La Poulette

Tastes like chicken.

Monday, July 18, 2005

Slovenia dreamin'.

The Slovenian ex-pat, he is not happy. He has found himself in this expatriate predicament inadvertently, you see, and lovin' it he sure ain't. It's not that he would give it up, god forbid no, he exclaims - living in Brussels has given him the little financial boost he needed, just the ticket what with ownership of that covted two-bedroom flat in Domžale and the Volkswagen Golf being almost within his reach now. It's just that living in Belgium - he purses his lips thoughtfully and shakes his head in slow dissaproval at this point - well, it's just not Slovenia, is it? There's the weather, all rain, rain, rain and not sufficient sun or snow for his liking. Then there's the blacks and the Arabs - it's a good thing he lives in the quiet eurocrat residential area, but just seeing those faces when he ventures elsewhere makes him uncomfortable. You just never know with these people, do you? And the Belgians? He waves his hand in disgust: don't even get him started! They either speak French or Flemish, they don't understand the concept of good service, plus they have all these internal disputes that remind him of former Yugoslavia (here he smiles, wistfully - one can at least identify with something in this god forsaken country!). And the milk, don't let him get started on the MILK! In Slovenia the milk tastes of milk. Here it's....different. Funny. Nothing like back home. As for the coffee - why, it's downright undrinkable. Lucky for him, visiting friends regularly supply him with good old Barcaffe, cause don't nobody know how to do coffee quite like the folks back home. And when it comes to work, he prefers to mingle with his own people. The Eastern Europeans, oh they're downright laughable, all wide-eyed amazement given their opportunity to live in the West and all - it's still an event for them, he confides sotto voce, whereas for him, the world weary Slovenian, it's all just a matter of been there done that. He chuckles benevolently to himself as if to say who can blame them, the poor sods, having never set foot abroad before (he has spent many a week-end shopping in Trieste of course and even ventured on a summer holiday to Greece on one unhappy occassion)! Then there's them Spaniards and Fins and Germans with their strange little habits and ways. He prefers to keep contact to a minimum, although there is that nice Austrian fella in the legal department who speaks Slovene and knows all about local Slovenian politics - he's not too fond of Kučan either, hahahaha. It's a good thing he has made many like-minded friends here, otherwise he would never make it. And the holidays are just around the corner too, he adds cheerfully - off to Croatia it's gonna be, his family has a caravan there and they've been spending delightful summers in the same camp for the past 15 years. Then an agitated look flashes across his face: if only one didn't have to put up with those Croatians, though....


  • At 7/19/2005 12:30:00 AM, Blogger crni said…

    Ha ha ha ha ha. I see many peeps like this. Very nice description.

    Damnit, now I'll start following your blog, too. As if Carniola wasn't enough of a time-waster.

  • At 7/20/2005 09:29:00 PM, Blogger Michael M. said…

    I resent the implication that I'm a time waster. I prefer the term "time re-management facilitator."

    Truly a great description, though. I've met quite a few Anglo-Americans who live here that sound exactly the same. They're the reason I generally avoid big social gatherings of foreigners.


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