Geneva 2015

At the tail end of September, Rico and I went to Geneva for a mini-reunion of Mozambique friends. Kelly and Marcos, our fellow American-Brazilian couple, have been living there for about a year, as has Helen, our badass friend who heads up land mine removal operations. Europe's geography helped out the reunion effort, as Brighton-based Jenny was able to fly down for a few days with no problem.

It was a much-needed get together. Nothing like old friends to make you feel all is right in life, and to give you objective but well-founded perspective on your current concerns and opportunities. Us girls held a Council of Elders and basically advised each other on the Major stuff: relationships, career, family, health. The boys also had boy time, which I imagine was just as satisfying. 

Amid all the talking, we managed to squeeze in some leisure. Kelly and Marcos, who hosted us, actually live just over the border in France. I neglected to take any photos, but their house is right next to some lovely agricultural fields beyond which are the Alps in the distance. I went running along tractor paths that criss-cross the fields, through corn and kale and what looked to be radishes. There were self-serve farm stands with pears and quince and apples, and signs for a co-op vineyard with local wine.

Interestingly, the farm roads I was running on actually crossed the border into Switzerland but save for a sign saying you should have an ID on you, it was an almost imperceptible passage. Borders were on my mind a lot during the trip: who can cross them, who can't, and how unfair it often seems.

We only had a short few days in Geneva, but we managed to get in some tourism. One afternoon we cruised the lake in an old paddleboat and had lunch in their chic on-board dining room. All along the perimeter of the lake there were gargantuan old world mansions with manicured grounds, which Marcos told us cost a cool 50 million Euros.

Apparently Geneva is up there as far as real estate prices are concerned, and that was definitely the feel I got being in the city: that it is a place for the well-off. With the UN headquarters there, as well as many other international development organizations, there is a bubble that brought flashbacks of Maputo. The people working to help the world's least fortunate often have a cost structure and lifestyle that is among the world's most expensive. Irony at its finest, for sure.

Anyhow, the boat was lovely as was the wander around old town that we took after lunch...

On our last night, we went out to a fancy Michelin-starred restaurant called La Ferme de l'Hospital. Innovative food, well-curated atmosphere, but also one of the biggest shocks of this trip: only the men at our table were given menus with prices. Us ladies all had menus with descriptions of the food but no prices.

The assumption about gender roles left me drop-jawed. If we had been a table of all heterosexual couples, maybe I'd have been mildly offended but let it go. What really perplexed me was that we were four ladies and two men. So were Rico and Marcos supposed to also pay for Helen and Jenny (who have boyfriends of their own back home?) What if there were a lesbian couple at the table, would the more masculine-seeming lady have received a menu with prices? Or would the men still be "expected" to pay? What if a table of all ladies came to eat?? I was incredibly shocked at this old-fashioned gender BS, but my dining companions had all seen it before and thus it was less of a thing for them...Gender issues aside, the meal was delicious and ridiculous in the way that 7-course formal dining usually is. 

The next morning we said our farewells and headed to the airport to continue our vacation. Actually in the airport I had my #2 shocking experience of the trip. We checked in to our flight and were only asked for boarding passes, no ID. We went through security, and still no ID. Boarding the plane we went through an automated gate that scanned a bar code on our boarding pass.

As an American used to US security routines, this was shocking to me. How on earth could it be possible in 2015 to board a plane all willy-nilly with just a cell phone boarding pass and no positive ID that you are actually the person traveling? I understand that within the Schengen countries there is free movement of people and goods, but it was shocking to experience it in an airport. I guess land borders seem more anti-climactic as far as unhindered passage. Also, it brought up thoughts again about who can freely move between countries and who can't. So much seems linked to money, privilege, and xenophobia. Lots to question, and lots to be grateful for.

Next stop: Croatia!

Video: My Path to Metalsmithing

Click here to view the video.

So this is a story all about how...my life went from Burque to Brazil to Mozambique...and then I became a jeweler and gallery owner in Point Richmond. This video is part of a project to show high school students the in's and out's of different occupations and how people got there.

What's been going on lately

A lot, really. The gallery (the showroom is now a gallery, btw. linguistic obsessions...) Anyhow, the gallery has been on several people's radar lately, including the Chamber of Commerce. I had a visit from Jamie the other day, which was really nice. She is a big fan of Kina, so was super excited to see Emi's work in the gallery.

 I've been heavily involved in organizing a community event called Point to Point. We are reinventing and reimagining our community, connecting the (red) dots, and having a lot of fun with pop-ups, performances, collaborations, and impromptu everything. Oh, look! I have red dots in my gallery already! Find out more here. Join us if you're in town!

I've been making new work. Here's a piece called "You make me happy when skies are gray." It is composed of repurposed brooches and treasure components found in my grandmother's drawers in Italy and collected as a child, a woven golden grass disc (capim dourado, Brasil), and a copper and sterling silver backplate and prongs. It is a brooch and also a wall piece.

I've also been working on a custom project. It has to do with polo and voyages and championships. It's been a lot, and I just finished it, and I feel relieved and excited and tired.

We went to Takoma Park (Washington, DC) to visit our very best group of Moz friends (minus a few good ladies and gentlemen, of course, but geography and babies make it hard.) Still, a reunion happened.

Here we are, being silly on the street before dinner. My friend Kyle joined us later, an old friend who I met in college (the first time around) in Albuquerque. It's good to be with old friends. Not "old"friends...Old. old. OLD. OLDOLDOLD. WHATEVER. You know.

London-São Paulo-Scotland-Geneva-Maputo-DC-Sweden-Solomons-Cariocas-New Mexico-California selfie 

People drank a lot of tea. And gin. And ate lots of cake and oysters. 

We had some silly times.

Some fancy times.

Some happy times.

It really was. And it was the best.

Africa to the Bay

I have now lived at Casa Cali for as long as I lived in Mozambique. Four-and-a-half years. Combining both places, nearly a decade.

I think about the fact that I moved to Chimoio when I was 23 and it blows my mind. So ambitious and precocious and confident and arrogant. So open to radical change. So unfazed by geography.

Between then and now I got married, created a lucrative freelance career for myself, left said career, became a homeowner, went to art school, became a metalsmith, learned how to parallel park, set up a collaborative studio space, and now - most recently - with lots of help from lots of people, opened the showroom.

I also felt my wanderlust and expat identity transform into something more grounded, content to stay in one place and invest in that life as a solid base from which to explore.

In many ways, the process of making art feels like living abroad. It can be frustrating and lonely and full of fear. It is continually humbling. There are lots of tears. And yet it is also enlightening, inspiring, and an unfailing way to get to know myself better.

These days life is grand and it is also very hard. All of the aspects of being a self-employed artist, an entrepreneur, a collaborator, a mentor, a boss that I knew would be a challenge have been just that. But in a good way. In a growing way. In a way that makes me remember every day that it's the cumulative and sustained efforts that make a difference. That Rome wasn't built in a day. That it's okay for things to be continually in flux.

The reality of my latest leap is still sinking in. I write this from the most calming and beautiful space imaginable, in a community that I am wholly part of. My fledgling business is flourishing. Rico is here helping me close for the day. We will likely go next door to the wine bar and have a glass of something delicious before going home. Then I will cook, we will relax with the cats, and tomorrow I have the chance to do it all again.

Networking: Moving to Mozambique

Morning light at Casa Cali.

Sitting here in our living room at Casa Cali enjoying the subtle colors of the morning, I am struck by how many emails I still recieve. I am so happy that, 3.5 years after leaving Mozambique, this blog continues to be useful and relevant to those of you considering moving there. Even though my advice is increasingly outdated, I am always happy to offer an opinion or suggestion to those who write me.

I was wondering if some of you who are in Moz now might offer some more current tips to the readers of this blog in the comments here. Specifically:

- What are housing prices like these days?
- How did you find your housing? What do you recommend for others?
- How did you find work?
- How have you managed to make friends?

Any input would be greatly appreciated to keep this space and my advice as current and relevant as possible!

Marrying the Designer with the Traveler

Carved coral earrings from the Italian side of my family, remixed with antique trade bead tubes found at Mozambique Island. 14k and 10k gold hardware.

I've been working hard over the past few days to update my Alexandra Amaro jewelry website. I am trying to bridge the gap between what I am making in art school for my senior thesis and the work that I make otherwise. Check out the progress here.

For a long time I've felt like I have two distinct jewelry styles: "designer Ali" and "worldly Ali".

The first is clean, almost minimalist organic geometry. It's what happens when I sit down and sketch out a plan for a piece. "Designer Ali" is commercial, appealing to a wide audience, easy to wear. It is also, in the words of many a professor and peer at CCA, "safe work." Safe work isn't necessarily bad, but it isn't innovative or especially outstanding.

My other style, "worldly Ali," has its roots in what I loved making in Mozambique: fusion work that brings together various antique, ethnic, travel-inspired elements in a high-touch presentation. I've refined that look, and I love it. But it's very different from "designer Ali."

I often think that if you put the two categories of work side by side, nobody would ever believe that the same artist made them. On a certain level, this has always bothered me. I've long wanted to reconcile these two parts of my creative self, to marry them and create a hybrid offspring. With each new piece I make for my senior project, I believe I am coming closer.

The big question I am asked these days is, "So what are you going to do once you graduate?"

Honestly, I don't know. I have lots of ideas, I can see several viable paths to follow, but I don't really know what I want in terms of a grand strategy.

I know a few things, though:

- I want to continue working in the style of my senior thesis work. "Origins and Routes" is the kind of work I've always dreamed of doing. I find it highly fulfilling, exciting, and motivating (even when it's frustrating). I love working with materials from distant places and times. I am obsessed with where things came from, who used to own them, what path they traveled to reach me. I like telling stories about identity and place through materials. This style of cultural re-mix work speaks to me in a major way, and I feel that I should keep doing it, even if it's not immediately obvious who would buy it or where I would sell it successfully.

- I don't enjoy making the same thing twice. Yes, this will improve once I get an assistant and don't have to do 100% of the grunt work (e.g. filing, sanding, polishing, cutting) associated with metalsmithing. However, it's a fact that I am a one-of-a-kind girl. That said, I know that being able to work in some sort of production model is helpful (necessary, even). I believe the solution is to work in series, but the details are still becoming clear.

- I want to make things that nobody else could make. Us metalsmiths are a pretty versatile lot. We have mad skills, and once we are trained we can work in essentially any style, making any kind of piece. I could make a Tiffany-style solitaire engagement ring just as readily as I could make a necklace out of found objects and melted plastic. So it comes down to a unique vision. I believe my Origins and Routes work is on the right path here, too. Yes, technically others could assemble or form these pieces, but nobody will ever have the same vision I do when it comes to the cultural mash-up.

- I don't want to grow to hate being a jeweler. I know it's a possibility, that burn-out is hugely common especially when acting as a one woman operation. But I really, really, really want to avoid it. I also don't want my hands to crap out on me. I have problems with tendonitis and fatigue and pain, but it's manageable as long as I don't abuse my body with long hours and horribly repetitive tasks.

Other than that, it's pretty much up in the air. I have faith that as graduation draws closer, answers will become more obvious. Until then, I will continue to prepare as much as possible for that elusive next step. Website updates, photo shoots, business plan brainstorming, gallery and boutique scouting, and everything else that seems of use no matter which path I decide to follow.

Finding Short-Term Housing in Maputo

Even though it's been two-and-a-half years since we lived in Maputo, I still get several requests per month from people planning trips there and wanting advice on how to find short-term housing. This was a tricky proposition when we lived in Mozambique (2005-2009) and I imagine it's only become more difficult as the expat population grows, gas and oil discoveries abound, and rental prices skyrocket.

Without being totally up-to-date on Maputo life these days, I base my advice on a few assumptions, namely:

1) I believe the already inflated rental prices in Maputo have increased significantly since we lived there. Expect to pay a premium for any place that is available.

Rico and I had a 2-year renewable lease on our apartment (good location across from Hotel Terminus/Vila Algarve, street parking, crappy building with water problems, 3-bedrooms, nice natural light, beautiful wood floors, totally outdated bathroom and kitchen, lots of "character", several repairs needed) and paid US$550 per month. We never told people how much we paid in rent because it was a fantastic deal (especially for expats) and we were afraid someone would turn up and offer our landlady double the money and she'd kick us out. We did a lot of repairs and upgrades to the place (replaced the water heater, put in a separate water system for the apartment, painted everything, bought new furniture that we left behind, etc.) so I guess in the landlady's eyes it was worth the low rent because we had a long-term contract, didn't cause any problems, and fixed up her flat so she could get a lot more money for it when we left.

When Rico and I moved away, friends took over our lease and agreed with the landlady to up the rent to US$800 per month. This was in late 2009. I haven't heard what happened after that, but I'd say it's safe to guess that the apartment would easily rent for US$1,500 per month now, if not more.

The nice 3-bedroom flats in the high rise buildings on Av. Julius Nyerere used to rent for US$2,500 to US$3,000 per month back in 2009. I'd imagine they go for around US$4,000 to US$4,500 now.

A fantastic house in Sommerchield with 4 bedrooms and a pool used to go for US$3,500 to US$4,000 in 2009. I wouldn't be surprised if those types of houses are now rented for US$5,000 and up.

I suppose an easy way to check would be to look at the classifieds on Club of Mozambique...

2) I doubt there have been any improvements in the ease of finding short-term rentals. I think a lot of housing is still found informally, through word-of-mouth, especially if you are looking for something less than a one-year lease.

Much of my advice to people looking for a short-term lease or to find a roommate situation is to rely on social networks. This can mean hitting up your Facebook friends to see if someone knows someone with a room for rent in Maputo. You can try Couchsurfing and see if there's a sofa available for you for a couple weeks.

If your trip is sponsored by an academic institution, see if they have any contacts with university housing or students in Maputo who would have a room to rent. If your trip is to volunteer with an NGO or a branch of the UN, see if they can give you names of previous volunteers and email or call them to see what their strategy was for housing.

3) It's easier to find a place once you are in Maputo rather than before your trip. That said, Murphy's Law rules, and you should definitely have a backup plan in case you aren't able to find an apartment or roommate situation while in Maputo.

I often recommend to people that they plan to stay in a hotel or backpacker's for the first few weeks on the ground, so they can have a chance to meet people and network and potentially check out a couple of places in person. Ideally you will find something decent and relatively quickly. However, you might not, and it's important to think about the possibility of staying at a cheap hotel or backpacker's for the duration of your trip if necessary. 

You might try to negotiate long-term rates with some of these establishments: Fatima's Backpackers, the Base Backpackers, Hotel Africa (multiple locations throughout the city), Hotel Terminus (more expensive, but very nice and conveniently located), Hotel Monte Carlo.

And now a request for anyone who has moved to Maputo within the last three years and tried to find short-term housing. What was your experience like? Where did you end up staying? How did you find a place? How much did you pay? 

If you would kindly share any information in the comments, it would really help out the next round of travelers who are trying to figure out short-term accommodations as I am definitely out of the loop these days. Thanks in advance! 

Patrice Lumumba

I was just hit with a gut-wrenching pang of saudades for Maputo after looking at this blog post on Avenida Patrice Lumumba by Brandie at Out and About Africa. I remember that street so well, flanked with dingy modernist apartment blocks, acacias and jacarandas, and a sidewalk that had certainly seen better days. I used to walk on Patrice Lumumba to go from our flat to the Centro Cultural Franco Moçambicano, one of the better spots in Maputo to see local and international art exhibitions and films, not to mention weekend parties with live music.

Something about seeing Brandie's photo made me miss being there so much. When I think about Mozambique in general, big-picture terms I don't have such nostalgia, it's pretty easy to consider it a well-lived chapter in my past and remember the exciting new road I'm on here in California.

But when I think about the specifics - the roundabout where Hotel Cardoso is located at the beginning of Av. Patrice Lumumba (and what was that other street called, the one with what used to be Vila Itália and then became Tapas restaurant - the Austrian ambassador's residence is on the corner, and if you walk a bit further you get to the snack bar called A Francesinha...this is driving me crazy, as Rico and I lived for a month on that street in our banana client's empty flat...the picture in my mind is *so clear* yet I can't for the life of me think of the street name!) - the little Indian grocery on Av. 24 de Julho and Av. Mártires da Machava where the owners used to live in Dallas Ft. Worth and drove a Buick they'd imported back into Mozambique (I can still see the layout of the closely-spaced shelves in my head, full of Black Cat peanut butter and Ceres juices and Salticrax crackers and feta cheese from Clover).

It's these little vignettes of daily life that really hit me, and for a brief moment I'd give anything to go back.

Looking Back: Two Years and Four Months after Mozambique

Two weeks ago I was on the phone with my best group of girls from Mozambique. It's hard for us to find a time to chat nowadays, not so much due our busy schedules but because of the ridiculous time differences between the places we now call home.

K. is in Honiara (Solomon Islands), Z. is in Melbourne, H. is in Bogotá, J. is in London and I am here in California. There is only one special time that will work for all of us, and we manage to make it happen about once a quarter. We're incredibly scattered about the world and I haven't seen any of my girls in nearly 2.5 years, but we have one of those magic friendships where we gossip and philosophize and plan our lives as if we were simply having our weekend catch-up, poolside at Hotel Cardoso or possibly Clube Naval with a gin and tonic in hand.

(On a related note, check out this snarky gem of expat writing if you haven't already.)

In my last chat with the girls, the topic turned to whether or not we miss Mozambique. The answer, it seems, is totally dependent on where we all ended up post-Maputo. I have a similar perspective to Z. in that we are both very content with our new homes, our new occupations, our new lives. We are both putting down some solid roots in cosmopolitan cities with good weather, in which we have family and where our partners are content. Neither of us really misses Mozambique, in the sense that it was good while it lasted but we are glad to have moved on. Of course we feel moments of nostalgia and saudades. But in general we wouldn't want to go back, perhaps not even for a visit.

K., on the other hand, really misses Mozambique. Nothing like the perspective of living on a small, quiet island in the middle of the South Pacific to make Maputo seem like the most fun, fantastic, fast-paced and flavorful city ever invented for expats. K. and her husband miss the restaurants, the international crowd, the easy access to nearly everything, the endless opportunities for weekend trips, the (relatively) good connections to major cities on other continents, the solid group of friends... I'm not sure if they could go back if they had a chance, but Maputo understandably has become a grass-is-greener sort of place for them.

H. also misses Moz quite a bit and has already traveled back once to spend the holidays. She still has very close friends there, the kind that will likely never move away, so it's like a homecoming of sorts in that she is greeted with familiar faces and can easily slip back into the life she'd established there. Or so I imagine.

J. is somewhere in the middle I suppose, enjoying her life back in the UK and the excitement of a post-grad-school job search, but also ever-open to the possibility of traveling again. I'd guess that given the chance she'd travel back to Mozambique, but that it's perhaps not at the top of her priority destination list.

What's strange for me is that Mozambique had such a huge impact on me and yet I don't think I'd return if given the chance. I prefer it as a memory, preserved in time, protected from the inevitable disappointment and depression that I would feel if we ever went back. I don't really know how to explain this, especially because there *are* still people there I'd love to see again. Zeca and his family, for sure. The handful of friends in Maputo who call the city their permanent home. Hugh Marlboro. The guys from the local crafts council. Dona Lídia.

I suppose it's like returning to your hometown after many, many years away (Maputo isn't my hometown but it's the place where I spent the most time of my adult life - nearly five years). Everything has changed, and that is depressing. Nothing has changed, and that is depressing, too. People have left, and that makes you long for the good old days when you all used to hang out. People have stayed, and that makes you sad, too.

More than anything, a trip back to Mozambique would make me recall in vivid color the person I was back then. Not that I was a bad person or anything, but I was a *different* person. More immature. More insecure. More arrogant. More idealistic. Still figuring out an awful lot about who I am... There were good times - amazing times, for sure! - but I have a general bittersweet taste when I think back about the Moz years.

Rico and I often reminisce about how unhappy I was there. I know I cried often, that I had stress-induced allergy attacks every week, that I grew to hate the "development" work that had at one point been so inspiring, that I became so cynical I'd force myself to keep my mouth shut when meeting new people because I didn't want to come off as a total asshole and tell them their water sanitation project was doomed to fail.

I remember these things but they often seem like false recollections, like I'm telling the story of how someone else felt, not how I felt. It was bad but I don't remember the details. It was good, but I also don't remember a lot of the details.

For me, our time in Mozambique was characterized by an awful lot of gray areas. Swinging emotions. Sick feelings about what it means to be white and/or foreign and/or rich in a country where so many are born into situations of need. Questions about "development" and what motivates us to "help" others. Questions about who my local friends were and who their families were, realizing that all of that corruption and willingness to turn a blind eye comes from somewhere...Exciting, fun times in the midst of all that gray. Meeting incredible, smart, genuinely kind people from Mozambique and all the corners of the globe. Feeling humble. Feeling like a know-it-all. Living the jet-setting life. Longing for home.

I guess it's only fitting that my feelings post-Moz continue equally gray.

On Becoming Boring

It's a thought that crosses my mind frequently these days: I'm becoming boring. More accurately, perhaps, I already have.

For so much of my life I lived abroad, traveled at every opportunity to places far, far off the beaten track, attended house parties frequented by an achingly cool international crowd, befriended people on planes and long-haul bus trips, changed plans in whatever way suited my fancy, and generally threw caution to the wind. I had many adventures, that's for sure, and a lot of my identity became defined by that exciting expat-traveler lifestyle.

Not that I wasn't aware of the downsides of the path I'd chosen. The frequent loneliness and depression, the culture shock and reverse culture shock, the isolation from family, the inevitable distancing from friends. Still, despite the negative aspects, it was a hell of an exciting way to live.

For the last couple of years, I've been shifting out of that mode. There were signs of it in Mozambique, as I increasingly craved time at home, with Rico and the cats, doing nothing and going nowhere. I thought it was a natural reaction to the crazy work habits we'd been keeping, taking on every freelance job that came across our plates. I figured I was burned out, in need of a break.

Then we moved to Casa Cali and the introverted, homebody tendencies continued strong. I rationalized that it was because we'd just moved, that in time I'd want to venture out and explore, that we'd make friends, that my old adventure-seeking self would bounce back.

Nearly two years in, and that hasn't exactly happened. I still feel like I'm plain, stay-home Jane. I have very little desire to go out, even to the city. My days are spent in the studio, gardening, hanging out at home. Social events sort of exhaust me. I can't remember the last time I set foot in a dance club or went to a fantastic late-night party, much less take a spontaneous weekend trip. We have a mortgage. We're in bed by midnight. Signs abound pointing to my very adult life.

Part of me loves this slower, home-oriented pace. I spent lots of quality time with Rico and my mom. I hang out with the cats. I cook and decorate and get my hands dirty in the garden. I make lots of art. It's relaxing, comforting work. More than anything I like the stability, the idea that Rico and I are building our home at Casa Cali and we will never, ever have to pack boxes and move ourselves halfway across the world again.

Another part of me, however, feels like I've let the train pass me by. I turn 30 in the fall, and I can't quite believe I'm this settled, this quiet, this grown-up. If I'm like this at nearly-30, the panicky part of me wonders, what will I be like at 40, or 50? When will I ever be adventurous and spontaneous again? When will I visit Lençóis Maranhenses, hike Monte Roraima, attend the Festival au Desert in Timbuktu? When will I do any of the other things that have been on my dreams list for years if all I want to do at this point is stay home? Because after art school comes kids, or so the plan goes, and if I find it hard to lead an "exciting" life now, I can only imagine how distant that concept will be with a child or two on scene.

I guess this is part of the grand cycle of getting older, making choices, becoming more conscious about what path you follow and how you spend your time. What a strange, bittersweet feeling to mourn and long for the person you once were, while at the same time not regretting for one instant the person you've become.

La Vida Expatica #7: Stuff Expat Aid Workers Like

I imagine some of you may have already come across this snarky gem of a site. The postings are hilarious and so dead-on, definitely worth checking out if you are working or have worked in international development.

La Vida Expatica #6: The Place I Once Called Home Yet Never Truly Belonged

I had lunch with my best friend from high school today. She is due to have her first baby on Tuesday. It was incredibly nice to see her, even if just for a few hours, and the Thai crepes place (how's that for fusion!) we went to in Fremont was divine. I had the peanut chicken crepe and it totally satisfied my craving for spicy comfort food.

M. is my closest friend here in the Bay Area, despite the fact that we haven't really spent a lot of time together since we were 16 (I moved to Brazil to do a student exchange that year, and we subsequently lost touch for nearly a decade). Ironically, life brought both of us to California. She and her husband fled Hurricane Katrina and resettled here. Rico and I, as you know, moved here just over a year ago for his work, to be near my mom, and so I could go to school at CCA.

M. lives over an hour away, but we manage to see each other once every couple of months. I deeply miss having girlfriends nearby, and am reminded of how wonderful that kindred connection can be every time I see M.

Today she asked if I miss living in Mozambique. The answer is yes and no.

Yes a thousand times over to missing our friends, our social life, our global nomad community. The quick bonds formed with people from faraway lands, the dinner parties, the comfort in knowing that you are sharing a common experience. I miss the road trips, the Sunday lunches by the Indian Ocean, the animated discussions about how - and if - development work can really make an impact, about why projects fail, about why we were all there in the first place. Many an existential crisis was sorted out over gin-and-tonics and king prawns.

I have never felt so at home with a group of people in my life. I miss that immensely, the feeling of belonging, of understanding and feeling understood.

I miss many other things, too. The view of the Vila Algarve from our balcony, the tiles crumbling a bit more with each passing day. The streets lined with flowering trees, and the way I started tracking the seasons by what was in bloom: jacarandas, red acacias, yellow acacias. I miss catching bursts of the animated chats had by our building guards, full of whoops and hollers and shrill shrieks of excitement to punctuate the stories being told. I miss Dona Lidia's laugh. Zeca's warmth and reliability. The humility, kindness and hospitality shown by so many Mozambicans. The rich local culture. The mini global melting pot that is Maputo, and increasingly the rest of the country. I miss the pool at Hotel Terminus, site of many a sun-drenched, lazy afternoon, tanning and eating sandes de galinha maionese. I miss the piri-piri, obviously. I could make it at home in the blender, but somehow it's not the same as out of a small communal container on a wobbly restaurant table. I miss the sunrise at 4:30 in the morning in the summer. The nights spent dancing or listening to live music. The markets. I miss bumping into friends nearly everywhere we went. I miss Mozambique because it holds such a special spot in my heart as the place where Rico and I met each other again, fell in love, and started our life together as husband and wife.

Despite all of these wonderful things, there are many I don't miss: the in-your-face poverty, the inefficiency and inescapable bureaucracy, the lack of customer service, witnessing the abuse and exploitation of maids/waiters/workers and realizing that for many well-off Mozambicans that kind of treatment is acceptable, the exploitation of locals by foreigners and foreign companies, the sensation that you were always getting somewhat ripped off because you were white or a foreigner, the often false or tense relationships with the Mozambicans, the finely-tuned hate of "the stare" - an empty-eyed look accompanied by silence that became par for the course in many interactions...the frustration that the Moz experience wasn't what I'd expected - that in many aspects I'd become the typical expat I so swore I'd never be, the sad realization that I, too, looked at people in "local" vs. "expat" categories, that I was overflowing with cynicism, that I continued to do a job I didn't believe in for way too long - one of the motivations being a fat paycheck (the same fat paycheck to international consultants that was so often the topic of our rants on what was wrong with the development sector), the hypocrisy - my own and that of others...the ever-present shadow of depression...the corruption of government officials and others in positions of power, the fleets of white Mercedes and the massive mansions, the decision to give bribes to police or otherwise grease the wheels of the system - and wondering exactly how fast that particular slope would get too slippery to be controllable...the inability to ever be anonymous or feel truly comfortable living in the country.

Some days I am all the way on the "dying of saudades" end of the spectrum; other days I still feel very cynical and am glad that we left when we did. It is all very gray, even as the passing of time affords me a wiser, more objective perspective through which to view our experiences in Mozambique.

One Year

A year ago today, Rico and I left Mozambique after having lived there for 5.5 and 4.5 years respectively. It hardly seems possible. That memorable last day feels at once decades away, and yet as fresh and palpable as last week.

I am having a moment of nostalgia as I remember our time in Maputo, in particular. We were part of such a wonderful social group, and it saddens me to think that these people are in our past, that we will never be together again. Most of our closest friends have already moved on from Mozambique, on to new contracts and new lives, be it at "home" or in a different country, a different adventure.

I reminisce fondly, and with massive saudades, about all of the house parties, the road trips, the late afternoon coffees and weekend sundowners. In particular I miss my fabulous girlfriends: Jenny, Kelly, Helen, Zahra, Anel, Lindsey, Claudia, Evy...the list goes on.

I always used to think it was hard to make friends in Mozambique, and in all fairness it really was. People always coming and going, tricky relationships between expats and locals, cliques determined by country of origin and/or place of work. However once you managed to establish a friendship, you could be sure long-lasting bonds would be formed in record time.

Making friends here in the Bay Area has been slow-going, and in some ways even more difficult than in Maputo. We've established really nice relationships with our neighbors - most of whom are in their 40s and 50s - but it's been challenging to make friends our own age. Much of the time I feel like a fish out of water when it comes to being social, in particular with "peers". I have some friends from my high school days in New Mexico, but for the most part they live at least an hour away and I see them very infrequently.

When it comes to friendships, I am definitely of the "quality over quantity" philosophy, and am content to primarily hang out with Rico, my mom and our neighbors. However, there is part of me that aches to have girlfriends again, ones who live in the same city and who I can call up to have a spur-of-the-moment drink, or invite to dinner full well knowing that the house is a mess and we are eating leftovers, just because the pleasure of their company is so desired.

I remind myself that it took a good 2 years for me to feel like I had friends in Mozambique. I'm sure that at some point I'll look back on this post and find it hard to remember what it was like *not* to have a close girlfriend or two near Casa Cali. But today, on this anniversary of a great change in our lives, I find myself wishing that I could turn back time and spend just one evening with my friends in Maputo.

Volunteering in Mozambique

Lovely readers with experience in Mozambique, can you help me out?

I often get emails from people asking about places to volunteer in Maputo and other locations in the country. I have a few recommendations based on my own experience, but I imagine that with your input we can create a list of volunteer opportunities that is much more complete.

Have you had an experience volunteering in Mozambique? With what organization? Would you recommend it to others? Were there any prerequisites (language, specific skills, etc.)? How did you find about the opportunity?

Here's my recommendation for people who want to volunteer: get involved with MAPS, the Mozambique Animal Protection Society. Visit their website for more information about how they are helping stop animal cruelty in Mozambique and how you can help.

I look forward to seeing your recommendations in the comments!

Rio Through New Eyes

It's been a while since I've actually lived in Rio - since 2001, to be precise - and it's always interesting to see the city through non-resident eyes. When you live in a place, after a while even its most strange and wonderful and shocking aspects become commonplace. Stay away for long enough, and when you come back for a visit they hit you in the face.

Here are some of my observations about the cidade maravilhosa this time around. (Our last trip was in March 2009, and somehow it seems there have been big changes in Rio since then...or perhaps it's just my frame of reference that's changed - from Maputo to Casa Cali). At any rate, here are my thoughts:

- The traffic in Rio these days is horrendous. It's always been bad, but somehow it just seems that much crazier, chaotic, congested and aggressive. The first day we arrived in the city, I was hit with a wave of confidence and thought, "I can totally drive here." After the do-what-you-please, traffic-law-ignoring attitude of drivers in Maputo, and now the high-speed, think-fast attitude of drivers in California, I somehow felt prepared to get behind the wheel in Rio. After just one day in the city, I'd changed my mind. I don't drive in Rio by choice, and I believe it will stay that way. Quite frankly, I'm amazed there aren't 1,000 accidents each day. Traffic here is the definition of organized chaos, and I'm happy to remain a passenger.

- Everything is EXPENSIVE. Ridiculously so. Consumer goods are, in general, three times the price in the US. Anything imported is absurdly priced. Even food and drinks are super expensive, and it sadly seems that Rio is no longer a city in which one can get simple, fresh eats for less than R$10. I don't think Rico and I managed to go to a restaurant and spend less than R$75 (the exchange rate is about US$1 to R$1.75) and we were going to pretty run-of-the-mill places and ordering modestly. Even a serving of pasteis or bolinhos (fried pastries that Brazilians love to eat as appetizers) is at least R$20. Preparing food at home is definitely the way to go, but sadly that wasn't an option for us on this trip, as the majority of of our social and family events were geared around restaurants.

- Despite the plethora of fresh fruits and vegetables available, Brazilians really love their fried foods and snacks. Fast food is commonplace, and there are multiple national chains. I don't understand how people can eat so much oil and fritura and maintain such trim figures. That said, it's definitely more common to see overweight people in Rio (and I imagine in all of Brazil) these days. I routinely see women who are "bigger" than me in the streets, which was something rare 10 years ago.

- There is a massive real estate bubble in Rio at the moment. It's a hot topic among cariocas these days, trying to figure out whether it's a bubble that's bound to burst, or simply market valuation that's here to stay for a while. Part of the upswing in real estate prices is due to the World Cup in 2014 and the Olympics in 2016 that will be hosted in Rio. Another factor is geographic limitation. Like San Francisco, Rio is a city of mountains/hills and sea, which means there are natural boundaries to how much the city can grow (thus driving prices of existing real estate quite high). Furthermore, there are a few neighborhoods (e.g. Ipanema, Leblon, Urca) that are highly desirable to live in and will always have greater demand than supply. Additionally, there has been appreciation due to certain neighborhoods being rehabilitated/"gentrified" (e.g. Lapa, Santa Teresa, parts of Zona Norte) and, plain and simple, time passing and Brazil developing. A final factor is that Brazilians are increasingly getting mortgages and financing their real estate, meaning they are willing to purchase properties for a higher face value. It will be very interesting to see what happens... Personally, I think it's a bubble.

- Women are very, very trendy in Rio. Fashionable, for sure, but very specifically trend-followers. I am amazed at how many beautiful women wear clothes that are horrifically unflattering just because they are the latest runway trend. Most specifically, low-cut skinny jeans on women who are blessed in the hips department. They end up looking like they've got two chicken drumsticks for legs instead of beautiful, shapely curves. It's disproportionate to their shapes, and my inner fashion cop wants to take photos of them to see if they actually think the look is working. I feel authorized to speak on this subject because I am one of the many ladies who isn't really flattered by the whole skinny jeans look. Other trends seen during this trip? Jumpsuits (many in loud, neon prints), 80's style back in full force, ankle booties, and shorts with tights.

- Small bikinis. I know I was once totally on board with this one, but apparently the size of my bikini has grown with each year I've lived outside Brazil. I felt like my current bikini was more appropriate for a granny than a girl in her late 20's. Tomorrow I'm off to buy a new one, although I doubt I'll ever wear it in public in the US. :)

- Manicured nails all the time. Color of choice right now: blue! (especially dark, gray-tinged, metallic blues). I try, but I can't keep up. But seemingly Havaianas are now acceptable in more social situations and in public than ever before. I still can't bring myself to wear flip-flops out of the house, but who knows on another trip I might just give it a whirl.

- Santa Teresa is full of tourists (wandering through the streets with cameras in hand, worry-free!) and lots of cute new shops and restaurants. Seems like the cool, bohemian neighborhood is more interesting than ever. There is a hotel down the street from the Casa Rosa that has a bar I'm dying to try, there is a new German restaurant on the corner, and there's lots of new artsy graffiti in the streets, including a gorgeous mural of the Brazilian national soccer team in the Santa Teresa street car, surrounded by all sorts of African animals in a fusion homage to the World Cup in South Africa.

There are many other observations to add to this list, but I'm going to call it a night. I just got hit with a wave of sleepiness, and it's best I head upstairs lest I fall asleep here on the veranda.

La Vida Expatica #5: Reverse Culture Shock

My greatest fear upon relocating to California after nearly five years in Mozambique was that I would suffer from some wicked culture shock. I was afraid I'd have such a hard time adapting to life here that I'd become somewhat of a social outcast. In some ways, what I worried about came to pass - I do feel very, very different from most of my 'peers' here - but it's not depressing or anxiety-inducing or something I'm out to change. It just is.

My life's path has shaped me in a way that, while I've become the consummate chameleon and am able to adapt and fit in anywhere, it also means that I never really fit in anywhere at all. The best way to describe it, perhaps, is that I now feel slightly foreign in the US. And surprisingly, it doesn't really bother me at all (which was, in truth, what I really feared - being unhappy with the culture shock I might experience, not the culture shock itself).

Here are a few of the "differences" I've most noted about life in California - the positive and the negative:

- The postal system works reliably and for a reasonable price. Being able to send and receive mail with confidence is something very much appreciated.

- Everything is cheap. Food, clothing, shoes, electronics, entertainment, jewelry supplies, books - you name it. Prices are even better now that the wonderful world of online shopping is at my fingertips and immediately available.

- It's a bit of a 'returning from the developing world' cliché, but the variety and subsequent choices one is faced with as a consumer can be crippling. What brand of toothpaste to buy, what breakfast cereal to eat, what shade of lipstick to wear - I was so accustomed to not having much choice at all, I get overwhelmed quite easily when faced with all the lovely options here. Ironically, this is one of the reasons I love COSTCO so much - yes, it's a crowded warehouse where you buy a year's supply of toilet paper or whatever, but usually there are only one or two options per type of good. Want a 12-pack of canned tomatoes? Great, there is one kind available. Need shampoo? Choose a giant vat from generic Kirkland brand or a name-brand competitor.

- People frequently comment that I have an accent. Even now, nearly a year after we moved from Mozambique, I still get the questions. "But where are you from originally?"

- I love being able to be anonymous. Walk down the street, enter shops, drive the car, go work out, go to the movies...whatever. This place is so diverse you really have to try to get some attention.

- California knows how to embrace diversity, but judging from the young 'uns I've met at school, much is left to be desired in terms of embracing basic education. I do not mean to play into an 'uneducated Americans' stereotype, but it seems that much is lacking as far as math, reading, spelling and general culture go. I am increasingly appreciative of the education I had growing up, and of the education that is so appreciated in other places because it truly is the key to getting ahead.

- So much concrete. So many highways. So much urban development.

- The Bay Area is definitely a hot spot for liberal thinking, but I find myself amazed at how radical and uniformed much of said liberalism can be. Every time I see a 'Free Tibet' or 'Not on Our Watch' sticker it makes me want to let out a cynical laugh. I really want to ask the person who's plastered that on their car or house window if they truly know what's going on in those places, or if they've decided to support the cause because it seems the 'right' thing to do in the face of all the injustice happening in those oppressed, far-away countries.

- Even in this mecca of recycling and reuse, I am struck by how much is wasted. Ziploc baggies are used once and thrown away. Food is bought and left to waste in the refrigerator. Paper or plastic plates are used at parties, then tossed. I am not immune to the convenience of the trash can. It's a daily battle to wash the used Ziploc or wash the real plates instead of caving and using plastic. It's so easy to slip back into old habits. I'm not preachy about any of this, and I try not to judge. It sadly seems inevitable that there is a trade-off between conservation and convenience.

- People love their dogs like nowhere I've ever seen before. I feel like I'm missing an arm sometimes because we don't have a dog.

- Eggs are refrigerated here. Always. In store and at home. I wonder what peoples' reaction would be if they knew I've been eating room-temperature eggs for the last several years and never once got sick...

- It's really, really, really difficult to get on board with the health system here. I know this is a complex subject, but to someone who's just come from the "outside" and not had regular health insurance for quite a while, the system seems very messed up. I find it absurd that I can have a consultation with a dermatologist and they can't tell me up front how much it will cost, that I have to wait for weeks until the insurance company determines how much of this mystery amount they will cover, and then I am billed for the rest. We are transitioning to a different plan now, one with co-pays, so hopefully this will no longer be an issue. Still, how backwards! Also, I've yet to see a doctor who I truly believe cares about me or my affliction. It's all so impersonal, I feel very unmotivated to go get non-emergency medical attention because it seems I spend money for generic advice. I'm thankful we have doctors in Rico's family, because they are the ones I turn to when I'm feeling ill.

- Not exactly a news flash, but it's amazing how Spanish is truly the new universal language of the US. There's not a day that goes by without me hearing or speaking Spanish. It's the language of our kitchens, construction crews, shop attendants, bus drivers, social workers, teachers, house cleaners, city planners, small business owners, international executives. Shame mine is all muddled with Portuguese these days. :)

- Poor Brazil suffers from quite the heavy stereotyping here in the US. On multiple occasions, upon hearing I'm married to a Brazilian, women have asked me, "So, is he really hot?" Seriously! They all have the image of a samba-dancing, soccer-playing, dark and tan lover. I tell them, "Yes, my husband is hot, but not the way you imagine. He works in investment management and loves sailing and comes from a Portuguese family." They look at me like my answer does not compute.

- I really miss some of the little luxuries of life in Moz, namely having Dona Lídia do my ironing and go for shop runs to purchase milk and eggs, and having the building guards available to help me parallel park (the hand gestures showing which way I should turn the wheel were priceless!) and carry heavy loads up the stairs. On the other hand, I love having a Roomba. :)

These are a few of my observations. This list is incomplete and ever-evolving.

I'd love to hear the thoughts of expats who have recently relocated, be it to a third country or "home". Did you experience reverse culture shock? What were the aspects you found most challenging/entertaining/interesting?

La Vida Expatica #4: New Allegiances

After living abroad, one tends to develop patriotic love for countries other than one's own, leading to a crippling infirmity known as Copa mundialis indecisum.

What to do if, for example, the US were to play Brazil in the next round of games? (for the record, I think I'd support the US, if nothing else because I love a good underdog story.)

Or in the case of my friend Claudia, the poster child for international living, do you support Portugal, the UK, the US or one of the African teams?

Who are you rooting for this World Cup?

A Few Ways in Which Mozambique Changed Me

I've written about this topic previously (here, here, here and here) but always while still living in Mozambique and without the valuable perspective that comes from being away from a place for a while. Some changes were obvious - salvaging still-fresh parts of partially rotten vegetables and fruits, becoming less wasteful in general, being more relaxed and laid-back when things don't go according to plan - but others really took leaving Mozambique and living in California for several months to notice.

Here are a few changes I've recognized since moving to Casa Cali:

- I find it really difficult to be opinionated on subjects that I haven't experienced first-hand. I remember back in high school and college, I was such an enthusiastic debater in the classroom. I'd take positions on novels, case studies, politics, ethics, etc. and passionately argue my view with classmates and even professors. It was relatively easy for me to identify what I thought was right and wrong, what I thought would work and what would fail. Not the case anymore. Living in Mozambique - and very particularly working in "development" - significantly changed many of the opinions I'd previously held dear. I used to be the typical supporter of NGOs, international development projects, humanitarian aid, etc...and now that I've experienced them first-hand, my beliefs have radically changed. My politics have also shifted as a result. I can't help but wonder how many other things I support in theory I'd view differently if only I were to experience them in person (as opposed to reading about them or hearing others' stories).

- As a result of the above phenomenon, I am overwhelmed by voting here in the US. There are a few issues I have a clear opinion on - for example, supporting our schools and a woman's right to choose - but others have me on the fence. Immigration, budget cuts, taxes, environmental protection. I can understand both sides of most of these issues, and feel like somewhat of a sucker if I'm swayed by a tv ad or political debate. I think there is so much smoke and mirrors, and apparently I've developed a big dose of cynicism about the political process in the last 5 years. I just don't know what to believe, and after my changes of heart in Mozambique, I feel like I might be wrong on a whole host of other things I currently support. I'm registered as an Independent voter because I really struggle to even choose which political party I most closely identify with and want to support.

- I also find myself avoiding controversial discussions like the plague. I think I've always been somewhat of a natural diplomat (and some would say my star sign doesn't help - I'm a Libra), but post-Moz I really don't want to get into it with people. I don't want to debate politics, religion, healthcare reform, immigration. I will, however, get on a soapbox about my experiences in international "development"...but that's only because I feel minimally qualified and entitled to an opinion because I worked on-the-ground with so many different players in the aid/development scene.

- I have become a total homebody. This makes me laugh because I was such a wanderer and adventurer for so many years. I used to think that "settling down" would mean I'd given up my dreams in life and become boring. :) Nowadays, there is nothing more that I want than to stay home with Rico, work in the garden, make jewelry, play with the cats, watch tv and cook delicious meals. It's really hard for me to get out of the house, which I'm aware can become problematic, but for the time being I'm giving myself a break. I think the move to the US and the subsequent career/lifestyle changes it brought about really took it out of me, more so than I'd ever really anticipated. We've now lived in Casa Cali for 9 months and I still feel tired and somewhat disoriented a lot of the time. I do make myself venture out - to the city to meet friends for dinner, to go to a new restaurant near the water - but it takes a colossal effort and makes me appreciate our home that much more.

- I love the anonymity that living in the Bay Area provides. I can go shopping, go for a run, go for a coffee or whatever and I blend in with everyone around me. I don't attract attention unless I want to. The flip side is that it's much harder to make friends here than in Maputo. No real surprise there, for sure, but it's sort of shocking that Rico and I have only managed to make friends with one other couple and our neighbors since moving here. We have other friends, but they are people I went to high school with and therefore only required reconnecting rather than the entire process of meeting and establishing a friendship. I'm aware that the lack of friends is tied to the homebody tendencies described above, which is fine for now. I miss having close friends, but I simply don't feel ready to put in the energy to meet a bunch of new people. I'm sure that will come, though. I remember having lived in Mozambique for 1.5 years and feeling like I had no friends. That sure changed! :)

I suppose it's hard to attribute these changes solely to having lived in Mozambique. In the last five years I also got married, did an overhaul of my professional life, and generally did a whole lot of growing up - all of which have surely influenced my personality and perspective on the world. Still, I feel it's impossible to separate "Life in Mozambique" from any of those other events - they're all so interconnected and definitely influenced by our time in Africa.

Anyhow, I have many more observations about our life in Mozambique now that we've been away for a while. Bit by bit I hope to process through them and share my conclusions here on the blog.

Edited to add:

On a lighter note, I've also stopped reading so much celebrity gossip now that we are living in California. I still enjoy an occasional visit to Perez Hilton, but I'm not checking multiple times a day for updates. I suppose it's a testament to 1) how much I procrastinated in Mozambique, and 2) how much better I am using my time here...although we do watch a whole lot of tv. :)

La Vida Expatica #3: The Essential Items for Travel

In the last post in the Expatica series, I talked about the random, sentimental, and often times impractical items we expats insist on hauling halfway around the world and back. You guys had some fabulous contributions, by the way. Teapots, teddy bears, books and more books. My favorite, however, was shared off the blog by my friend S., a UK expat living in Mozambique, who said that her 5-year-old daughter most certainly qualified as 'impractical'.

This time, however, I'd like to touch on the practical, ultra-useful items that are at the top of the list for any trip, long or short. As expats, we (hopefully) learn to travel light, to use products that have multiple functions, to bring clothing that transitions easily from day to night. I'd imagine we have some awesome tips to share.

As I get ready to pack yet another suitcase (we're going on a little jaunt to the Houston-area for a friend's wedding), I'd like to invite you to share the top five items you absolutely must have in your suitcase, be it for a weekend trip or for a year-long posting.

Mine are:
1. large pashmina-style scarf (I'm always cold)
2. earplugs
3. pair of ultra-comfortable ballet flats (my faves are Born brand)
4. havaianas (gets you through beaches and icky showers)
5. mascara (favorite is YSL)

Reciprocating the Love

It's funny how we make friends in this age of blogs and forums and Facebook. Over the past few years, I've come to know the J sisters - two fellow global nomads originally from Angola but with incredibly international backgrounds - through our respective blogs. While our online friendship is super enjoyable, I wish I could meet Jo Ann and Jess in person, as I just know we'd have a great time cooking, listening to cool world music and talking about our love for writing.

While I don't foresee a meet-up in the immediate future (the girls live in France), I can still share a bit of the love here. Both Jo Ann and Jess have been awesome supporters of my life-change to become a jewelry artist, and they were kind enough to feature my work on their sites.

First Jess ran this very cool intro to my jewelry on her blog, Cartas à Filó-sofia. It's written in Portuguese, but is still worth checking out for the non-lusophone out there because she has a smashing fashion sense, lives in Paris, travels a lot and takes lovely photos documenting it all. If you can read her words, you're in for a treat as she is a talented writer as well.

Then Jo Ann, Jess' older sister, did this in-depth interview with me as part of her ongoing series of portraits on writers and artists. The original interview was conducted in English, then she translated it into French, the language of her blog. Jo Ann is a writer herself - like the "real" kind, with published novels and no alternate day job - and she really knows how to capture someone's personality and story by just asking 10 questions. If you are a writer or artist and are in need of a professional yet engaging biography, you should very definitely contact Jo Ann through her portraits site Jo Ann Ècriture.

Now, if only airfare were just a tad cheaper right now so I could say thanks in person...