Isn’t it funny how the minute you stop looking for something it pops up in the most unexpected way at a most unexpected time? After years of being bitter and single, I finally had gotten to the point where I thought You know what? I’m a cool gal and I am perfectly happy on my own!

Then I met him.

As he is Dutch and was living in the Netherlands, our main method of contact was Skype. Before our first session, I was so nervous. Even though I’d practically spilled my guts out to this guy via e-mail, the idea of actually talking to him was positively nerve-wracking.

Our initial meeting had been so brief and I couldn’t even remember what he looked like let alone what he sounded like. His written English was almost flawless, but what if he had an accent or couldn’t speak it well? Neither of us had webcams, so we couldn’t rely on gestures or body language to help us in a bind.

During our last email exchange before the Skype date, I confessed to him my feelings of anxiety.

“Don’t be nervous,” he replied. “I don’t bite.”

He was right, there was no reason for me to feel this way. He already knew everything about me and I just had this feeling about him that I’d never had about anyone else before. So I wrote back “Well, I do bite. But don’t worry, I don’t have rabies. Just cooties!”

The next day at the appointed time, I signed on and waited for his call. My heart was pounding with nerves and excitement. Not wanting to seem too desperate, I let it ring three times before picking up.

How silly I’d been to be so nervous! The conversation just flowed. He was so funny and easy to talk to and I just loved the sound of his voice.

About four hours into our conversation, he got really quiet. My heart stopped. It was just going too perfectly – of course something was going to go wrong. After what felt like forever, he finally spoke.

“Uh, Tiffany?” he began, “yesterday in your email, you said you had cooties…”

My heart started beating again. Nothing bad, he was just going to tease me about the cooties! I laughed. “Of course I do! All girls have cooties.”

More silence.

“Isn’t that…” he hestitated. “Isn’t that when you have little bugs living in your hair?”

Good thing I was able to convince him that cooties were not, in fact, hair lice. Otherwise, he might not have married me!

*Cooties was a huge thing growing up in the US. It was mainly girls who had it, of course. It’s a totally unscientific term used to mean any kind of imaginary disease which can be caught through contact (with the opposite sex, for example).

Tiffany is an American who moved to the Netherlands for love in December 2008. She lives in Utrecht with her husband and their dog. In addition to chronicling her adventures on her blog Clogs and Tulips: An American in Holland, she also works as a freelance writer and runs her own company, Little Broadway.

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Erin (from the USA) and Lionel (from Kenya) wrote in to share their story. Thank you!

Erin: We met in Juba, Southern Sudan in 2007 where we were both working at the time, at a Halloween Party at the US Government compound. Lionel was dressed as an angry mechanic complete with coveralls, a wrench and a hideous mask, and I was dressed as a flamenco dancer (only because I had a red dress with flowers - resources for costumes were limited in Sudan!). We now live in London where we are both furthering our education.

When do you notice that you are from different cultures?

Erin: I most notice that we are from different cultures in the way we approach day to day living here in the UK. When it comes to our relationship in terms of communication and what we expect from each other it’s like we were born on the same street, it comes so naturally!

We were together for two years in Sudan before moving to London. The living situation here is extremely different to say the least. Since Lionel is from Nairobi (a big city) there were a lot of things I assumed he would know how to do (or at least pick up quickly) like choosing internet and phone providers, setting up bank accounts, paying bills, even applying to schools and getting around on the train system. They are all things that I easily cope with but took a long time for him to adjust to. The differences in how things work here compared to how they work in Kenya are very apparent, something we thought about before the move but didn’t expect to be as difficult as it was. It did cause some tension in our relationship, but we were able to deal with it, and after about six months it was like we had been living here all our lives.

I definitely think it helped that this is a new country for both of us, “neutral territory” so to speak, instead of me moving to Kenya or him moving to the US. Even though we are from different parts of the world, we are both united in our distaste for the weather here!

What was it like meeting your partner’s family for the first time?

Lionel: It was great to finally meet Erin’s family during a trip to the US after we’d been together for over a year, to finally find out where she comes from and meet people important to her in her life I had heard so much about. Her family are amazing and very close. I found it so easy to be myself with them, especially her mum and grandmother, and we got along very well. I loved all the shopping trips, they really spoiled me on my birthday and it was such an amazing day. Erin’s Dad is someone to admire; he is very determined and makes sure everyone is ok before himself, he loves his family and I like the fact he loves his beer too! With Erin’s brothers, I must say when I saw pictures I did think about starting to go to the gym again, big boys they are! But both great friends and always ready to crack a few jokes with me which I do all the time =).

Labour day weekend with Erin’s Mom’s family was touching, it’s so nice to see that every year the extended family makes an effort to be together for the holidays, which hardly happens with my family because everyone is always too busy and we have too much drama. I fell in love with Erin’s family and am hoping that one day they can become my family too. The main thing to do now is to get my family to meet her family, wow that is going to be a story and a half and I will keep you posted…

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To be honest, the cultural differences - the immense weight of two separate histories, perspectives, assumptions, myths and surroundings - didn’t strike me as particularly significant at first. I felt surprisingly at home in Spanish, which seemed to express and accentuate my personality like a just-right pair of jeans hugs the hips, and Mexico was a natural fit – the casualness and the intensity, the reckless abandon and the human warmth, the coffee, the food, the mezcal. I’ve never eased into a community as comfortably and naturally as I did in Oaxaca; first I was here, roaming, out of it, the classic bumbling gringa, and then I was suddenly a part of things with a tight-knit group of friends and a serious boyfriend. There was a social revolution when I arrived; the streets were full of burning buses, and I went running on a highway barricaded by scorched tires and heaps of scrap metal. Nearly everyone I knew when I arrived left in a matter of months. I fell in love. I stayed through the months of federal police occupation and the fires in the streets at night, Jorge and I moved in together, and in spring of the following year we suddenly had plans to move to Beijing – I’d gotten a position as an English Composition Instructor for the coming academic year.

Throughout this whirlwind first year and throughout our year in China cultural differences seemed the least prominent factor in our relationship. Our socio-economic differences stood out more. We have different givens – college, for example. He was the first in his family to go – I took college for granted from grade school on, and though I loved it and squeezed every inch of experience out of it, I never thought of it as a particularly extraordinary opportunity, and never would’ve rejected the thought of studying photography as hopelessly impractical, as he did. Our upbringings were diametrically different – he grew up in a small village of five hundred inhabitants in the mountains of Oaxaca, and walked those treacherous three miles old-timers famously like to brag about to school and back every day. He studied agriculture, planting onions and chasing bulls. I grew up in Columbus, Ohio, a quintessentially middle-American city of several million people, going to a small well-respected high school, driving around town on the weekends, eating brown rice casseroles and hummus. My family was not rich, but I certainly felt we were the first time I came back from Oaxaca.

There are other differences, too – I love being at the bottom of a learning curve and could switch countries every six months, starting out clueless again and again on a dusty street corner in some distant land where I don’t speak the language or know the customs; he gets a look of immense relief on his face when it’s clear we’ll stick around somewhere for at least a year or two. As in many relationships, in ours there are the myriad differences that smooth the machinery of couplehood or send it coughing to a stop. But I wouldn’t say that culture – his Mexicanness, my Americanness – is among the most important. Perhaps this is because of that year in China, where in the face of Confucianism, Communism, “saving face” and the host of other inscrutable, impossibly foreign ways of thinking, the differences between our countries seemed laughingly miniscule. Perhaps its because there, outside of both of our native countries and cultures (a good friend in Japan once told me that all intercultural couples should live in a third country, a neutral country neither of them are from) we could have a relationship that didn’t conform to particular stereotypes or swing back around to cultural explanations for differences of opinion.

I think perhaps the hardest thing for me has been to assert my own culture while immersed in his; we’ve lived the majority of our time together in Mexico, and this means sometimes I sense my Americanness has been eclipsed. It is an intense pleasure to let loose with a “Dude, WTF?” following an episode of “Lost” with a couple of American friends. I imagine it will be similar for Jorge when we move to Pittsburgh this summer – I’ll be starting an MFA Program in the fall and we’ll have switched roles, with me at home and him fully immersed in U.S culture. I see why my friend made her point about third countries (she is Australian, her partner is British: they live in Japan); it is hard being the one in the privileged role of the native, and it is equally hard being the one in the limited role of foreigner.

But all of this seemed to be part of a distant backstory in our relationship until my friends Susy and Mauricio got married. Their wedding was not simply a union of two people but of two cultures; they are Mexican-American, and the wedding emphasized the otherness and belonging they feel in both cultures. It occurred to me in a rush of emotion that this is the legacy I will leave in the world. My children will be caught up in that otherness and belonging; they will be of two cultures and two languages. They will grow up with Mexico and the United States in their blood, their history, their way of seeing the world.

We have considered ourselves married by common law for quite some time now, but with the pressing need for a fiancé visa for Jorge to immigrate to the states, we’ve decided to go through with an actual wedding. We’ll have a ceremony in English and Spanish, we’ll play the The Magnetic Fields and Celso Pina, we’ll dance with a turkey and give Polaroids as gifts. We will blend our families, our stories, and our cultures. This, as I’ve come to see, is an extraordinary thing. But it’s not everything – it’s one part of us, and one part of the commitment we’ve made to say, “Hey, let’s make this journey together.”

Sarah Menkedick is editor in chief of Glimpse.org and contributing editor at the Matador Network. She’s currently based in Oaxaca, Mexico. If you liked this, head over to Sarah’s blog Posa Tigres for more exploration of life in Mexico, travel, identity and culture.

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It was recently Sant Jordi in Catalunya. The day of lovers and literature, tradition holds that the man gives the woman a rose in return for a book. Not a public holiday, it seems to be as the streets come alive with people strolling amid the colorful book and flower stands.

Credit

Watching the day unfold over a coffee and cigarette, I recalled past girlfriends I’d had in the states and some flames from my first year in Barcelona, but mostly I thought about my Spanish wife. Love and relationships are complex topics, which like dark matter, I only vaguely understand. I will say, though, being with a person from a foreign country definitely adds an element of unpredictability to the equation.

First, there’s the question of which language to communicate in. When we met I spoke no Spanish while she spoke English like an Essex girl. We lived in Spain, so the decision was Spanish. My wife, being the native, had the upper hand in terms of command and linguistic dexterity. I, however, always had the ready excuse of, “I didn’t understand,” which was used frequently, especially during the first months. This required a patience at which I still marvel.

But even when we reached near equality with the language, the way it’s spoken can bring about all types of problems. My wife, like many Spaniards I’ve found, likes to explain everything, at times to the minutest detail, before beginning. I, on the other hand, tend to subscribe to the American belief of keeping it brief, answering questions as they pop up but first let’s get started. This can still sometimes be a source of consternation, but that isn’t always the case. At first her Spanish directness offended my polite sensibilities, but now she’s the one reminding me to say please and thank you.

Then there’s the question of her fiery Latin temper and my disposition mellowed by too much sun and Hollywood in my twenties. So like any couple, we squabble from time to time. How much is due to personality differences and how much is cultural, I don’t know. I have, however, discovered a side benefit to being admonished in a language that isn’t mine: the intended impact of the words is dulled by the time my brain translates them and registers an emotional response. At the same time, it’s also a great way to learn some Spanish expressions like me cago en la leche.

Jeremy Holland is an American expat in Barcelona and author of “From Barcelona Vol. 1″. He writes about the city, the life and the people in his blog From Barcelona. Adapted from a post originally published on Jeremy’s blog. Read the original here.

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Tips for raising a bilingual child

This is a guest post by Eve Bodeux. Eve is mother of two boys, married to a Frenchman. She lives in the Denver, Colorado USA area and blogs at bloggingonbilingualism.com

Parents the globe over have bilingualism (or multilingualism) as a goal for their children as they realize the value this advantage provides in our ever-smaller world. Mixing traditional approaches with modern supplemental activities allows enthusiastic parents to encourage their children in learning a second language. Here are my five top tips for success!

1. Start early

Introduce your child to his or her second language as soon as possible. Immediately after birth is not too soon! Don’t be discouraged, though, if you are introducing your child to a bilingual environment at a later age. Any linguistic input you are able to provide your child in a second language will propel him or her on the path to successful communication and contribute to his or her enthusiasm for learning about the world as a larger global community.

2. Encourage regular conversation

Have your child engage in conversation often with a native or proficient non-native speaker. This can be one or both parents, but if you do not speak the language you are targeting, this could be a relative, a good friend or a visitor from abroad for the summer, for example. The more time a child spends in exposure to the language, the more fluent he or she will become.

3. Take advantage of new technologies…

Nothing replaces human interaction, but use the tools at your disposal in today’s fast paced world. Does your son love his Nintendo DS? Then buy him games in Spanish to teach him new vocabulary without him even noticing as he zaps the bad guy. Does your daughter love her iPod? Download hip songs in Italian or German-language videos from the iTunes store or YouTube to watch on the go. DVDs used wisely can teach children new phrases and vocabulary as well as exposing them to cultural information that goes hand-in-hand with their second language.

4. …but don’t forget about books

Books are key to your child’s success in becoming fluent. They provide rich vocabulary input as well as develop literacy. For children just being introduced to a new language, feel free to use dual language texts side by side to encourage your child’s growing confidence. However, do not underestimate your child’s ability to learn quickly and, especially if your child is not reading yet, go for full immersion. Acquire monolingual books in your target language and your child will quickly begin to recognize new words, concepts and grammatical structures.

5. Demonstrate practical benefits

Show your child the practical side of the language. No one wants to learn a skill that isn’t used for anything. Does learning Italian help him to communicate with his Grandmother in Rome on Skype? Does understanding French let her be an email pen pal with the cute exchange student from last summer? Consistently use your second language when participating in a special activity with your child such as skiing or cooking.

Know that bilingualism is a journey and there will be highs and lows, but stick with it and you and your child will reap the long-term benefits. In addition to the obvious linguistic benefits, bilingualism encourages problem-solving skills and contributes to making your child a true world citizen.

What are your experiences with raising bilingual children? Do you have any tips to add to the list?

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