Brexit and me

Well, that's it, guys. Britain is out. As a proud resident of the EU since 2008, losing one of our biggest players hurts. But shaking my head should be where this all ends for me, but for what I just did earlier this week.

I got a job in England.

And still, everything should be fine, right? I'm an American. My visa requirements don't change when the UK jumps ship.

The thing is, I've been living in Denmark for a year, a country for which I acquired a visa to go with my job, and then my French boyfriend followed. He was able to freely move here, to job hunt with equal rights to the Danes, as an EU citizen. But language barriers can be a big hurdle, so the past year hasn't offered many opportunities to him. And then this UK-based job appeared. Suddenly (well, less than suddenly—the interview process took five months), we had a chance for a fresh start in an EU country where he spoke the local language. My job guaranteed my visa, and as an EU citizen, he could follow freely for his own job hunt, just like any other English local.

Today I'm left with a sensation half way between a punch in the gut and the feeling of teetering on the brink of an abyss. I have no idea what comes next. The UK will still be EU when we arrive, but the cogs of Brexit will be in motion. England and France are so close that there's sure to be some good terms negotiated. For goodness sake, there's a tunnel that connects the two countries! But how will English employers react? With an economy in crisis and the future rights of EU workers unknown, how many Englishmen will jump to hire a Frenchman?

For a week that had begun so upbeat, this really throws a wrench in the works. Why, England, why?

A Danish Expat Thanksgiving

The Danes may do the Fourth of July, and they've even imported Black Friday, but Thanksgiving has yet to cross the pond. And so I was pleased to induct a large group of newbies into my favorite American holiday this weekend. This year's grand challenge was the turkey, a responsibility I'd managed to hand off every year since I'd begun finding the bird in Paris. There was simply no more dodging the bullet. Luckily, my househusband*'s master culinary skills (I think the French are just born with it), finely honed over the past few months, came to the rescue. Wrapped in aluminum and stuffed with herbs and lemon for flavoring, our turkey came out surprisingly moist and flavorful. (*Nicolas is at home now while in professional transition and I'm affectionately calling him my househusband. You haven't missed out on any surprise wedding.)

A Thanksgiving turkey success thanks to Nicolas

Allrecipes.com was our best friend this weekend. Besides the turkey, we tested out a collection of recipes: gravy with a hint of tomato paste, buttermilk cornbread (with wholewheat flour), a "Thanksgiving turkey" bourbon citrus cocktail, sweet potato casserole, pumpkin pie cheesecake, and a traditional American hot buttered rum. Coupled with our friends' salads, curry, cheesy bread snacks, mashed potatoes, brownies, and sugar pie, we had ourselves a proper feast.

Our Thanksgiving feast

Our guests hailed from places as diverse as Germany, Denmark, France, Hungary, Ireland, Canada, Honduras, the Faroe Islands, and (if you want to count country of origin) even Bosnia and Iraq. By comparison, Nicolas was a seasoned veteran clocking in his second Thanksgiving. In all, it was a real melting pot of a Thanksgiving which, in a sense, couldn't have been more American, in spite of the total lack of American guests. It didn't take much arm-twisting to convince our foreign friends that the Americans have a few good ideas when it comes to this celebration.

The Thanksgiving bouquet brightened up our windowsill to bring some extra holiday cheer.

All in all, it was a wonderful Turkey Day.

Graduation Day

Many months after the fact, and hailing now from not just France but the US, Canada, and Denmark, we made it! It was fantastic to get one last (unexpected) chance to see some familiar faces from my PhD days in the Ecole des Neurosciences de Paris, as well as, of course, to see Nicolas without all that last-minute packing pre-move stress.

My PhD graduation

The French didn't quite seem to get just how a graduation ceremony is supposed to work. For one thing, having never given their high schoolers nor undergrads a graduation any sort of ceremony, they didn't realize that doctors shouldn't be wearing mortarboards. (That said, I think you would have seriously let down a lot of French grads had they shown up to find themselves given soft, squishy doctoral hats and hoods instead of the classic graduation cap and gown from the movies.)

Though they didn't quite know the ropes, to their credit, the organizers clearly put a lot of effort into making the day memorable for us. The ceremony began with a fifteen minute classical music concert performed by a full orchestra. Then a parade of professors in full regalia, including someone who seemed to be carrying some sort of scepter, marched up the aisles. After a couple of introductory talks, the keynote speaker, French Académie des Sciences member Ghislain de Marsily, gave an amusingly left-wing political call-to-action speech. He recounted his days fighting during the May '68 student rebellions which nearly toppled the French government, and he went on a brief anti-creationism rant. He argued for better gender equality, questioned how we define "the greater good," commended the class for including so many foreigners, and encouraged us to use our imaginations, creativity, and originality to go out and change the world together. (He later explained to me that he was inspired by Steve Jobs's 2005 Stanford commencement speech, though he wanted a more group-oriented, less individualistic, perspective.) He actually dared to finish his speech with a quote not only from an American president (JFK), but spoken in English. He may have been an old man in full academician regalia, but he was not bound by French tradition. Coming from the Parisians, it was a really heart-warming note on which to send off the new PhDs into the world.

And of course, no French ceremony would have been complete without a champagne reception. And so my French education is officially complete. For now.

Now the recipient of-- count 'em-- four PhDs (for just one thesis!)

Getting to know Denmark

I'm two weeks in to life as an adoptive Dane (and already hopping my first weekend flight back to Paris). As I await boarding at my gate, I thought I'd take a moment to give a recap of what I've done and learned so far in Denmark.

In just two weeks, I've gotten

• my national id number and cards
• my residence permit card
• my national health insurance card
• my new apartment (move-in date: July 1)
• my bank account and debit card
• my bike, fully equipped with lights, locks, and basket
• and my new pole dance school

Clearly I'm not in France anymore. On one hand, a health insurance card in two weeks?? Try two years! That's what it took me and many of my foreigner friends back in France. On the other hand, getting the apartment in a mere two weeks was just short of miraculous. Even the steely resolve of someone who faced the Paris housing market is put to the test in Aarhus, where contacting over 80 landlords to visit 3 apartments was very much par for the course. To find that one cat-friendly home, I had to exit the city borders. I'll be calling Aarhus Nord my home soon enough.

My new home in Aarhus Nord starting July 1

I've also made a lot of half-baked observations of the Danes over the past couple of weeks:

• Don't let the fact that a breed of dog is named after them trick you into thinking these people are big animal-lovers. It is next to impossible to rent an apartment as an animal owner here.
• Generally, home renters have no rights here. Landlords demand anywhere from 5 to 9 months' rent to be paid upfront when signing a contract, and at least 3 of those months go straight down the drain here in the form of a security deposit that you'll never see again. All apartment maintenance also comes at the renter's expense. And requiring renters to move out two weeks prior to contract termination is also considered standard, giving the landlord time to plough through that security deposit which he or she has no intention of returning.
• The young people just seem to grow up much faster. In fact, part of the reason that I believe you don't see people up in arms over the total lack of home renter rights is that a lot of people buy homes here at a very young age. It seems that many Danes spend their 20s saving up, settling down, and even starting a family. I am astounded by how many young mothers I have seen biking their babies around the university campus.
• Speaking of campus, Aarhus University, despite its nondescript pale yellow brick architecture, is quite possibly the prettiest campus I have ever seen. With its verdant rolling hills, its lake, and its winding streets filled with bikes that snake through the grounds, I am continually amazed by how beautiful this place is. (Maybe I'll be less enthused come winter.)

Aarhus U campus: you had me as soon as I spotted your cat gutter spout

• If ever a country lived by the saying Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise, it is the Danes. These people seem to enjoy arriving at work between 7 and 8am, some even earlier!, and then leaving between 2 and 4pm. And yes, if you add those hours up, it's not really so much time spent working. I'm not sure how they get anything done here, but I might be cracking their recipe for being the happiest nation on earth.
• Let's add to that Danish happiness recipe their clubs. The Danes all love leaving work early to spend time with their clubs before heading home. Be it jogging, horseback riding, biking, or some other activity (though it seems most of them are sports-related), every Dane has got a club, or so our university orientation leaders taught us. In fact, they stressed the social importance of these clubs so much that they made a surveymonkey online survey to assess your interests and help pair you with a club in case you cannot find your own.
• One stereotype is true: the Danes bike everywhere.
• Breaking another stereotype, the Danes are not all blond (though many are) and they are not so tall such that I feel like I'm walking through a forest when I enter the school cafeteria.
• The Danes are very polite. And I am having an infinitely easier time making friends here than in Paris. And that without even speaking the local language! The Danes are unusually good at English, probably the best in Europe outside of the UK/Ireland. And yet, many of them continue to apologize for their "inadequate English-language skills," which makes me think that they have not traveled much, or that humble-bragging is a national past time.
• Though they have a lot going for them in terms of height, hair and eye color, and general disposition, the Danes are miles behind the French in one domain: fashion. These people just do not seem to be terribly interested in dressing to impress. A woman in heels on her way to work or a day in the city? Not in this country.
• Not only is every day casual Friday, but they act like it too: it is very normal to address everyone by first name in this country.
• Totally random as it may be, licorice is just huge here. You have not explored the multitude of licorice-flavored possibilities until you walk through the candy aisle in a Danish supermarket.
• And finally, Denmark is the proud home of Legos, even boasting an airport in the middle of nowhere (where you can find me now), strategically located right near their theme park attraction: Legoland.

Billund Airport, aka the Legoland airport, has a giant Lego store and a Lego play station.

So Denmark's not so bad, except for their chilly excuse for late spring. Still, I'm really missing Paris, and counting down the minutes 'till I'm back in a city whose language makes sense to me.

Oh, and one last thing. In Denmark, apparently it makes sense (to someone, at least) to erect a fountain of a peeing piglet right outside city hall. It seems I still have a lot to learn before I understand the Danes.

The Pig Fountain in Aarhus's City Hall Square

La vie est belle... in Denmark?

While wandering around Aarhus this evening, at first I thought I was missing France so much that I was seeing things. Then I realized that the Danes, enthusiastic flag wavers that they are, have not restricted their fondness for flags to their own nation's colors. I am pretty sure that I spotted more French flags/French-flag-themed deco in one afternoon in Aarhus (Denmark) than I saw in the past six years in Paris (the capital of France). If only I understood their language enough to understand what the Danes are up to...

Bienvenue au Danemark!

Whatever this "Latiner Festival" was about, I can only assume it was some sort of celebration of the victorious homecoming of their recent steal from the French, yours truly.

Bonus shot: double rainbows in Aarhus on my first weekend in town

Catching up

Autumn in Paris- yes, a few leaves do redden!

I've hardly had time to come up for air since my thesis defense last September. That said, it hasn't all been the in-over-my-head workload kind of stress. Only sometimes. In between, I enjoyed another classic autumn in Paris, complete with the (minimal) reddening of the leaves, another Nuit Blanche and Salon des Vins, and my 7th annual Expat Thanksgiving.

Another classic Nuit Blanche adventure outside Hôtel de Ville

Expat Thanksgiving Round 7 was a smashing success

But I hardly restricted myself to the confines of the périph (the beltway around Paris which separates the true Parisians from everyone else). There was the unseasonably hot weekend in late October that we spent out in Brittany, where I discovered that thatched-roof houses are not just a thing from a Disney movie.

Ah Bretagne, home of wonderful crêpes, thatched roof houses, sandy beaches, and Azad's sexy pose.

Then there was that nearly-20-hour layover in Warsaw on my flight home for Christmas-- way to check off country #28!

Warsaw, Poland. Totally worth the layover, even though the downpour did require me to scour the Christmas markets for a fresh pair of warm, dry, wool socks to survive the subsequent transAtlantic flight.

Of course, no trip back to the US is complete without a stop through New York, which this year included pre-noon cocktails (in my defense, it was 5pm in Paris! And so rainy outside...), the windows at Saks, and a showing of the 2014 Tony Award winner for Best Musical, A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder.

Living it up on Christmas Eve in New York City

And we can't forget the third annual grown-up Christmas-Edition Cousins' Campout, which even came complete with a crowdfunding campaign to bring home Professor Flinghopper.

Crowdfunding campaign ad to bring home Professor Flinghopper

Cousins' Campout- Christmas 2014. Enough said.

2015 got off to a crazy start, minus a break for one last mulled wine of the season at the Champs-Elysées Christmas Market.

One last vin chaud (mulled wine) at the Champs-Elysées Christmas Market to start the new year right.

The rest of my time was split between running to meetings with the Pole Emploi (French Unemployment Agency) and the bureaucrats who decide whether I can stay in the country, sneaking into lab to continue working (and manage collaborators) while legally unemployed, and throwing together a fellowship application and a couple of presentations in an effort to sort out my future as a postdoc. It wasn't easy and it wasn't always pretty. Welcome to my life as a freshly minted PhD.