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The London Tim Tam Adventure

Thursday, April 12th, 2007

You may not know this, but I fell in love when I was in New Zealand.  His name is Tim Tam.  My Danish friend Camilla introduced me to him.  He was always there to provide his wonderful double-coat chocolate comfort when I needed it, which was just often enough to give me a layer of pudge (though I’m sure the pub-crawls didn’t help much with that either).

The “world’s most irrisistable cookie,” or excuse me, “the world’s most irrisistable biscuit,” is how they know him.  He was born in Australia.  His primary ingredient is sugar.  And, lucky for me, he’s imported to London.  It had been almost six months since I was able to down a whole box of Tim Tams in one sitting. I was studying in London (this was back in July), and I had heard tell that there were a few Australian enclaves in the heart of the city. Where were they?

I had a chance to ask that question when a speaker, whose name I can no longer recall (it’s been another eight months since this happened), came to speak at our travel writing class. He talked about American communities in Hampstead, so I figured maybe he knew of a few Australian ones.

“Try Kensington,” he told me.

So I set out one day on the Circle line to High Street and found my way into the beautiful whitewashed Kensington neighborhoods. There was no sign of any Australian shops, though I did find a grocery story that sold American food like tacos and salsa and Oreos. So I stopped in a boutique to ask the women there if they knew anything about any Australian shops.

“Oh, are you looking for things from home?” She hadn’t catch my American accent.

“Um, yes.”

“Well, you might try your embassy. They might be able to tell you where you can buy things from Australia.”

“Thank you,” I replied, excited that I had been mistaken for an Aussie.

I thought about phoning the Australian embassy and starting with a “G’day, mate,” but decided they’d be able to tell. Luckily a Kiwi friend of mine clued me in to a Kiwi coffee house somewhere in Covent Garden.

“Yes, on Berwick Street,” he pointed on a map, and I was able to navigate the winding streets until I found Flat White Espresso Bar. They were closing for the afternoon.

“Do you have any Tim Tams?”

“No. Sometimes we have them on Waitangi Day or when the All Blacks play. But we don’t have them now.”

“Are there any stores around? Like stores that sell Kiwi or Australian food?”

“You can try the New Zealand House on Haymarket, and I think there’s an Australian store on Maiden Lane.”

It was several days before I had the chance to walk to Haymarket. I had a friend along for the adventure. Little did we know the New Zealand House was the embassy. They directed us to a Kiwi store around the corner. Of course, hailing from Australia, Tim Tams were not available at the Kiwi store.

I asked the woman behind the counter, “do you have any Tim Tams?”

“No, Tim Tams are Australian!”

“I know that!”

We left and headed for Maiden Lane. We stopped in a bookstore to ask directions, but no one seemed to know where Maiden Lane was. As we walked down one street, I overheard two guys talking behind us, or should I say two blokes?

“Those guys have Australian accents,” I whispered to my friend.

“Do you think they’re going to the Australian store?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe we should follow them. Here, I’ll open my notebook like we’re stopping to look at it and we’ll let them pass.” She opened her notebook.

“Hey, do you know if there’s an Australian store around here?” I blurted at them as they passed.

“I think there’s one on Maiden Lane, one street over,” one of the blokes pointed.

“Thank you!!!”

In two minutes, we were savoring Double-coat Tim Tams outside the Australian-Kiwi-South African-Canadian store on Maiden Lane. I fell in love all over again, and my friend fell in love for the first time.

Army Brat Blues

Sunday, April 1st, 2007

Here I sit, four months away from graduating college, speeding headlong toward yet another transition and some very difficult decisions. Why do I hesitate when you ask me where I’m from… let me list my geographic history. What I have to say may seem depressing, but hopefully some of you, those of you with similar histories, will find it reassuring to know you’re not alone:

0. San Angelo, Texas
1. Ayer, Massachusetts
2. Donzdorf, Germany
3. Bulls Run Pkwy, Bethesda (father’s military service had ended)
4. Missoula, Montana
5. (brief transition at Bulls Run in Bethesda)
6. La Plata, Maryland (elementary school #1)
7. Loveland, Colorado
8. Lakewood, Colorado (elementary school #2)
9. Bulls Run, Bethesda, Maryland (elemendary school #3)
10. *moved everything by UHaul across the country to Seattle, Washington, turned round the next day and returned to Bethesda
11. transition in Laytonsville, Maryland for several weeks
12. Gaithersburg, Maryland (neighborhood later part of Montgomery Village) (middle school)
13. Lone Oak Dr, Bethesda, Maryland
14. Mayfield Dr, Bethesda, Maryland (high school #1)
15. Hartley Pl, Gaithersburg, Maryland (high school #2)
16. Germantown, Maryland (returned to high school #1)
17. Clifton, Virginia
18. Fifth Ave, New York, New York
19. Washington Square East, New York, New York
20. Wellington, New Zealand
21. Apt #1, East Village, New York, New York
22. Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, New York
23. Apt #2, East Village, New York, New York

(23 is the number of times I have moved, not the number of locations I have lived/traveled).

So if you’re like my grandparents and think I am feeling sorry for myself when I complain of getting tired of saying goodbye… how can you blame me? Where is my home? Where do I belong? Why do I feel so much more comfortable traveling than sitting still? You do the math. I’m an ace at meeting people. Now if only I could learn how to keep the friends I make. But why bother? I will graduate and then I’ll move again, then it’ll only be more goodbyes.

Why do I go on and on about this? Because I’ve been reading about individuals inspired by expats and army brats. “Should I live that life? Should I pick up my children and move to some foreign place? Leave my life behind me?” they ask. Well, let me just remind you of one thing… Should your children leave theirs? Personally I believe one, maybe two moves in childhood can be healthy. It exercises curiosity and openness, it keeps you from taking for granted that feeling of belonging. But it’s still not as upsetting as a lifetime of being a nomad in a world of stationary people.

So what do I do when I graduate? I’m 99% sure I do not want to live in New York City longer than 2 years after I graduate. But that knowledge hurts. Any relationships I make now will likely have to end, so better stick it out alone right? Wrong, that’s a lonely way to live. That’s how I’ve been living. I want to live in foreign countries. I want to settle down. I recently discovered I have been craving real human connection for about 20 years. What should I do? Honestly, I have no idea.