adventure

Famous Expat Women

Karen Blixen’s farm in Kenya

I watched Out of Africa last night for the umpteenth time and it got me thinking about all the amazing expat women through the ages.  Here are a few of my favorites.

Karen Blixen was Danish.  She married Baron Bror von Blixen and they moved to Kenya in 1914.  He was kind enough to give her syphilis and she returned to Denmark after one year for arsenic treatment.  She lived through it and returned to Kenya for another 16 years. She ran a successful coffee farm for a while but always struggled with it and eventually was forced to sell the land.  Her lover, Denys Finch Hatton, was a big game hunter who died in a plane crash just as she was dealing with the loss of her farm.  She returned to Denmark and lived there for the rest of her life.  She wrote under the name Isak Dineson as well as a few others and a couple of her more famous books are:

Out of Africa  (1937)

Anexdotes of Destiny  (1958) – includes Babette’s Feast which was made into a movie

Letters from Africa 1914-1931  (1981 – posthumous)

 

Beryl Markam was English.  Her family moved to Kenya when she was 4 years old in 1906.   She became friends with Karen Blixen even though there was an 18 year gap in age.  Beryl also had a brief affair with Denys Finch Hatton and was due to fly with him the day he crashed.  She had some kind of premonition and did not go.  However she did go on to fly extensively in the African bush and was the first women to fly across the Atlantic from East to West.  She briefly lived in California married to an avocado farmer but eventually retuned to Kenya and became a well known horse trainer.  Her memoir (a very good read) is:

West with the Night  (1942, re-released in 1983)

 

Alexandra David-Neel was French.  She became an explorer at a young age running away from home at the age of 18 to ride her bicycle to Spain and back.  In 1904 at the age of 36 she was traveling in Tunis and married a railway engineer.  That didn’t last long since she immediately had itchy feet and set off for India.  She told her husband she would be back in 18 months but did not return for 14 years.  Her goal was Sikkim in the northern mountains.  She spent years studying with the hermits and monks of the region and eventually, dressed as a man, snuck into the forbidden city of Lhasa.  Her travels were extensive and you can read more about her here:

http://www.alexandra-david-neel.org/anglais/biog.htm

Her account of her trip to Lhasa is:

My Journey to Lhasa (1927)

 

Gertrude Stein was an American Jewish lesbian writer who moved to Paris in 1904.  She held “Salons” promoting modern unknown artists such as Picasso, Matisse and Cezanne.  During World War 1 she learned to drive a car and drove a supply truck for the American Fund for French Wounded supplying hospitals in France with her life long companion Alice B Toklas.  Her writing was revolutionary and influenced many modern writers including Hemmingway.  She was a strong minded woman with strong opinions and a copious writer with a great sense of humor.  She was a real character as all these women were.  One of the easiest books of hers to read is:

The Autobiography of Alice B Toklas  (1933)

Another one I like very much is:

Ida, A Novel (1941)

 

Who are your favorites??

 

 

 

 

Learning to Drive

My father with car and dog

 

I am learning to ride in a car with a sixteen year old driver.  I am learning to quietly cringe and hold my tongue.  I am learning to resist slamming my leg down on the break that isn’t there.  I am learning to look out the window and observe things by the side of the road I have never had a chance to enjoy before.  I am learning to trust.  And to quietly guide.  And sometimes to shout out in a panic.  But not too often.

He is actually pretty good.  Baby steps.  He has time to learn.  And I have a built in designated driver!  There is always an up side!

I have been re-reading my father’s memoir and came across the following passage that seemed kind of relevant.  My father grew up on a farm in southern Iowa, the youngest of seven children.

“When I was about 7, I started driving teams of horses for some field work.  Dad, or someone, would harness and hitch up the horses to a wagon or a machine since I was not big enough to put on a horse’s harness.  Another of my chores in my early years was to walk to the pasture to herd the milk cows to the barn at milking time.  No one in our family drank much milk but we made our own butter and cottage cheese.  The only time I really remember drinking milk was on Sunday evenings.   I would fill a glass with popcorn and then pour in some milk.

When I was 11 or 12 (1931-32) the country went into the Great Depression.  Many neighbors gave up and sold out or were forced out because they had defaulted on their loans.  Livestock prices were very low and grain prices were the lowest on record. 

One of the things that helped my family survive the Depression was my parents started a small dairy and my brothers Bob and Floyd did the milking and delivered the milk door to door and to stores in town before school.  By the time they had finished high school, dad had purchased a heard of very good dairy cows.  I was the only boy left at home and had to take on this job.  My sister Margaret had recently been married and her new husband, Lee, helped with the chores and milking.  It was Lee’s and my responsibility to milk the cows twice each day by hand and to take care of the cows and the milk.  After Lee left, it became just my responsibility.  When I was 14, I was able to get a driver’s license and began to deliver the milk in bottles door to door in Shenandoah each morning as well as to two grocery stores before school.  Floyd had taught me to drive our Model T Ford when I was about 10 years old, so I had no trouble getting a driver’s license.  The dairy really saved us during the Depression.  When I left home to go to college, dad sold the dairy cows since it was too much for him and at that time larger dairy farms started up in our area, forcing out the small producers like us.”

When I was 16 I was in boarding school.  No driving there.

Between high school and college, I spent the summer with my parents in Ibadan, Nigeria.  Driving in Nigeria was kind of like playing Russian Roulette.  You never knew when somebody would come barreling around a blind corner straight at you.  I was not yet 18 so technically I couldn’t get a license anyway (although I doubt they checked).  An American guy I knew, Tim, turned 18 that summer and decided to get his license.  He went down to the Motor Vehicle department and an official actually got in the car with him:

Official:  Drive forward!

Tim drives

Official:  Stop!

Tim stops

Official:  Drive backwards!

Tim drives in reverse

Official:  Stop!

Tim stops

Official:  Would you be interested in a German Shepard puppy?

Tim pays his fee and gets his driver’s license and a dog.  Such a deal!

The following summer I went to live with my brother in Minneapolis, and his wife taught me to drive.  At 19, a college sophomore, I was a licensed driver!

 

Switzerland

Last summer I went to visit my brother who lives in Switzerland.

I have a soft spot for Switzerland.  I went to boarding school at the American School in Switzerland in Lugano.  It was an amazing time in a beautiful place.  We traveled all over Europe, hiked up mountains, skied, figured out train schedules, learned to drink beer, and generally had a great education.  In 2000, I went back to the school for the founding Director’s 90th birthday party.

Mrs Flemming (we always called her Mamma Flemming) started the school in 1956 with 12 children, three were her own.  When I graduated in the 70’s there were 200 of us.  And now there are several schools around the world and many more students.

The birthday party in 2000 was a lot of fun because some of my dear friends were there.  Two old roommates and an old boyfriend.  We hiked up to see Herman Hesse’s house.  There was a lovely garden at the bottom of the steps where people would hang out and smoke cigarettes and make out.  Now they have a small museum next door dedicated to him.  We looked around for our old stomping grounds and found that the “hole in the wall” where Serafina served us wine and beer out of her own kitchen was now closed up.  But the main restaurant in the small village of Montagnola was still there.  We spent a pleasant afternoon sipping grappa that the owner had made himself.  He even sold us several bottles.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Now I was back in Switzerland with my teenage son.  Mamma Flemming died at the age of 98 and is buried in the cemetery just down the mountain from the school.  The same cemetery where Herman Hesse can be found.

In the 11 years between this and my last visit, the place had changed dramatically.  Lugano was still as beautiful as ever although much more built up and congested.  The piazza was there full of tourists and the pizza was still good.  The local department store where we had purchased my son his Action Man toy in 2000 was still there but had a new name and was under new ownership.

And I almost didn’t recognize the school.  There were so many new buildings!  It has become a formal school with students in uniforms and actual rules.  When we went there it was very much a family atmosphere and we all were encouraged to strike out on our own and explore our surroundings.  Now TASIS is all grown up.

While I was wandering around the campus, I ran into an old friend in the lobby of the main building.  Angelo, the guy who owned the local sandwich shop was now working in the business office of the school.  He pretended to remember me but I don’t know if he really did.

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Cars

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I have been seeing Fiat 500’s in my neighborhood lately. I want one. Of course my boyfriend wants the Arbath souped up version. I have a feeling I wouldn’t be driving much if we get that. But they are cool looking. The original “cinquecento” was produced in Italy from 1957 to 1975. I remember it was tiny. We used to squeeze into them hitching rides in Italy. We used to make jokes about them. It was a mere 10 feet long and honestly not very comfortable. The new Fiat 500 sold today is a full foot longer!

When I moved to Russia, I came across the Zhiguli. When I first saw it I immediately thought of the cinquecento. Interestingly enough, in the mid 1960’s the Zhiguli was produced by the Volga Automobile Works (VAZ) in a collaboration between Fiat and the Soviet government. The Zhiguli was modeled after the original Fiat 500 and was exported to the West after 1975 as the Lada.

The Zhiguli is small and boxy. I would sometimes see very large Russian policemen cramming themselves into the Zhiguli four at a time. I wondered what would happen if there was an emergency. Would they be able to extract themselves in time?

The Russian car that I really liked was the Volga. It was the car used most for city government officials and usually came with an official driver. In Moscow there was no taxi service, you just hailed down a passing car and negotiated a price and they took you where you wanted to go. When my son was in pre-school, I would go out every morning and hail a car to take us to school. I was too harried to manage a stroller, a screaming child, and a bus in the middle of the Russian winter. And the cars were usually pretty cheap.

One day I lucked out and managed to flag down a black Volga. Volgas are mid sized sedans with comfortable seats and plenty of room for the child and the stroller. Much better than a Zhiguli!! I was in heaven. The next morning I went out as usual to flag a car, and there was the same Volga sitting at the end of my drive. He was waiting for me! Apparently our schedules were in sync. For the next couple of months, I had a driver every morning waiting for me. I even managed to talk him into taking me other places as well, like the airport, and the vet.

And then one day, he wasn’t there anymore.

Oh well, it was great while it lasted!!

The Lady

“The Lady”, the movie, is to be released in the USA April 13, 2012. It is already out in other parts of the world. It is the story Aung San Suu Kyi and her husband Michael Aris.
I can hardly wait!!!

Aung San Suu Kyi spent over 20 years in house arrest off and on in a house on University Avenue Road overlooking Inya Lake in Rangoon, Burma. We lived on the same street just down the road. Much earlier, of course. When the coup came in 1962 and Burma was overtaken by military dictatorship we lived next door to the former president. His son was shot in a struggle during the coup. We heard the gunshots without knowing what was happening.

Burma has had hard times since that fateful evening. It went from being one of the richest nations in Asia to one of the poorest. Now the elections are in April, Suu is out of house arrest and up for election. Hilary Clinton, US Secretary of State, has been on an official visit – first time in 50 years such a thing has happened. Things are starting to look up. Let’s hope it continues and all of Suu’s sacrifices finally pay off!

I was born in Rangoon, Burma. That was before it was called Myanmar. My mother knew Aung San Suu Kyi’s mother when they worked together on an International Cookbook. Her mother donated her favorite entertaining menu and recipes.

“Burmese Meal for Guests
Mrs. Aung San has this Burmese menu for her company luncheons and dinners, because these are the dishes she has found her friends and guests like most. Like many distinguished women with very public careers, she finds delight in domestic arts and skills.

White Pumpkin Broth
Fish Lethoke salad
Prawn Curry
Balachuang
Chicken Curry
Mixed Vegetables
Fried White Gourd
Coconut Rice
Sago Sweet”

The cookbook was published in 1954 and has lots of fabulous ads in it.

Coconut Rice

Serves 8

Ingredients
5 cups rice
3 coconuts
1 tbsp vegetable oil
1 tsp sugar
1/3 tsp salt
2 onions

Grate the flesh of 3 coconuts. Pour some hot water and squeeze the milk through thin muslin. Repeat till all the milk is extracted. Wash rice thoroughly. Put rice into pot. Add this milk until it stands ¾ inch above the rice. Peel, quarter and wash the onions. Add to the rice, oil, sugar, salt and onions. Stir till well mixed. Cook till the milk is evaporated and the rice tender.

Today you could probably just buy coconut milk, eh?

Expat Pioneers

Kinner Holliser 1806

I have read several articles lately comparing Expats to Immigrants.  I suppose immigrants are a type of expat, at least in the beginning.  Landing in a foreign place, not knowing the customs or often the language.  Some expats never return to their home country, like immigrants.  Since my ancestors were immigrants, I suppose my roots of adventure lie there.  I have done some research on my family over the years and many of them were pioneers traveling in covered wagons, farming the land, running the village grocery store.  I came across this story about one of them who was living in Connecticut at the time – John Hollister, born in 1612 in Bristol, England and died in 1665, Wethersfield, CT.

Speaking of the peaceful relations existing between the early settlers of Wethersfield and the Indians, Chapin, in his “Glastonbury for Two Hundred Years,” pp. 12-13, says:

The nearest approach to hostilities that has come to our knowledge is furnished by the following tradition in regard to John Hollister, which has been supplied by a member of the family abroad: While Mr. Hollister resided on the west side of the river, he was accustomed to come over and cultivate his land at Nayaug, unprotected by company. On one occasion, a huge, stalwart Indian, claiming to be the most athletic and powerful man of the tribe, appeared before him, saying that he had been told that Mr. H. was the stoutest pale-face in the settlement and proposing a trial of strength in a fight. Mr. H. assented, and at it they went. After engaging in combat until both were wellnigh exhausted, they agreed upon a truce, and sitting down on a log, rested themselves. Having recovered breath and strength, they fought again, and again rested, fighting and resting until sundown, when neither having conquered, they exchanged tokens of friendship, and ever after lived in peace.

My New Mantra
“Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.”
The Matterhorn
I stole this photo from my brother who lives in Switzerland and happened to be passing this particular mountain among others on some weekend trip of his.
He is returning to the US soon and will also be an Alien….
It kind of represents my new mantra.  There are probably some trails up there for people to follow.
I spent two lovely years in Switzerland myself.  Fun times.  More on that later.