My Dramatic Life, part 1

It's been a very eventful and emotional past 72 hours. Allow me to fill you in.

As you know, on Saturday I got on a plane to London. What you may not know, is that while going through passport control at Heathrow on Sunday morning I was stopped, questioned, and detained. My wallet was gone through, as was my luggage. I was held in the immigration holding pen/waiting room for hours, and interviewed again. Then, I was denied entry to the UK, and informed I'd be put on the next flight out to NYC.

In retrospect, I'm not surprised (at the time, I was VERY surprised. Or shocked, rather). There were enough suspicious things to add up to a very suspect case. I was coming in on the return leg of a flight. I'd only bought my flight back to the States a couple of days earlier. I'd last been in London a mere six weeks previous. I had no proof of enough funds to self-sustain, and no employment in the States. And to top it all off, I had my National Insurance card on me, as well as CVs and letters of recommendation.

Of course they thought I was coming to London to job hunt. Of course they turned me away. And the thing that kills me is that I didn't need to have my NI card and all that paperwork... the only reason I did was stupidity and oversight. But at that point, there was nothing to be done - they held me for a few more hours, then had two airport personnel escort me to my flight, retaining my passport and documents and handing them to the flight attendants to make sure I didn't make a break for it. They didn't give them back until we touched down in Newark.

Needless to say, it was a horrific experience. Humiliating and devastating and emotionally and physically exhausting. By the time I landed in Newark I was a wreck. Luckily Mom had been able to get ahold of my friend Liz, so she met me at the airport, and held me as I broke down immediately upon arrival (one of MANY breakdowns over the previous 18 hours). She put me up in her Bushwick loft in Brooklyn, and made me soup, and shared her bed.

That was Sunday night. The story isn't over. More to come...

Another farewell

It's the night before I leave for London. The past weeks have been pretty incredible. Full of big emotions and quiet existential crises, but also incredibly and beautifully simple. I think it's a lovely and rare thing to have a place you can return to that always feels comfortable, like home. I'm very lucky.

There's a lot to do yet before I go - packing and errands and cleaning and getting-of-ducks into some semblance of a row. But now it's midnight, I'm just home from a lovely evening at the Dinkytowner with some of my nearest and dearest, and the only thing to do before bed is to look around, take some deep breaths, and absorb the moment before I watch some Deadwood, finish off that pint of Chubby Hubby and go to bed.

Big day tomorrow. But aren't they all?

Home again

I'm not sure why it is that I have so much trouble blogging when I'm home in Minneapolis. I'm halfway through my time back now, and life has settled (as much as it can) into a comfortable rhythm of work and play. Sometimes I start to feel a little panicked, when I look at my list of "people to see" and realise there's no way I'll get to them all, or to get to them all as much as I'd like, but far be it from me to complain about popularity (though I'm tempted).

It's been really lovely to reconnect with people. I'm struck how we all look the same, but different. There's something in the bearing, in the way of expressing ourselves, that's progressed from the last time we spoke. Dare I say it - some kind of maturity. Almost like we're growing up.

But then, the more things change, the more they stay the same. I'm working at Dunn's again, which is a blessing, and I'm able to appreciate it because I know I'm not here for long. That's the case with Minneapolis, as well, to an extent - because I know I'm leaving again soon, I can truly enjoy the old routines and patterns without feeling as though I'm stuck in them.

And the more things stay the same, the more they change... Gem and Mark got married last weekend. My dear friend S has filed for divorce. Megan Smith nee Fee is pregnant. Landmarks change, businesses close, new friends are encountered, old friends move away.

But it's still home. Even as London is home, even as I have no base these days. It's good to be back.

Leaving the threshold

It's 2:20am GMT and I just finished packing. In ten hours I'll be on a plane winging its way towards Minneapolis. The fact that I'm exhausted right now is probably something of a blessing: as it is, I don't have the energy to actually absorb the fact that I'm coming home, leaving home. If I did, I'd probably be in tears.

It's been an incredible and full week. Full of friends and dashing about and quiet moments of sudden realisation. Monday I went to LISPA to see the presentations of the current students, and it threw my world upside down in a completely unexpected way. Watching this new batch of people (one of whom is Dad!) finding their way within that community, that home, made me realise for the first time that I'm not a part of it anymore. I mean, I'll always be a part of the LISPA community, but that experience of really being in it, of breathing and struggling with and rejoicing in it every day, is over. It was... how can I put this?

It was like standing in the threshold of a house you used to live in, feeling the warmth from the fire on your face and hearing the laughter from within. At your back is a cold wind and the wide open scary dark adventure of the world. And you know that though you're always welcome to visit that house that used to be yours, you'll never really be able to step beyond the threshold, and that it's home to another family now. And that your next step is to turn, and walk away, and forge a path through the darkness.

The future is such a mystery. And it astounds and terrifies me. I have a ticket back to London on 10th Jan and a role in a show, but not all the performance dates are set yet and after I arrive I have no other ticket, no other plan or knowledge of what the coming months will bring. In a way, I expect a lot from these seven weeks in Minneapolis - I expect that I'll get a lot of new information about what it's like to be back, what it's like to be in the States in general, what's possible t/here. And I expect that all this new information will help me make some decisions about where my place in the world is in this moment, about where it needs to be, even if only for the next six months.

Two things:

Back in London now, heading to Berlin in less than twelve hours. Probably won't have internet access there, so don't expect any correspondence before the weekend. London has been awesome though - it's lovely to be back, however briefly.

Also, for a new and exciting perspective on London and LISPA, everyone should read Dad's blog. (!)

Transatlantic

I leave Portugal tomorrow. Everyone keeps saying that I'll be back, and there's a good chance I will be. But there's still a melancholy in departures, however timely they may be. I cried a little when I woke up this morning, and got misty again at the end of lunch with Jose and Fatima and Victor and Sandra. Now, I'm feeling calm, secure. A little sad, but ready.

It's been quite a month. Lots of highs, some lows. Lots of laziness and recharging. A bit of reflection, though there might have been more. Lots of laughter, my fair share of tears. And did I mention the food? Because there's been a lot of food.

Tomorrow I hop on a plane back to London. I'll be there for less than 48 hours before I'm back at the airport to fly to Berlin. I'll spend four days there with Baerbel, then it's back to London for a full week. And then home! Minneapolis!

I've been thinking a lot about my imminent arrival home. It will be so good for me to reconnect with that place, with my family and friends there. I think it will help me to better understand what my next step should be. Which city or town I'll lay claim to as my newest address. Whether it's stateside or abroad.

It was incredible to watch the election unfold from a living room in Esmoriz, Portugal. Martha and Diogo were both in bed by four, and it was only Aram and I on the couch when he came out to make that speech, both of us rapt, tears streaming down my cheeks.

I've been thinking about my relationship to America, and my relationship with being American. How the first time I properly went abroad on my own was in the summer of 2002, and I ended up raging against Bush and his policies to an Australian named Martin in the basement bar of one Hostel Aphrodite in Athens. How time spent in Uganda made me recalibrate what it meant to be an American in the world - how they saw it as a badge of honour, and a mark of pride. The evolution of my intonation when asked where I was from - how I used to mumble "the States", or tack on an "unfortunately", and pull a face, and in the past months have said it as a statement, clearly. How in the last year I've begun to own my origins. And how this last election has given me renewed pride, excitement, a new outlook on the position of myself and my country in the world. It's my country, America. How wonderful to finally be able to say that with pride.

And Portugal's a pretty special place, too.

Full of food and love

It's been a really lovely week. The four of us feel more and more like a family these days - spending evenings joking around or playing Uno, and taking trips in pairs or threesomes into Porto or Espinho. We're also part of a larger family - every weekend we have lunch or dinner with Diogo's parents at least twice, and sometimes we're joined by his uncle and his girlfriend as well. Last weekend we went to his uncle's for sardines on the grill and ended up gathered around the piano, singing. Last night we tore through about three bottles of wine and had squid and prawn and crab rice stew. Today was what Diogo calls a Meat Fest - about eight different kinds of pork and beef with rice and vegetables. I ate pigs ear! Cartilage and all! And then bean cake and macaroons and pineapple and port and whiskey and coffee for dessert. Yes, all of them. Food is love in Portugal, and I am most definitely feeling the love.

And I leave a week from tomorrow, which is bittersweet. But as Martha told me today, it's always better to leave a place before you want to go. And Diogo's mom told me today that if I ever want to hop on a plane and come to Paramos for lunch, I'm always welcome.

As far as the piece is concerned, it being Portugal and everything being quite relaxed, we're still not sure whether we're going to be able to have the space for a performance at the end of this week. What we do know, however, is that WE'RE GOING TO BE ON PORTUGUESE NATIONAL TELEVISION ON THURSDAY. What?! How did that happen?! I'll tell you...

Remember how I mentioned that Diogo won a local competition a few weeks back with a clown piece he did? Well, one of Diogo's dad's friends works in television and asked Diogo if he would come on this live morning talk show to perform his piece. Of course he said yes, and gave them his CV, on which he mentioned that he was currently working on a project with a group of international artists (us!). Seeing this, the people from the TV station called him and asked if we could all come along so they could talk to us. On TV. Broadcast nationally. Live.

So yeah. On Thursday morning we're getting all prettied up and going to Porto to be on TV.

Life is frickin insane. And totally totally great.

And of course, mixed in with all things Portuguese is the great excitement and anticipation inherent in election week. People here are really excited about it. Needless to say, I am too. I don't anticipate getting any sleep at all on Tuesday night - the results will start coming in at 11pm GMT, and by 6am Wednesday the verdict should be in. What an exciting time to be alive. How full of potential, these days. How joyful and hopeful my heart.