finding home abroad
Every time Katelyn, my co-writer, and I visit a new place, we talk about the idea of having a 'moment.' You know, the kind of moment that makes you stop in your tracks and say, 'Wow, I’m really here.' A 'London moment.' A 'Paris moment.' You might think of it as standing in front of the Eiffel Tower or Big Ben, realizing you're somewhere other than home. Truthfully, I expected this to happen in every location that I would travel to, especially the places that I never anticipated traveling to.
Before my job brought me here, Cyprus was a country that barely registered on my radar. Mediterranean islands were generally associated with the usual blue waters, unique cliffs you can jump off, and streets of white stone buildings. Knowing Cyprus was close to Egypt, that was my closest frame of reference. This Mediterranean island was a box of surprises to me.
Believe it or not, I had never seen the Mediterranean before arriving in Cyprus. In all my travels, I had always missed it. I’d traveled through northern Italy, from Milan to Venice in the Dolomites, but never far enough south to touch the sea. I’d explored the Atlantic coast of Portugal, but never witnessed even its entry into the Mediterranean. I’d sailed on the Nile in Cairo, witnessing its currents flowing toward the sea, yet never made it to Alexandria’s coastline. All this to say, I had no clue what it held in store.
Flying into Cyprus, I couldn’t help but hold my expectations loosely. I wasn’t sure if this island would capture my heart or if I would leave after two months disappointed. Seeing the island from the window on the plane, I braced myself for a barren, brown, flat, depressing landscape upon arrival. After landing, however, I quickly realized how the flight’s aerial view had "catfished" me.
We grabbed our car from the rental company, loading it with our giant suitcases that just barely fit, and dove into the deep end of driving on the left side of the road. Once again, the closest experience that I had to Cypriot driving was Egyptian driving, so I was naturally terrified (if you know Cairo driving, you know what I mean). As we took off, I hid this fear of the unknown the best I could as we began to make the hour long drive to our city. On this drive, my expectations of a brown, depressing desert quickly faded away. Turning my head to the right, I saw the most dramatic view of the Troodos Mountains towering over us. To the left, the blue Mediterranean Sea.
On one side, looking out at the mountains with flowers blooming in vibrant colors against the desert-like landscape, I felt a sense of familiarity. This closely resembled my home in the Texas Hill Country. The trees were olive-colored and lush, but not England lush. The landscape wasn’t vibrant green or filled with tall trees; instead, it was dramatic, rugged, and warm against a cool-toned, blue backdrop. Just like home.
On the other side, there was a highly saturated blue sea. I remember growing up in Northern California along the coast; I used to love seeing the water. There was something about living next to a body of water that allowed you to breathe, to have perspective past your city and the land. The water served as a constant reminder that there was a whole world out there, you are only a small piece. It has a way of beckoning and calling a person out of their comfort zone, to go elsewhere.
The combination can make a California-Texan like myself feel right at home.
Shortly after arriving on the island, the typical topic of a ‘moment,’ came up again. We wondered when we would experience that feeling of awe and unfamiliarity. To my surprise, however, despite seeing all the big-ticket attractions—Aphrodite’s Rock, White Rocks, Paphos Old Town, Limassol Harbour, Omodos Village, Avakas Gorge, etc.—I never experienced this moment in Cyprus. A week passed, no moment. Two weeks passed, no moment. Three weeks passed, and I began to wonder if I would ever have my Cyprus moment. It bothered me that I never felt this moment. I started to wonder if I was missing something—if I was incapable of feeling that moment here, or if it was just a sign that something in me wasn’t connecting to the country.
This isn’t to say that I wasn’t in awe of these places or that I was indifferent, but there was a sense of familiarity, comfort everywhere I went. Every natural or ancient wonder we witnessed felt real, unspectacular, and yet altogether beautiful.
Still, there was no sensation of surrealism. There was no moment of feeling separate or foreign to the city. There was no striking location that made me feel like I was on another planet. There were plenty of moments that made me adore the island and fall in love with its culture, but no moments that made me feel like a stranger.
Cyprus was an island I had never anticipated feeling so welcomed and at home in. Its Mediterranean culture, on paper, seemed so far removed from my own American-Mexican background. Yet, something about the mix of life put me at ease. The island seemed to open its arms to my background. It offered itself as a temporary safe-haven for a traveler estranged from home.
I started to see how beautiful it is that, despite our differences, the world offers so many shared experiences. It’s humbling to realize that, no matter where we are, we’re all connected in unexpected ways. This connection can transcend presuppositions, languages, and borders. Living abroad can be full of amazing "______ moments." But after some time, those moments can begin to feel exhausting and alienating. The feeling that you’re somewhere completely different from your own is romantic at first, but with time, it begins to take a toll on your adaptation process.
This all got me thinking. Maybe the sign of a seasoned, successful expat isn’t an ability to morph oneself into another’s culture, but the ability to recognize the similarities across borders and allow the differences to become nuances to appreciate, not to divide over.
It’s funny how these realizations sneak up on you, isn’t it?
This does not mean Cyprus was the same as home for me. We do not have stores called Alphamega. We do not have road signs in Greek, nor drive on the left side. We do not eat halloumi by the pound. We do not take mid-afternoon breaks, although it does get hot enough for one.
I suppose this trip taught me how to see the similarities wherever I am. It made me think—Earth is a lot closer than we realize at times. Living abroad expands your perspective on culture and the world, but maybe I had taken for granted the idea that Earth is small in the grand scheme of things. We are all on the same planet, experiencing variations of the same things. We are really not *that* different at the end of the day. A hot temperature is still hot on the other side of the world. The salt water still carries its breeze when you stay right next to it, whether you’re in California or in Cyprus. A warm hug from an endearing woman called “yaya,” is not that far off from one called “abuela.”
And so, I realize now that no matter where I am in the world—whether it’s Cyprus, California, Texas, or anywhere else—I can always find pieces of home.
Images of Texas as taken by the author
Images of California by the author
Above is an image from Cyprus, with a contrasting image below from Texas
A painting by a local artist in Texas famous for capturing the spirit of the Hill Country
