Global Reflections

But bring your own chairs … and steak knives … and look out for the birds. Really. I’m not kidding.

On Memorial Day, Jeff and I hosted guests in our home for the first time since we’ve been here. We had not received our HHE yet, so we had only basic home items, but Jeff has a new grill, he wanted to try it out, we wanted to have our sponsors over, it was Memorial Day, and we knew that after that weekend, we wouldn’t be hosting anyone else until August. (Our HHE was delivered later in the week, and we are busy unpacking it, trying to get it done before we take our home leave in the United States this summer.) We figured that we have the necessities: a grill, grill utensils, a few Pyrex dishes, and some beer; we’d buy the rest of what we need—plastic plates, utensils, and cups. It shouldn’t be a problem, right?

Yeah …

It started out easily enough. Jeff put the frozen ribs down to thaw and found a recipe online for grilling them. I made a list of the ingredients I needed for the macaroni and cheese and the brownie pudding cake I was making for dessert.

Then I realized that we have seating for four on our patio, and we were inviting four people over, in addition to the three who live here. No problem. Jeff sent a text message notifying our guests that our outdoor seating options are limited, and it would be appreciated if they could be lawn chairs.

Then I got overconfident. I didn’t want to go to the supermarket on Sunday afternoon, when it was sure to be crowded. I wanted to wait until Monday morning. I’d have plenty of time if I got up at a reasonable hour and got moving instead of being lazy.

Then we had a later night than expected on Sunday. And then Jeff got a phone call around midnight and had to go in to the office for a couple of hours to fix some problem with the computers. So it really would have been unreasonable of me to expect him to get up early enough for me to make an early run to the supermarket—instead, I watched Alexa while he slept late, and then he woke himself up early enough for me to get a shower and still make it to the supermarket shortly after 10.

Then, while caring for Alexa and waiting for Jeff to wake up the morning of Memorial Day, I realized that we should have appetizers, too. It’s not really kosher to invite people over and then say that they can’t eat anything until the ribs are done, especially when you’re grilling for the first time and therefore can’t say with certainty whenthe ribs will be done. So I added chips to the shopping list.

Then I got ambitious. I looked through my recipe books and found one—and only one—recipe for an appetizer for which I thought I probably could get all the required ingredients: backyard bruschetta with feta and tomato toppings. I added the necessary ingredients to the list.

Then I realized that the only kitchen knives currently on the premises were two steak knives, a santoku, and a paring knife—we found out on the first day of our packout that Cambodia has a strange restriction on the transport of knives, so we couldn’t put any in our UAB; those few came with us in our suitcases. This shouldn’t be a problem; it’s a strange request, but our sponsors will understand and probably think it’s funny, so … send another text message notifying our guests that it would be helpful if they brought some steak knives, too.

Then, after I had pre-prepared the macaroni and cheese (I had cooked and assembled it, but was waiting for the appropriate time to put it in the oven) and the bruschetta (I had made the two topping layers but had not sliced or toasted the bread) and as I was getting ready to pre-prepare the dessert, I realized that Jeff’s grilling activities also required preparatory work … and dishes … in the kitchen … in the galley-style, sized-for-one-person kitchen where I needed to be. And he needed my two-cup measuring cup … which I also needed. So we bumped shoulders while he used the measuring cup to make the rib sauce and I did Step 1 of my 4-step dessert. Then he finished with the measuring cup and cleaned it out. We bumped shoulders some more while I did Step 2 (the step requiring the measuring cup) and he prepped the meat for the application of the sauce. We danced around each other collecting ingredients, used whatever work space we could find that wasn’t full of person, dishes, or supplies, and generally made a big mess.

Then, while we were still in the process of making the mess (in our wide-open-to-and-clearly-visible-from-the-dining-room/playroom/pathway-to-the-patio kitchen), it was time for our guests to arrive. Oops.

Luckily, they were a little late. I had time to add the dessert to my growing pile of ready-for-the-next-step food, do a quick clean up of the worst of the mess in the kitchen (it was still embarrassingly dirty), slice the bread, and put the bread in the oven to toast—there was no room for it on our small grill with the big rack of ribs that Jeff had on there.

Then the doorbell rang. I rushed downstairs to welcome our guests and ushered them upstairs into the play/dining room … and the open kitchen (where the bread had started burning in the two minutes I was downstairs). The kids and men went outside to play and grill, and we women went into the kitchen, where my guest took it all in stride and jumped in with the food preparation.

Finally the appetizers were ready and the macaroni was in the oven. I stepped outside—and realized that although our guests had been there for about half an hour at that point, we had neglected to offer them anything to drink (an unpardonable sin to this Southern girl), because I was caught up in kitchen work and Jeff was caught up in grill work. Oops. That situation rectified, I settled in to relax for a few minutes until it was time to pull the macaroni out of the oven, boil some water to pour over the dessert (Step 3), and then put the dessert in the oven (Step 4).

Finally, dessert in the oven, I could really settle in to relax with our guests.

Then the meat was ready, so we set up a buffet inside on the dining room table—there wasn’t nearly enough room on our small patio table. We all relaxed during the meal … although Jeff did have to get up every once in a while to baste the second rack of ribs (which turned out to be unneeded) and check the chicken (also unneeded).

After dinner, we relaxed on the patio for a while longer. Then I reminded everyone that we had dessert too. We ate all of one brownie pudding cake … a surprisingly easy, surprisingly good fudgy brownie on top of a layer of pudding, plus ice cream. Alexa had three servings (small ones). One of our adult guests had two—a welcome surprise, as I’d pegged her for a healthy eater (if a healthy eater eats two helpings of dessert, it must have been good!).

Later, when it got late enough that we were concerned about children undergoing the “it’s past my bedtime” transformation from sweet little people into little monsters, we were moving things back inside the house when Jeff came in carrying a plate of leftover bruschetta.

“I’m not sure, but … I think a bird just stole a piece of bruschetta.”

The perfect wacky ending to a not-so-perfect wacky, but highly enjoyable, time with friends.

Every time we move, we become part of a different culture.

No, we don’t become a part of our host culture; that’s not what I’m talking about. We adapt to some degree; that’s just a part of showing respect, and it is necessary. But the host culture isn’t the only new culture to which we are exposed.

Each embassy also has a different culture. Sure, they all fit under the umbrella of “American,” but there are nuances.

The U. S. Mission to Egypt was so large—it was the largest permanently staffed embassy in the world during our time there—that much of it felt impersonal. There were people there who cared, but overall it felt institutional. Although most employees who worked within the embassy compound at least recognized each other, it was not expected that everyone would know everyone else, especially with mission personnel divided among at least three large compounds. Subgroups and cliques formed; my primary social group became non-mission expats, though it included a few embassy wives whom I met through non-embassy activities such as Maadi Community Church or the Maadi Women’s Guild. Overall, my impression of the embassy was that it was a large, professional institution, with a professional culture that encouraged individuals to be friendly.

The U. S. Mission to Cambodia was much smaller and more personal. The employees, for the most part, worked on one mid-sized compound; most of them knew each other, or at least could provide a name and section (office) to go with each face. From what I recall, the Community Liaison Office was more active, and there were more “everyone’s invited” parties and gatherings hosted by individual mission members than there were in Cairo. Again, however, my primary social group became non-mission expats, once I was able to find them. My impression of the embassy was that it was a professional, but friendly, institution.

The U. S. Mission to Kosovo, from what I can tell, is even smaller and more personal than the Mission to Cambodia. Currently there are two compounds, but they’re within walking distance of each other, and most mission personnel live near each other, though there’s beginning to be more of a separation into two distinct residential areas. Everyone knows everyone else—they can tell you name, section, spouse, kids, pets, home state if not hometown, often previous posts, of just about everyone else. Everyone knows who’s departing—and who’s arriving—this summer. I lost count of how many people, upon being told that we were new to post, said, “Oh, you must be the Smiths*! Good to meet you!” I haven’t had the opportunity yet to meet any non-embassy people, but I have attended six social events (only two of them semi-official) organized by embassy personnel in the four weeks that we’ve been here, and we’re going to another one tomorrow. From what I’ve seen so far, the CLO is trying to be active and provide social events and outings, though I’m not sure how many people participate in those activities (we haven’t been able to participate in any of those yet, though I’m hoping to in future). Overall, my impression of the embassy is that it is a very friendly, yet still professional when it needs to be, community.

Part of any culture is the prevailing attitude toward children, and this aspect of culture also differs among embassies.

I didn’t really notice Embassy Cairo’s professional attitude toward children, as Alexa was born after I’d already begun spending most of my time with people unaffiliated with the embassy. I have no idea what, if any, official events occurred for children. Many embassy families hired nannies for the kids, but other families included a stay-at-home parent. Those stay-at-home moms were the mission members whom I tended to meet and socialize with, and most of them had school-age children, so they were free and clear during the school day. I can’t really characterize the embassy culture’s attitude toward children one way or the other.

Embassy Phnom Penh seemed a bit conflicted about embassy kids. On the one hand, there was a playground right there on the compound, and when I arrived there were kids’ story hours every month—or maybe every week?—in one of the conference rooms, and there were children’s Christmas and Easter parties at the ambassador’s residence, and the CLO occasionally organized weekend playgroups at Monkey Business. On the other hand, I never saw any children using the playground except when the embassy hosted a local orphanage, and the story hours were discontinued soon after our arrival—I think the person who organized them rotated out and no one else volunteered to organize them—and the weekend playgroups were rare and always on Sunday mornings, so we never went to them because we went to church. I think most embassy spouses worked, so most hired nannies for the kids. I went to a few of the monthly social gatherings for spouses who didn’t work, but I left Alexa with our housekeeper during those events, as that seemed to be the norm. So there was an official effort to be a child-friendly embassy, which I appreciated, though it seemed to me that children were an afterthought rather than a feature of embassy social life.

Then we arrived here.

If Embassy Phnom Penh was conflicted about embassy kids, Embassy Pristina is determined not to be.

This embassy is in transition. Children were not allowed to accompany their parents to post for a long time—I’m not sure how long—because of the potential for violence here. Not too long ago, it was deemed safe enough for children, and two years ago, the first children arrived at post. The first school-age children are scheduled to arrive this summer; apparently educational options had to be evaluated before the post could be opened completely.

As with any transition, opportunities co-exist with problems. Most parents here tell us that things are improving. Only one has made clear just how bad it was for children at post when he brought his family here two years ago. His words, as near as I can recall, were, “They cared more about pets than they did about kids.” I had assumed that a post where adult dependents were allowed but child dependents were not would consist of two types of families: those who were young and either single or married but childless for now, and those who were older and whose children were grown and gone. Apparently I was wrong; most families consisted of married couples who had chosen not to have children in favor of making it easier for both spouses to pursue their careers. Understandably, given the circumstances, the embassy culture was unsympathetic to children and their parents; I don’t know that it was hostile, though at least the one father thinks so, but children just didn’t enter into the thinking of most mission members.

That child-free culture has changed. Those who have been here for a year or more—we’re the first arrivals of the summer, so everyone else has been here significantly longer than we have—may not recognize how child-friendly this embassy is now, as they remember growing pains to which we were not exposed. My experience, however, as a recently-arrived mom, is that this embassy is incredibly focused on children, and this focus is a direct result of the problems experienced by the first wave of parents and their children. Not only does this embassy have a playground—and an indoor playroom as well—but it hosts weekly playgroups there. When the CLO sends emails about the events and outings they sponsor, they almost invariably specify that “Children are welcome!” When I declined an invitation to a social event hosted by the Deputy Chief of Mission because I didn’t have anyone to care for Alexa, I received a reply to bring her; childcare would be provided—and when Alexa refused to stay with the other children and the caregiver, she was welcomed to the adult gathering. Children have been present at almost every social event I’ve attended (one was a ladies’ night out; most attendees were moms, but the kids stayed home with Dad), and one was planned specifically to introduce us to the other parents and children at post. Alexa even was welcomed into all the offices we visited during our newcomers’ orientation briefing.

I’m certain the growing pains are not over. With older children arriving for the first time this summer, education will be a concern, and the activities that welcome new preschoolers won’t be appropriate for teens, tweens, or grade-schoolers. And stay-at-home mothers aren’t particularly common here yet—the response when it was discovered that I don’t have a paying job was “Oh, we can fix that!”—but there are a few of us, and maybe there will be a few more after this summer. The culture is still changing and probably will continue to change throughout our stay here. It will be a fascinating experience to watch and participate in this shaping of a culture that will impact families for years to come.

In the meantime, I’m enjoying an embassy culture that truly welcomes our entire family.

*Our last name isn’t really Smith, but we’d rather not put the real one on here.

Previously: Leaving Post, Pets, and Home Leave

When we arrive at post, we will be met at the airport by up to three people: an embassy driver, an expediter (if useful at that particular post), and our sponsor. The purpose of the driver is pretty obvious—he’s the man who drives the embassy van or SUV to get us from the airport to our new home. Occasionally, a private driver will be hired or the sponsor will drive his or her personal vehicle, but most personal vehicles aren’t large enough for an incoming family and their luggage.  The expediter is a local whose job is to ease the process of newly arrived (and departing) individuals through customs, immigration, and baggage claim (or through check-in). The expediter usually collects his clients’ passports, hustles his clients to the front of the line, speaks rapidly in the local language, waves the newcomers’ passports around, collects the baggage, and then ushers the newcomers into the presence of their sponsor before handing back all the necessary stamped paperwork and disappearing back into the airport to meet his next client.

The sponsor’s role is a bit more nebulous, but ultimately more important for helping newcomers adjust to post. In most offices at most posts, newcomers end up with two sponsors: an office sponsor and a social/official/CLO-assigned sponsor (CLO being the Community Liaison Office, which generally makes life easier for diplomats and their families at post). The office sponsor helps the incoming employee figure out how things work in the office. The social sponsor helps the incoming employee and family figure out how things work at post in general. One duty of the social sponsor is to meet the newcomers at the airport, take them to their new home, and make sure that everything’s okay there, at least initially. The social sponsor also contacts the newcomers before their arrival to offer any assistance possible—from answering questions to collecting packages that arrive before the newcomer does to soliciting a grocery list and providing the requested supplies so that the newcomer doesn’t have to go to the supermarket immediately upon arrival (of course the newcomer reimburses the sponsor for the groceries). The sponsor also is responsible for getting the newcomer to the supermarket within the first couple of days and usually provides dinner for the new family on the day of arrival. It is expected that the sponsor will make an effort to introduce the newcomers to some people socially and in general be available for the next several weeks to answer questions as they arise.

A good sponsor is vital in helping newcomers adjust to post, and we've had the whole range. Our sponsor here in Cambodia was a great asset to us; she answered questions, picked us up from the airport, bought our starter groceries, left lasagna in our fridge for dinner that first night, took us to the supermarket, and introduced us around. We're still friendly with her, and we're thankful for her assistance. In Egypt, we were both cursed and blessed—our social sponsor was MIA from the start. I think we exchanged a couple of emails before our arrival, but she never solicited a shopping list, and she was out of town on our arrival day. Her supervisor picked us up at the airport, and when we arrived in our apartment, we found her idea of our necessary supplies: sardines, Jewish rye bread, bell peppers, a frozen Cornish game hen, seltzer water … I forget what else. But after the explanation from her supervisor that she was away from the city that day, we never heard another word from her. That was the curse. The blessing was our office sponsor—sponsors, actually, a married couple who both worked in Jeff’s office and who lived across the hall from us. They took us out for dinner the night of our arrival, they had solicited and fulfilled our shopping requests, they took us to the commissary once a week until our car arrived, they answered every question we asked and volunteered useful information about which we didn’t even know to ask … they, and the rest of Jeff’s office, stepped in and fulfilled the social sponsor’s role in a way that I don’t think any single sponsor ever could.

But back to arrival day—newcomers are met by the driver, expediter, and sponsor, and they are taken immediately to their new home. Depending on the time of day and the sponsor’s choices, they may be left there for the day, possibly with dinner in the fridge ready to be reheated, or they may be left for a while to freshen up and rest before going to the sponsor’s home or to a restaurant for dinner. The first order of business, of course, at least for me, is to explore the house. Next comes unpacking suitcases and making beds—I have no hope of feeling at home until the bed is made and ready for sleeping, preferably with my own sheets. Either the embassy General Services (GSO) employees or the sponsor will have unpacked the welcome kit and made the bed, but I typically unmake the bed and replace the sheets with my own, which go with us in the suitcase. Nice sheets are one of the things that make a place feel like home to me. Jeff has his own priorities—he unpacks and sets up any electronics that we brought with us or sent ahead. This will be our first move with Alexa old enough to feel either lost or at home, so it remains to be seen what we’ll need to do straight off to help her feel comfortable. I suspect we’ll make her bed and pull her “babies” out of the suitcases, possibly set up the welcome kit TV or a laptop so she can see that “Uh Oh” (Curious George) is still available to her.

In addition to going to the supermarket within the first few days, Jeff will report to work immediately. For this move, we’re arriving early afternoon on a Friday, and he’s indicated plans to go in that afternoon if at all possible—we don’t want to wait until Monday to obtain his government-provided mobile phone. Sometime the next week, Alexa and I will go in with him and attend a newcomers’ briefing. In this briefing, we’ll hear presentations from the CLO, the health unit, and the RSO (Regional Security Office), as well as from anyone else who has something of relevance to say to newcomers. Afterward, I’ll have my photo taken and my badge made, so that I’ll have unescorted access to the embassy compounds.

While Jeff settles in to his new office, I will be figuring out how to run a household at the new post. This process will be complicated in Kosovo by the fact that we most likely won’t be able to move straight into our permanent housing. [Update: After writing but before publishing this post, we discovered that the situation has changed--we probably will be able to move straight in to our permanent housing. I left this paragraph in for informational purposes, though, as the scenario described here isn't that uncommon.] The embassy maintains a pool of housing that is assigned to employees based on position and family size—position being of importance primarily for those diplomats with representational duties (those who are required to throw parties for local officials must have homes that are suitable for entertaining). Each time a family departs post, their housing undergoes a process known as the “make-ready” in order to prepare it for a newly arriving family: necessary repairs are made, walls are painted, and occasionally furniture or fixtures are upgraded. It happens fairly often that the departure-arrival schedule doesn’t quite leave enough time for the make-ready. When that happens, newcomers are assigned temporary (“temp”) housing. In our case, it isn’t that there wasn’t enough time between someone else’s departure and our arrival; it’s that the Department didn’t allow child dependents into Kosovo for many years because of the violence in Kosovo’s relatively recent history, and now that families with children are being assigned there again, they have to expand their housing pool with residences large enough for larger families. They are entering long-term leases to acquire the necessary residences, but new residences require work before embassy personnel can move in; electrical wiring has to be inspected and often redone to something approximating U. S. code, for example. Our assigned housing is new to the housing pool, and we’ve been told it will be ready “sometime in the April/May time frame.” So we’ll probably be in temp housing for a while. Our temp housing is much closer to the embassy than our permanent housing, which will help with those first couple of weeks, but it will prolong the instability in our lives.

Eventually we will move into our permanent housing. At some point, our UAB will arrive and be delivered to us. If it arrives before we move into our permanent housing, we’ll probably accept it gratefully. After we receive our UAB, we will return the welcome kit to GSO. At some later point, our HHE will arrive. If it arrives before we move into our permanent housing, which is unlikely, it will be held at a warehouse until we’re in a position to accept delivery.

Other than waiting for our things to arrive, it’s a lot like settling into any new home … with the addition of learning a bit of a new language, enough of a new culture to avoid offending people, and usually learning how to drive and cross streets in accordance with new rules.  We try to make friends, both within the embassy community and outside it. We search out a church. We explore the local shops, sights, and foods. We settle in, and it becomes our normal life.

Once we’ve been at a typical two-year post for a year or so, often less, the Department publishes an internal document called the bid list … and the process starts all over. The only difference is that once we’re at a post, we often (but not always) have the option to extend for a year rather than bid on a new post. The decision to extend has to be made before the bid list comes out, so that Jeff’s position isn’t listed as available if it isn’t—we have to decide whether we want to stay where we are for a third year when we still haven’t come close to settling in there, and we don’t even know what the other options will be. In Egypt, we extended and were happy with that decision—at least I was, despite the Revolution and evacuation; Jeff was pretty well ready to leave, I think, even before the Revolution. In Cambodia, extending wasn’t an option. It should be an option in Kosovo, so we’ll be making a decision mere months after our arrival. Whether we extend or not, however, the whole process will begin again less than two years after our arrival.

Foreign service families live in a constant state of change. We always are planning a move, moving, or adjusting to a move; sometimes we’re planning the next move while still trying to adjust to the last one. This is the life we signed up for. It’s stressful. It’s exhausting. It taxes our psychological and social—and sometimes financial—resources. But it’s also exhilarating. It’s eye-opening. It stretches us and grows us and gives us a perspective on the world that I never imagined. So whenever I complain about our lifestyle, about the stresses and changes and difficulties involved, bear with me, because they are real, and they are significant. But also remind me: This is the life we signed up for, and it’s worth it.

It’s worth it because we have the opportunity to experience new cultures at a level deeper than what the average tourist experiences (though not as deep as what the long-term resident experiences). We see sights that most Americans only see on television, in magazines, or on the internet. We get to make friends, not only from the host country, but from so many other countries, as we befriend missionaries, teachers, aid workers, and businessmen. These opportunities and more combine to make this serial expat life an unbelievable, unforgettable experience. Yes, there is stress, and there is change, and there is difficulty—but the benefits far outweigh the drawbacks, at least to us.

If you’re a friend or family member wanting to know more about our lives and to understand the terminology we toss around, I hope this series has helped you with that. If you’re considering a foreign service career, or if you’re a new foreign service officer preparing for your first post, I hope this series has helped you gain an idea of what to expect—and I hope that as you go through the process for the first time, that you realize that you’re not crazy; it really is stressful and exhausting, and it’s completely normal for you to wonder at times whether this lifestyle is worth all the hassle. For some people, it isn’t. For me, it is. For you? That’s a decision you’ll have to make.

~~~~~~~~~

Anatomy of a Foreign Service Move, Part:

1: Introduction and Post Assignment

2: Pre-Packout Preparation

3: Packout

4: Leaving Post, Pets, and Home Leave

5: New Beginnings

On the last day of the packout (or the first day, or before it begins, or after it ends, depending on the post and your requested time), the embassy delivers a welcome kit. The welcome kit (so named because it’s waiting at your new home to “welcome” you when you first arrive at post) is a collection of basic household necessities: sheets, towels, dishes, pots and pans, silverware, shower curtains, iron and ironing board, broom and dustpan, mop and bucket … the things that you need in order to set up a functional household. There are regional differences in what is provided—in Cambodia, the welcome kit includes a rice cooker and a drying rack, neither of which was provided in Egypt; in Egypt, coasters were provided, as were basic consumables like toilet paper, a roll of paper towels, and a small bottle of dish soap. These items are owned by the embassy and are maintained as loaners (other than the consumables; we don’t have to give those back!) for foreign service families to use before their things arrive and after their things depart.

I usually unpack the welcome kit. There’s an inventory list that I go through to make sure everything’s there—if anything’s missing after we leave, we get charged for it, so it’s in our interest to make sure the list is accurate. I spend a day doing laundry, washing dishes, making beds, and finding a home for all the little things that are included. (The welcome kit is delivered clean and ready to use, but I wash everything anyway … I think I got that from my father.) It’s important to me to get the house feeling as much like home as possible before Alexa returns from the hotel … oh, who am I kidding? It’s important to me to make the house feel as homey as possible for my own sake.

After the return from the hotel, a new adjustment period begins. Jeff and I do fairly well; we’re adults, we know what’s going on, and this is just part of the life we’ve chosen. It’s harder for Alexa. Last time, she was young enough not to notice and not to care that things had disappeared. This time, she notices that things look very, very different around here. Her first priority on entering the house was to find the cats; she hadn’t seen them in almost a week, and she wanted to pet them. Immediately upon seeing them, she turned to me and said “Uh oh! We need to put the green carpet back!” The green carpet is a wonderfully soft and beautiful rug that we had made here by Carpets for Communitiesto put in the playroom. After we explained to Alexa that the carpet—just like the toys we’d discussed all week at the hotel—had left already for our new house, and we would get it back after it got to our new house, she looked around some more and said “Uh oh! The TV is gone!” And so it went. “The books are gone!” “The Daddy Giraffe is gone!” “The cushions are gone!” By the end of the night, she pointed at the white bath mat and said “Uh oh!” I said “What’s wrong, Sweet Pea? Is it that the bath mat is white instead of brown?”  Her response was heartbreaking—while sniffling and speaking bravely as if she was trying to convince herself, she said “The brown one is gone. It is going to the new house. We will get it back at the new house.” This type of statement has been made over and over in the week since the packout.

In addition to things being different at home, it is during this time that it becomes real that we’re leaving. We make our rounds saying good-bye to favorite places and people. We aren’t as attached to the places here as we were to the places in Egypt, but we do have good friends who will be remaining here. Our playgroup had a Kosovo-themed party on Friday to honor Alexa and me. Jeff made his farewell speech at the embassy’s all-hands meeting on the same day. I have a feeling our weekly Bible study meetings will take on a nostalgic air for us in our two remaining meetings. (The day after I typed this paragraph, I was surprised by a very sweet and nostalgic time of sharing and prayer at our next meeting—all focused on our family, what we mean to the group, and prayers for our transition to Kosovo.) And of course, the hardest will be watching our housekeeper and her son say good-bye to Alexa … although Alexa does not yet understand the separation that’s coming, they do understand what our departure means for their relationship with her, and I occasionally see my housekeeper swallow hard, blink back tears, and give Alexa an extra long hug.

It’s a bittersweet time for us: we’re excited about the possibilities and new adventures awaiting us at our new post, but we’re sad to be leaving good friends here. It was this way before we left the States for Egypt; it was this way before we left Egypt for Cambodia; and I’m certain that it will be this way again when we leave Kosovo for … wherever we go next.

At some point during this time, the car is picked up and shipped to our new post. We use or give away the last of our consumables. We dispose of those remaining items that we aren’t taking with us but were not able to get rid of before the packout. Embassy employees come in to inventory the furniture and make certain that no embassy possessions were packed out with our things—if they were, we have to pay for them. They check for damage “more than normal wear and tear” and bill us for the cost of reupholstering cat-scratched furniture or fixing other damage.

Then, of course, comes departure day. We experience all the things that everyone else experiences before a big trip: the planning, the packing, the weighing of the suitcases. We also have to corral the cats into their crates and attach the food and water dispensers to them. We have an embassy driver, not a taxi, take us to the airport, and sometimes an expediter meets us there. (An expediter outbound really isn’t necessary, though in Egypt we hired—at our own expense—one that specializes in pet export to help us get the cats onto the plane with minimal bureaucratic hassle, as we’d heard horror stories about “changing regulations”—often code for “give me baksheesh.”) Then comes the flight … or flights, I should say. And then we land—usually in the United States.

Many foreign service families have pets. However, they are not official dependents on official travel orders, so the Department does absolutely nothing to assist in their transportation arrangements. We pay all the extra costs associated with their move. The airlines increasingly seem to want to make it as difficult as possible to move pets—my Facebook status when we finally had booked an itinerary and confirmed the cats in the cargo hold was: “We have flights--and so do the cats! We had to switch not only days, but flights ... and layover cities ... and airlines ... but we have flights! Big thanks to my ‘patience of a saint’ husband for dealing with the headaches, the stupid people, and the nonsensical rules.” It took three booked itineraries before we finally found one where the cats could come with us. Of course we could have hired a pet relocation company to handle all the hassle for us, but that would have cost thousands of dollars. Although we never would "re-home"--or worse, outright abandon--Cleo and Isis because we were moving to a new country, I no longer wonder why others often make that choice.

Usually, we go to the United Statesbetween posts. The most common pattern is to leave post in the spring or early summer, go to the U. S. for processing and several weeks of home leave, then report to the next post in the fall. That’s the schedule we were on between Egypt and Cambodia, and the schedule we’ll be on when we leave Kosovo.

It’s not the schedule we’re on this time, though, because this move is a bit unusual. We arrived here in October 2011, so we should be leaving here in October 2013, spending some time in the States, and then reporting to Kosovo in November or December 2013. However, we were asked to report to Kosovo early. That puts us leaving here in April—this month—and puts us closer to the typical spring-departure, fall-arrival schedule. However, we just went on R&R in December, and we wanted to spread out our trips to America a bit more than that, and we wanted to be in the States over the summer, if possible, when our niece and nephews are out of school. Plus, we knew that the Department wanted Jeff in Kosovo as soon as possible, not spending several weeks in the U. S. while his office in Kosovo remains short-staffed.

So we made the special request to defer home leave until the summer, and it was granted. Instead of spending a month or more in the U. S. for processing and home leave now, we spent an extra week there in December for processing, and we’ll go back over the summer for home leave. This schedule works out very well for us, because in addition to having more time with the children in our extended family, we also will have a couple of months in Kosovo before we go back. That time in Kosovo will help us make more informed choices about the purchases that we’ll inevitably make—new clothing, shoes, items that haven’t even occurred to us yet that we’ll want there that we don’t want here.

And it will help in organizing the Consumables shipment. Kosovo is one of the places—as is Cambodia—where the decision has been made that many consumable items that Americans consider basics just aren’t available. I’m not sure that assessment remains correct for Cambodia; things are available, just not consistently, and at very high prices. But we received an email from the Community Liaison Office in Kosovo listing some things that are not available there at all: peanut butter, canned tuna fish, baking soda, baking powder, coffee creamer, all but a few local spices, as well as many other items that we consider fairly basic … some of those things we can get through the APO/DPO mail system, but not all of them. So we’re authorized a special shipment (of limited weight; I forget the limit) to consist only of consumable items. When we came to Cambodia, we guessed what to put in our Consumables shipment, and in many cases, we guessed wrong: we included things that were available with reasonable consistency and for reasonable prices, and we left out things that aren’t often available or that are available only at exorbitant prices. (Don’t ask me how much deodorant costs here. Seriously—don’t ask, especially if you’re eating or drinking something on which you could choke.) In this case, since we’ll be in Kosovo for a while before going to the States, it should be much easier to fill our Consumables shipment with items that really aren’t available at all or for reasonable prices in Kosovo, items that we really do want or need there, and items that we can’t get from online vendors through the mail.

Next Up: New Beginnings

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Anatomy of a Foreign Service Move, Part:

1: Introduction and Post Assignment

2: Pre-Packout Preparation

3: Packout

4: Leaving Post, Pets, and Home Leave

5: New Beginnings