Misanthropic Expat Syndrome

Misanthropic Expat Syndrome

"Americans should never come to Europe,' she said, and tried to laugh and began to cry, 'it means they never can be happy again. What's the good of an American who isn't happy?" — James Baldwin, Giovanni's Room * "I think that something's happened to me," I said.  Olivier looked over at me & creased his eyebrows. "Like what?  Are you sick?  Did you eat too much fiber again?" "No... I'm not feeling shitsy.  It's more permanent than that, I think... & it seems to be getting worse.  I think I must be developing some sort of misanthropic expat syndrome." "I think you've had that for a while." "It's getting worse," I said. "Yeah. I've noticed.  It's probably not so bad," he said. "Eating too much fiber feels worse, I bet." He's right.  That does feel pretty bad.  Unfortunately, my misanthropic expat syndrome seems to be permanent & intensifying. Something happens after a few years of living outside...
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There & Back Again, Part 1 – Paris to Pennsylvania

There & Back Again, Part 1 – Paris to Pennsylvania

It's all quite blurry now, but what I remember of it all is full of various landscapes, faces and suitcases. There was eating, drinking, merriment and... mucous. Fucking holiday travel. It's always a lot of planning and stress, but we had a plan. A simple plan. There was no way it could fail. We had a direct flight from Paris to Pittsburgh, PA. We would rent a car, then drive 3 hours to a tiny, rural town just outside the middle-of-freaking-nowhere. After 1 week, we would board a Greyhound bus to Colorado.  Another week there and we would fly from Denver back to Paris. There were various parties, reunions and get-togethers planned in several different locations with dozens of people. Okay, so it wasn't really such a simple plan. Maybe we'd hit a snag here or there; 1 or 2 little things could go wrong. Or... everything could go wrong. Olivier and I woke up at 4:30am on December 20th. I stared at the wall with...
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