Losing control in a foreign country

What really happens when you move abroad

It doesn’t always look like this. Well, these gardens do. It’s my life that doesn’t.

Several weeks ago I took the bus to the mall, to the big supermarket.

I walked a few minutes to the bus stop and enjoyed the scenic ride through the historic center of town, a quaint outskirt neighborhood, and a rural area with tiny vineyards and grazing animals before reaching the giant mall complex (IKEA included).

I browsed my favorite home goods store - not IKEA - and bought a rotating spice rack and two wine glasses. I asked the folks at the checkout to hold my purchases while I did the rest of my shopping.

I went to the natural foods store and picked up a few things. I checked out and managed to not speak any words in English or apologize for my Portuguese.

Next up was the supermarket. I was able to figure out where they’d moved our favorite cheese (to another of the multiple cheese sections). I located confectioner’s sugar for the first time since moving and felt triumphant.

I headed to the checkout line and, for the first time in this supermarket, the checkout experience felt simple and straightforward.

I picked up my purchases at the home goods store on my way out. I called an Uber - the best choice with many bags - and headed home. Then I moved on with my day.

My trip took 2.5 hours and probably sounds uneventful - maybe even pleasant.

Here’s why I’m talking about it:

Just a few months ago, this trip was a huge, stressful ordeal.

Here’s how it used to look:

After a typically-stressful navigation of the bus system, I would purchase things at various stores and lug them around with me as I did more shopping.

Reading food labels was like a real-life language lesson, standing in the middle of the natural foods store or the busy supermarket.

Flours are a great example: Almond is “amêndoa,” rice is “arroz,” oat is “aveia,” hazelnut is “avelã.” Notice how similar?

If you want larger oat flakes, not shaved ones that cook to mush, you look for “flocos grandes.” But many products are imported from neighboring countries like Spain or Germany, so large oat flakes are also “flocos grossos.”

For the first few months I kept my phone in hand and translated constantly. I also regularly scanned the back labels of imported products for the “easiest” language version - usually Portuguese, hah hah - out of the multiple languages on the label.

The checkout process at this supermarket used to instantly ramp up my anxiety. While there are multiple checkouts, everyone queues in a single long line across the front of the store and waits for the number of the next open checkout to be called. The line moves quickly.

There are often twenty or so people in line behind me by the time I reach the front. I used to feel certain they were staring at me (move faster, American!) as I tried to figure out which checkout lane I was being directed to by the robotic voice and the giant screen.

The cashier moved at lightning speed and, no matter how I’d prepared, had to wait on me. So did the next customer, who had their items loaded onto the conveyer belt.

The entire store, in fact, would grind to a complete halt and wait on me.

[in my head. or was it?]

There would be rapid-fire questions about whether I needed to buy sacks for my groceries, if I had my loyalty card, and whether I wanted to use my Portuguese tax number. It took a long time for me to learn what they were saying and to answer semi-smoothly.

I’d carry all of my bags back to the bus stop where I’d wait for the next bus. I’d wrestle my bags onto the bus, then off again, and pause every minute or so of the ten-minute walk home to give my aching arms a rest.

I would barely get everything put away before collapsing. It took between three and four hours, and it was my one accomplishment for that day.

It wasn’t just running errands at the mall that was like this; it was many of our daily tasks.

It’s occurred to me recently that the underlying challenge wasn’t actually the effort that daily life required, or even the language barrier.

It was losing control.

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When we moved here, I gave up control of things I’ve never even considered before.

Hanging all of our laundry to fully dry during the winter took 24 - 36 hours.

Finding a Mac computer repair person has been next to impossible.

How to pay our bill in a restaurant is still a question - it’s almost never at the table but occasionally it is.

When we arrive at a medical appointment, we take a number from a ticket system with selections in Portuguese, wait for our turn to check in, then wait for our number to be called when the provider is ready for us. We use the process again after our appointment - with different selections and a new number - so that we can pay.

When I had some complications from covid in March, I couldn’t figure out what floor of the hospital my appointment was on. I ended up racing up and down in the elevator as the various front desk people send me from one floor to another and back again while I was missing the allowed-lateness window for my appointment (is this fun for you? I wanted to ask while fighting the urge to lie down on the floor and burst into tears).

Despite what you’re thinking now - understandably - this is not meant to be a litany of complaints. It’s an observation about my own experience, then and now.

Like most humans, I like to feel moderately in control of my daily life. And suddenly I wasn’t, for kind of a long time.

I think what helped me prepare for how this loss of control would feel was spending two months here the year before we moved. It was a chance to “try out” living here and adjust my expectations. It was just enough to help ensure that reality didn’t *quite* overwhelm me.

I’ve recently heard that more than 50% of Americans who move here end up leaving, and it’s not hard to imagine at least part of why.

To anyone who has spent time living in a country other than their own, I see you. It’s truly hard.

And if you’ve had to move to another country because you had no other good or safe choice, I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. This is incredibly difficult even when we’re excited about it and when our new country is welcoming to us.

If you’re considering moving to a new country, the best piece of advice I can offer is to prepare to give up a lot of control. If you can let go and roll with the new processes and learning curves, you will probably be just fine.

I’m interested to see what our second year here will feel like. We’re breathing easier these days and daily tasks feel mostly normal. We are enjoying the pace of life and the culture. The people are wonderful and we can’t imagine going back to our life in the U.S.

I’m curious:

What do you think would be the hardest thing to give up control over if you moved a new country?

or

If you HAVE moved to a new country, what was the hardest thing for you to give up control over? How did you navigate that?

I’d love to hear other experiences and thoughts.

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