotionally challenging December. In the age of Instagram (which I foolishly joined recently), there is so much pressure to do the BIG things and get the BEST shot. This takes the attention off simply enjoying the experience of being somewhere different. Aimless wandering is an underrated activity. Sometimes you just need to get away to clear your head.

The next morning I booked another cab for 11am, my airbnb checkout time. My driver quickly commented on the volume of flight cancellations caused by snow the day prior. “Oh no!” I replied, not for a second considering that these circumstances might repeat themselves. The queue for security was huge. I got chatting to a man who hadn’t flown for 10 years and looked perplexed when he saw signs with the rules on liquids, and a lady originally from Liverpool going to visit her boyfriend in Cranbrook. 30 minutes later her flight would get cancelled. And then other flights were delayed…only to be cancelled because planes couldn’t land in the snowstorm. I soon learned that the stereotype of Canadians being sweet, passive folk is very misleading…

“Oh dear, what will you do?” asked one lady I’d gotten chatting to, after my flight was officially announced as cancelled.

I shrugged and smiled. “I’ll probably just sleep in the airport and get the earliest flight I can tomorrow.”

“I’d offer you a place to stay, but I’m all the way down in Summerland.”

“That’s very kind of you, but it makes sense to just stay here so I can leave as soon as possible tomorrow.”

Of course, I soon learned that all Saturday’s flights with my airline were fully booked. The next available flight was Sunday at the same time of 15:45. Oh good God. I quickly checked the Greyhound website to assess the possibility of an awkward reunion with the Kelowna depot, but all buses to Vancouver were fully booked the whole weekend. I saw little point in  paying money to go back into Kelowna when I had no guarantee of a place to stay, and I didn’t know anyone who lived there. I mean, there was a hunky guy who also missed my flight and was in front of me in the queue to chat to the airline staff. He left the airport soon after, and I figured it might be a wee bit forward to tap him on his shoulder and ask if I could invite myself to a sleepover. It was official: I was going to slum it in an airport for two nights.

‘Kelowna really doesn’t like me,’ I thought as I headed towards Tim Hortons to commence my longest relationship with this national chain, the only catering option in the airport aside from a White Spot restaurant. As I ate my crispy chicken meal combo, I looked around at the other passengers with their disrupted travel plans and couldn’t help but wish I at least had someone to keep to company – to watch my stuff when I needed the washroom, to fetch me snacks, to make me laugh. Travelling solo definitely has its challenges in certain situations.

Airports are already draining enough when you’re waiting for an on-time flight. By 7pm I had already had enough of my temporary home, and in an act of desperation, I went to the next level of abandoning my frugal principles and booked a room at the hotel opposite the airport for the next evening. As I entered my credit card details on the reservations website, I tried not to think about the weeks of groceries I could buy with this money. But screw it, when do I otherwise have a reason to stay in a hotel? Why not treat myself to a bit of relative luxury?

After achieving a PB of four hours’ sleep in an airport, I spent the morning just watching all the people passing by heading off in various directions (when their flight wasn’t cancelled, that is). I was pretty much lying across a row of seats in the same clothes as the day before with my hair greasy and messy, looking like a true hobo and not giving a damn.

At 3pm I walked up to the Four Points at Sheraton Hotel, doubtlessly entertaining drivers as I struggled to walk through the knee-deep piles of snow at the junction island. While I don’t believe my room was worth the money I paid for it (and there was no complimentary breakfast!!) it was also so worth splashing out on. Privacy, a bath and a proper bed should never be taken for granted. I enjoyed reading the comments friends had written on my Facebook status about my situation. It hit me that evening that it was a year ago that day, December 30th 2017, that I had arrived in Canada full-time to start this crazy new adventure. My circumstances were a lot different then, and most of the people commenting on the status I hadn’t known back then. It’s crazy how one’s life can change so much in the space of a year.

On Sunday morning I watched out of my window to see planes taking off. The skies were a little clearer. Hopefully I would be back in Victoria before 2018! I naturally took away the room’s pen and toiletries (because hey, I mayaswell get my money’s worth!) and went to check out. My aim to get my money’s worth also included taking advantage of the free hotel shuttle that runs to the airport, even though I’d probably have walked there just as quick. A lady called Svitlana with a thick Ukrainian accent was driving the shuttle, and I happened to be the only passenger at this time. Svitlana seemed a little nervous, and I soon began to wonder how often she had driven the van in snow, if at all.

“What asshole!” she exclaimed at the 4-way junction when the driver opposite pulled out instead of letting her go. I settled myself back in my seat having been thrown forward by her jamming on the brakes, and laughed politely. As we precariously descended the hill towards the airport, I had to bite my lip to refrain from suggesting she use the engine brake a little more.

Having arrived in one piece, I went to check in for the second time. My flight was delayed by an hour, and with the airline having an open seating policy, never have I rushed up so quickly to get on a plane once the boarding call has begun. It was a tiny plane with one seat on each side. We set off down the runway to depart, only to turn back again so the pilots could double check the wings didn’t need de-icing. I’m a pretty chilled person when it comes to reacting to delays that are caused by safety-related issues, but at this point my weary soul was ready to have a tantrum. Thankfully no de-icing was required. We touched down at Victoria airport around 6pm on New Year’s Eve, and a friend kindly gave me a ride home where, exhausted, I went to bed at 9pm.

Getting away from Victoria and the Christmas-time blues for a few days (plus two extra) left me feeling mentally rejuvenated on the first day of 2018, but never have I felt so glad to be back in my Canadian home.

 

 

 

 

Ein Wochenende in Basel

Am letzten Wochenende traf ich eine Deutsche Freundin in Basel. Weil ich in der Nähe dem Genfersee wohne, war es gut, einen deutschsprachigen Teil der Schweiz zu besuchen. Basel ist eine kleine Stadt, aber sie hat eine charmante Charakter. Auf die Treppe neben dem Rhein ist ein toller Ort, Mittag zu essen. Die meisten Supermärkte sonntags geöffnet sind, deshalb sorge nicht über ob man genug Schweizer Schokolade hat, das ganze Wochenende zu dauern…

 Last weekend, I met a German friend in Basel. Since I’m living near Lake Geneva, it was good to visit a German-speaking part of Switzerland. Basel is a small town, but it has a charming character. A great place to eat lunch is on the steps near the Rhine. Most supermarkets are open on Sundays, so no need to worry about whether you have enough Swiss chocolate to last the whole weekend…

10380952_10155107067785495_7186195716791810834_o

Die glänzende Weihnachtsbeleuchtung wurden über der Brücke hängend. Wir hörten die Glocken von der Pferdekutschen kling und in der Ferne hupten die Straßenbahnen ihre Horner als der Himmel sich zu verdunkeln begann. 

Sparkling Christmas lights were hanging above the bridge. We heard bells clang from the horse-drawn carriages and in the distance the trams sounded their horns, as the sky began to darken.

Das Rathaus ist ein schönes Gebäude mit einer markanten roten Farbe. Wir hörten die Stimmen von innen und neugierig waren, also gingen wir zu sehen. Die männlichen Sternsinger wurden lässig gekleidet und sie sahen aus wie sie gerade zufällig innen von der Straße gekommen waren, aber sie sangen wie die Profis.

The townhall is a beautiful building with a striking red colour. We heard voices from inside and were curious, so went to look.  The male carol singers were casually dressed and looked like they had just come inside from the street, but they sang like professionals.

10869837_10155107068285495_1465488396174343115_o

Danach gingen wir in die Altstadt, wo die Märchenwald wie das Paradies eines Kindes war.  Ich sah raffinierten Aktivitäten wie die Glasbläserei und den Schmiedekunst. Familien geröstete Marshmallows am Feuer. Ein kleines Zug piepte, um die Leute aus dem Weg zu bewegen – und die jungen Passagiere winkten. Die Weihnachtsmärkte haben viele abwechslungsreiche Artikel verkauft. Man könnte das Fondue, das Raclette, den Glühwein und die Waffeln riechen. Einige Gerüche waren schöner als andere…der Käse im Fondue ist zu stark für mich.

Afterwards we went to the Old Town, where the Fairy Forest was like a child’s paradise. I saw refined activities like glass-blowing and blacksmithing. Families toasted marshmallows around a fire. A small train beeped in order to move people out of the way, and the young passengers waved. The Christmas markets sold many varied products. One could smell fondue, raclette, mulled wine and waffles. Some smells were nicer than others…the cheese in the fondue is too strong for me!

10864030_10155107071370495_1554012416127597403_o    Später gab es eine carol Service außerhalb der Münster. Gesangbücher und Kerzen wurden ausgegeben und dann begann der Chor. Wir hatten keine Ahnung gehabt, dass dieses schönes Ereignis geplant war, deshalb hatten wir das Gluck!

Later, there was a carol service outside of the Münster. Hymn books and candles were given out and then the choir began. We’d had no idea that this lovely event was planned, so we were lucky!

10365512_10155107071415495_6268723845165434905_o

Die glitzernden Straßen waren hübsch und einladend. Am Abend wurde ‘Otello’ im Theater gezeigt. Zu unserer Überraschung und Freude hatte der Rezeptionist für uns heimlich die Tickets organisiert, damit wir die besten Sitzen haben würden. Und außerdem war das Theaterstück eigentlich eine Oper – meine erste! Ich glaube sie großartig war.

The glittering streets were pretty and inviting. In the evening, ‘Othello’ was showing in the theatre.  To our surprise and delight, the receptionist had secretly organised the tickets for us so that we would have the best seats. And on top of that, the play was actually an opera- my first! It was terrific.  10383811_10155107071810495_568027071841661920_o

Andreasplatz befindet sich in eine gemütliche Ecke und hat ein schönes, ruhiges Café, das ‘Cafe zum Roten Engel’ heißt. Er ist der ideale Rastplatz nach einem Morgen voller Erkundungstouren durch weitere wunderbare (aber überfüllten) Weihnachtsmarktstände.

Andreasplatz is located in a cosy corner and has a nice, quiet café, which is called ‘Red Angel Café’. It’s the perfect resting place after a morning spent exploring more wonderful (but crowded) Christmas market stalls.

1496456_10155107072405495_9047771893727872347_o

Ich habe ein hervorragendes Wochenende mit einer fabelhaften Freundin verbracht 🙂

I spent a brilliant weekend with a fabulous friend 🙂

There are more great photos of Basel’s Christmas markets here.