The Turndal/Somp family — Annika Turndal, Carl Henrik Somp, and their three children — had been working on their move from Sweden to the US for several years. Carl Henrik’s company was growing, and he was being sent over to assist with the expansion to the US. Securing the right visas had been a long process and the family had had several false starts. But now it was finally going to happen. All the paperwork was in order and the date for the move was set — March 14, 2020. They had rented out their house and pulled their kids out of school, daycare, and various activities. Annika had taken a 2-year leave of absence from her job as a prosecutor. 

On March 12 they got a text message about the borders to the US closing down. Carl Henrik’s company told him they had to leave immediately, or they wouldn’t make it.

That night they stayed up until 2 am to pack the last of their stuff and at 4 am they hopped in a taxi and headed for the airport. The short flight between Stockholm and Copenhagen went as it usually does — quickly. But at Copenhagen airport, it was obvious that things were not as they usually are. Annika went to buy food and the clerk shut the window right in front of her. The airport speakers were announcing coronavirus warnings and not the usual flight-related information. It all felt strange. Once airborne, the captain announced that they had shut down the airport — they were one of the last flights out. 

When I meet Annika at an outdoor cafe at the beginning of June, she has been in the US for almost three months. The family arrived at their rented house in Silicon Valley just as the Bay Area issued lockdown orders. Everything was closing down. Sheltering-in-place meant only leaving home for the most essential of needs for millions of people in the area. For the Turndal/Somp family, it also meant starting life abroad with pretty much everything closed down. It meant trying to get settled without the regular infrastructure of school, daycare, or work, and without access to regular social interactions or activities.

From the get-go, it was a struggle to get even the basics taken care of — from necessary paperwork for school, banking, getting a driver’s license, to securing household goods. Annika tells me nothing has really worked as it should, and whatever notions they had about life abroad have had to be quickly altered to fit the reality on the ground.

One of the big motivating factors for the move was to give their children the experience of living and going to school abroad in a multicultural place, learning English. So far, their American school experience is one of online learning. “Our two oldest kids are in the 1st and 4th grade, respectively, and they have only met their teacher and classmates via Zoom. Amazingly, they haven’t complained or said that they want to go home. Our oldest son has expressly said the opposite.”

But Annika wonders about how the kids will be affected. They haven’t had the opportunity to make friends or start activities. Online learning is less than ideal when you are new to the language and new to the system. Annika says: “I worry about how this will impact the children. Will they feel insecure and isolated? How are they going to learn the language?”

For Annika, this move represented a chance to start something new. She had a demanding career in Sweden and was looking forward to taking this time abroad to reassess what she wants to do. She had been thinking about starting a new career, and in anticipation of having some time to explore, had signed up for several classes online. 

Her day-to-day life since they arrived in California has revolved around helping her kids with schoolwork as best as she can and looking after the little one who is three. Without childcare and with everyone at home all the time, there is no time left for Annika to think about her needs or wants. “I don’t even know what our youngest is doing most of the time, she’s just roaming around the house. She needs to have someone her own age to play with. But with social distancing and many parks being closed, it’s been hard to meet people.” 

We talk a little bit about the difference in how Sweden (which never shut down its elementary schools) has handled the coronavirus outbreak compared to what she is experiencing in California. “At home, our kids could have gone to school, and continued with some activities, I feel their lives would have been less impacted. Maybe it would have been better for them?” she says.

The fact that there has been such a big difference in the response to the pandemic between Sweden and the Bay Area is something that complicates things for Annika who feels a little stuck in the middle. “Family at home has had zero understanding of what it’s been like here and they don’t really want to talk about it. At the same time, if you mention that you are Swedish here, you feel bad because of the way Sweden has responded to the pandemic (Sweden never issued lockdown orders and, as mentioned, kept elementary schools open) — you feel you have to answer for Sweden’s decision to keep the country open.”

And on that theme, Annika shares that a version of this dynamic has played out in her own neighborhood as well. “I feel like we are the black sheep on our street because we let our kids go out and bike around. One of my neighbors told me she hadn’t left the house since the lockdown orders took effect and her kids are not allowed to go outside — that’s the attitude among many here and it’s been really hard to get used to.” 

Carl Henrik works a lot, although he has yet to set foot in his Silicon Valley office. With everything online, the workday can go from early morning to late night as there is always an affiliate office somewhere in the world that has just started their workday. Annika says: “It seems like no one can say no to meetings now that they are all conducted online, and because he works against different time zones, someone is always on. In addition, with the business climate being uncertain, you don’t really feel like you are in a position to say no, or put up boundaries, for how much you should work.” 

Annika finds it frustrating that Carl Henrik’s colleagues expect him to be available all the time. She knows most of them have older kids who are more self-sustaining. Carl Henrik on the other hand sometimes needs to help with homeschooling, for example. Annika muses that there probably is a bit of a culture clash in general surrounding childcare duties, as Carl Henrik and Annika have always shared the work and have both taken time off to care for their children. His male colleagues in the US, it appears, have not.

I ask her about what they are thinking of in terms of the future. Their original plan was to stay two years, possibly longer. But now, she says they are thinking of moving back to Sweden, probably already this fall. “It’s so hard not being able to plan for anything. We don’t know what school here will be like in the fall — but likely it will mostly be online. We don’t know if the kids can join any activities. Maybe it would be better for them if we went back. We know they would be able to be in school, and activities such as soccer are still running.” 

At the same time, she reflects on the huge investment they made in moving here — uprooting the kids, putting her career on hold, renting out their house, not to mention all the paperwork and hoops they had to jump through to get everything in order. Add to that the hopes they had for the move — the kids learning English and experiencing a different kind of society, taking advantage of the climate and the great outdoors in California, and her chance of rethinking her career. Annika is not sure she is ready to give all that up just yet.

Annika tells me that most days she wakes up with a sense of dread and anxiety — worrying about if they made the right call and what the impact on the kids will be. But she says, somehow the trajectory of each day is still towards the positive. “I’ll have my morning coffee on the patio and then help the kids with school. For dinner, we’ll BBQ and around that time, when we’re all gathered and can relax away from school and work for a few minutes, I think, well, maybe this can work out after all.” 

By: Felicia Shermis

Today, I got an email saying my flight for our trip home this summer had been canceled. Considering the state of the world right now, I wasn’t surprised. My youngest daughter was really disappointed — she had been looking forward to seeing her grandparents and cousins, going to her favorite spots, and eating the food she’d been craving since last summer. I have always felt that it’s important that my kids get to spend time in my home country and that they know our family there. But I hadn’t realized quite how important this summer tradition was to them, that our canceled plans would be so acutely felt.

It turns out that the last few months of coronavirus restrictions and sheltering-in-place have meant that my daughter has had to get used to things not working out as planned. And, sadly, I think she is also getting used to not really being able to make plans at all.

The combination of missing out on her high school graduation this spring and the uncertainty of what college will look like in the fall has left a mark on my daughter. Add to that the fact that the normal rhythms of life are totally off-kilter, social interactions altered, and the overarching unease and worry about the coronavirus itself, and it’s not hard to see why she feels a little lost right now.

I know where she’s coming from. In all the years I have lived abroad I have felt a certain sense of security knowing that family is just a plane ride away (albeit a long one) — if I have to go for any reason, I can. I have almost always had the next trip home on the calendar, even if it’s far in the future. It’s been something to look forward to and hold on to. Now that I think about it, it’s clear that to a degree, life abroad has been predicated on the knowledge that I can always go home. None of this is true at the moment and it’s unsettling.

Recently, I have interviewed people who relocated overseas right as countries were starting to shut down because of the coronavirus outbreak. They were fulfilling old dreams of living abroad and their moves were long in the making. In each case, the relocation ended up being extremely difficult — from a practical standpoint as well as emotionally and socially. They told me of troubles with getting even the basics working in their new places, of sleeping on air mattresses because furniture shipments from home were delayed by months, and not being able to take care of paperwork, or get a driver’s license because authorities were not operating as normal.

What they had prepared for was regular “expat experiences” — certainly some bumps in the road, but not being confined to their homes in a foreign country, homeschooling two kids in a language they don’t understand, while also taking care of a toddler, in a house with no furniture and local parks closed — which is exactly the situation one family found themselves in.

But what these people also told me about was a new awareness of their own capabilities and stronger bonds within their families. The time in quarantine in a foreign country has tested them in unexpected ways and three months in, they have found ways to cope. One of them is helping an elderly man in her neighborhood to get food and necessities. As time has gone on, they have built a social relationship and now speak on the phone regularly. The trips she was planning to take across Europe have been replaced with long bike rides exploring London, the city she’s in, in ways she had never imagined. 

Nothing is quite working out as we thought it would right now — whether plans for going to school, living abroad, traveling, or visiting parents, or just about anything else. These new circumstances have forced many of us to look for different ways of doing things. We’ve had to reevaluate what is important in our lives and we’ve had to find alternatives to fulfill our needs. We’ve had to make up new schemes for communicating with our loved ones and to find joy where we didn’t think to even look before.

By: Felicia Shermis

This interview, from Fluency Corp, is part of a series of interviews in which Fluency Corp reaches out to clients, friends or even family, who have relocated to another country for a job, in order to ask about why they moved, how they moved and how they made a new home for themselves in their new country. In these interviews, you will find authenticity, humility, and also tips for how to make international relocation go smoother.

This month, read about France Grenot, Enterprise Architect, Reservations & Funds, at Southwest Airlines. 

Where are you from? Where have you moved to? And how long did you spend in each country?

I’m from France, about 20 kilometers (10 miles) from Switzerland. Now I live in Dallas, Texas. I’ve been in the U.S. for seven years, and I also lived a year in Chicago.

What did you do in your home country? What do you do now?

I had a similar position when I was in France. I moved to Dallas with my company, Amadeus, which is actually from Spain. They have sites in London, Germany, southern France, and Madrid — the headquarters. I transferred doing the same job: engineer expert in reservation systems for airlines.

Amazingly, my career grew in the U.S. Now I’ve worked just four years in France and seven years in the U.S. That was the promise of my company when I built a team here.

Where do you work now?

I work for Southwest Airlines. I design systems for reservations, TSA, gift cards, sending air confirmation.

Even though you were doing similar jobs in France and Dallas, what feels different now, both personally and professionally?

After six months in Dallas, it hit me that I was alone personally. For the first six months, you do everything new. And you love the new restaurants and shopping and seeing everything. But after six months, you start to feel empty and you have to start building your new life here.

Professionally, I suddenly had to work with American co-workers all day, and all my clients were Texans. I knew my subject, so it wasn’t such a drastic change. I had to adapt my behavior though. I had to give better customer service compared with when I was in France. But I knew my job very well, so I could handle it.

Working only with Texans, the language was very important. I still have a strong French accent, but when I first arrived, it was way worse, I think. It took them a little while to understand me, but I adapted as much as they adapted to me.

Fun fact: I won a “lost in translation” award for a story that I told in front of other employees. The story was about writing checks to customers. I was saying the word “check” very quickly, and it sounded like the word “sh*t” to all the Texans. I was embarrassed, but it was funny, too. We all laughed about it. And I still have the award!

What were the specific challenges you faced after moving to the U.S.?

Three months after coming to the U.S., I got an apartment. My relocation company set up almost everything, but she had forgotten to set up the gas. I had to call the gas company and give my credit card number, and I had to repeat the numbers again and again. No one on the phone understood me at all.

It was nice to have someone set everything up for me, but it would have been more helpful to have someone for two hours every week, helping me through each challenge as it came at me, over the course of a few months.

Another challenge: I work in a big corporate headquarters. In France, it’s very different. We have to have windows where employees have desks. All day long in the U.S., I don’t take a lot of breaks, and I find myself in these darker places, with no sunlight. So a few of us started having vitamin D deficiencies. It was hard for us, and we started ordering lamps to keep the vitamin D up. I think the standards here are a little different for employees. Of course, you adapt, and I see that this is also changing in the U.S., too, which is great. More people are paying attention to health.

How did you prepare for your move? Any tips for others?

I’m not sure if I prepared well, but I was very lucky, I think. When I found out I was going to move, I came about three or four times. I came with my job, talking to my future colleagues. This was extremely helpful. I was already halfway in the door when I started. I got to experience the culture and the 100% English language challenge before really coming. This was critical.

What did you expect in the U.S. that didn’t turn out to be so?

I expected everything about the U.S. to be modern. It’s the vision that we have. A lot of things are, of course, like the internet. But some things seem old, like having cables that are not underground — you see electric cables everywhere.

What did you NOT expect that did happen?

I didn’t expect people to be so friendly. Even in the restroom. People will say things like, “That’s a nice sweater!” while we are washing our hands. I really like this actually.

What was harder than you thought it would be?

Finding a partner. This was way harder than I thought it would be. Dating cultural habits are so different in the U.S. and in France. The steps to marriage felt very different for me. When I came, it was the beginning of dating apps in France, but it was already going strong in the U.S. So that was different for me to use the app.

Once you got here, what was most challenging personally and most challenging as a family?

My parents and sister were afraid that I would stay here forever, and that’s exactly what happened. I got married to an American. For just two years, it’s OK: They can visit, it’s fun to see another country. But then after the two years, they really want you home.

Do you have a funny expat story? Or another funny language story where something was misunderstood?

I heard someone say “the hood” — meaning “the neighborhood” — but I thought they were saying “the wood.” And so I was in a meeting, feeling very sure of myself, and I said, “I found it in the wood,” and everyone tried not to laugh. Later, we were at lunch, and I said: “I moved to the hood.” So I used my new word in the wrong context, because they told me that I don’t live in “the hood.” I will always remember these, because they are a part of me now, and they make me smile when I think about them.

That first year, from 1 to 10, what would you score it?

Five. The first six months were a 10, and the next sixth months were a 2, so I’ll say 5. At the very beginning, everything is really so awesome, and then you feel so very lonely. But the next year you start feeling at home more.

We actually had a training before in France for culture and moving abroad, so they told me that I would feel this way the second 6 months, but you don’t truly understand what happens. After the euphoria of the move, your feelings get lower.

What helped with that?

I registered for a meetup group for hiking, and there was one other foreigner. Then I did swing dancing. So they were American activities, but I kept meeting foreigners at the activities because it was easier to create a bond if you are both expats.

What score would you give living abroad now?

Nine. Now it is very calm. I have a lot of friends, both international and American. I have my husband now, so I have a family here. I think I’ve fully embraced all of the positive aspects of America: great job opportunities, a family, a big Texas house and yard that I never would have had in France, access to culture and tranquility, which I think can be hard to have in other countries. Dallas gives you a little of the country in the city.

What are the three top characteristics needed to be a successful, long-term expat?

Be open to the culture. Integrate with those who speak the language of the country you’re going to. Be positive about what will come.

What role did language play in the success of your moves?

Everything. Language can be the cause of NOT integrating into some groups. For example, some people don’t want to hang out with me for happy hour because I am different or they will have to make an effort with me. This is the first thing that people see in me that is different when I open my mouth and speak.

I’m not saying I should get rid of my accent. It brings me good things, too. Some people hear me and might not want to go into a deeper conversation because of it, and so I get more open-minded people becoming my friend. You never realize how your language defines you when you’re living in your own country. Getting help to make your accent clear to be understood is definitely helpful.

By: Micah Bellieu, CEO and Founder of Fluency Corp. Micha loves interviewing and learning about expats. She has also been one herself, moving to Spain to study and then Mexico for work. She knows how hard it is to learn a new culture and language and build a new life for yourself abroad. That’s why she and her international team of instructors are committed to language training so that expats can be successful in their new environment.

It’s hard not to think about the coronavirus these days. The news about its spread seems to intensify by each day that passes and the messaging about what we can expect, and what we should and should not be doing is unclear at best and misleading at worst. In the US, news outlets appear to want to sensationalize and reassure at the same time — not ideal when the topic at hand has to do with public health and its consequences on society at large.

During a recent two-week trip to Europe (long in the making), which took me on airplanes and trains to London, Paris, Stockholm, and Gothenburg, I kept looking for signs among the public that matched what I was seeing on the news. I kept expecting people to be hesitant and fearful in their movements and interactions. I thought there would be an edginess to officials at airports, a gruffness from locals, and a fear factor from most everyone. That’s not what I found.

Sure, people were talking about the coronavirus, and of course, people were washing hands and covering coughs and being generally aware. But still, mostly what I encountered felt like business as usual, friendly hellos and offers of help whenever I asked for it.

At every airport and train station, I expected there would be some kind of check, some inquiry as to where I was coming from and why I thought I needed to go to where I was going — no such thing. As a matter of fact, I think the entry into the UK was the smoothest I’ve ever experienced, they just waved me through. Granted, my travel plans didn’t include Northern Italy which is probably the hardest-hit part of Europe so far, and where daily life has been severely impacted.

On the train between Gothenburg and Stockholm, I kept looking around the car. Every seat was taken. People were playing cards, reading, talking, going to the café to buy coffee. The four-seater across the aisle from me was occupied by a group of youngsters on their way to some event. They had brought the makings for Mimosas and were happily imbibing, getting increasingly louder the closer we got to our destination. It was a scene that was somehow reassuring. Perhaps because it seems a right-of-passage for all youngsters in Sweden to have a pre-party on a train on their way to a fun event. I certainly remember doing just that — things were as they had always been. Things were, by the looks of it, normal.

Had it been some other time (i.e. not coronavirus-time) perhaps my middle aged-self would have gotten annoyed with these youngsters and the fact that they were getting louder and louder as the journey went on. If I’m going to armchair-psychology myself, I’m guessing my need for signs of normalcy has much to do with the knowledge that these aren’t “normal” times, but rather times of uncertainty and a sense of unease.

A friend of mine said the other day that what she fears most in this kind of panic is that civil society starts falling apart. That we forget common courtesies and collective responsibilities. That we put ourselves first at the expense of others. And I think that notion is part of my need for reassurance that things are “normal” as well. My trip was oddly successful in providing those reassurances, in spite of the daily news reports of new cases and new protective measures being put in place, in Europe, and around the world.

As my return to the US neared, I selfishly thought about how disruptive it would be if I was put in quarantine (there had been a number of cases reported in both Stockholm and Gothenburg just before I left). At the very least, I thought there would be lots of questioning and screening before being let back into the country. I was asked if I’d been to China and that was it.

The biggest hurdle coming back was the broken-down passport scanning machines for the Global Entry-holders — it took forever to get to a functioning machine. As I was waiting, I was looking around the arrival hall at my fellow travelers, tired from long international flights, eager to get through immigration, many chatting about where they had been or where they were going, and most everyone getting very frustrated by the non-functioning machines — all was as it should be, I guess.

By: Felicia Shermis

Moving abroad for work typically comes with a bit of a learning curve — there is a new language to learn, a different culture to understand and an array of practical matters to figure out. From a safety standpoint, having a deeper knowledge and understanding of the country in which you are working is particularly critical for countries that are considered high risk and where the cultural differences are greater compared to your home country. In these instances knowing customs and how people and society function is not a must just in order to make the most of an international assignment, it’s a must in order to stay as safe as possible, both physically and from a cybersecurity standpoint.

However, keeping employees and company data safe can be a complex undertaking that requires a deliberate and multi-pronged effort by the employer. Several speakers at a recent global travel risk forum stressed the importance of combining a deeper cultural knowledge of a host country with a common-sense training program for the employee to form a comprehensive duty of care program.

A phrase that came up often at the global travel risk forum was “the mistake of assumption” — meaning there is a risk in heading abroad thinking that everything works the way it does back home. As an international assignee you are often already at a disadvantage with language barriers and unfamiliar surroundings — the “mistake of assumption” becomes an additional liability. However, this is a liability that is fairly easily countered by training and support.   

For example, China limits many types of internet communication services — this could have a serious impact on an unaware assignee who is expecting to be able to carry on as usual with email communication, or various Google tools.

Also important to know as a foreign citizen abroad — you typically don’t have the same privacy rights as you do in your home country. Being aware of your rights as a foreigner abroad is important, as is being familiar with your home country’s presence and services abroad.

Many bigger companies have a system in place for automatically triggering a digital information flow once an employee has been issued a ticket for international travel. This flow may include information such as safety procedures, emergency information while abroad, and perhaps even some country-specific support. However, there is often a gap in information delivery by the company and information absorption by the employee.

As an employee relocating abroad it is crucial to have easy and ongoing access to such information as company safety procedures abroad, chains of communication in case of emergencies and country-specific details to serve as a risk minimizer in combination with a comprehensive intercultural support program for the employee and any accompanying family members.

By: Felicia Shermis

The past few weeks have taken me from the West coast of the US to the Midwest, and from there to Sweden, only to eventually end up in Spain. It’s been an interesting journey because while all these places subscribe to the same general western culture, there are some noticeable differences in how life is lived. One of the beauties of visiting a new place is observing the unfolding of daily life — its quirks and specificities, its similarities and differences compared to what you’re used to at home. Of course, adapting to daily life in a new place can also be one of the hardest things to do, especially when relocating for an extended period of time — what is a charming novelty in the short run isn’t necessarily so charming in the longer term.

How we approach trying to fit in in our new environment is an interesting part of the equation when traveling/moving abroad. Everything from ordering food to figuring out how the bus fare should be paid, to renting an apartment and understanding the local school system can be a mystery when in a new place, and if you don’t speak the language the challenge is even greater. Acquiring the knowledge and insights to “move about freely” — both physically and intellectually — is the goal for most of us, I believe.

Maria Shriver wrote in her weekly newsletter about people’s desire to fit in. Her article sprung from the recent words of President Trump who’s been urging several elected US officials to “go back to where you came from” (all but one of them were born in the US). Maria writes “… underneath those words is the implication that one doesn’t belong, and not belonging cuts to the core of what we desire and need to survive as human beings.”

I think that sentiment is why one of my favorite things to do when in a new environment is to people watch (with the occasional eavesdrop to boot) — it gives me a chance to understand the world around me, bit by bit. I loved the early mornings in Spain with the locals sitting at sidewalk cafes, facing the street, talking to friends or reading the paper while having their favorite coffee drink and perhaps smoking a cigarette. The contrast to my everyday is real — you’d have to look long and hard to find a scene like that in California, that’s for sure. 

Also in Spain this summer: topless sunbathing. Women of all ages and shapes had put away their bikini tops — locals and tourists alike it appeared. My teenage daughter and her friend were intrigued and a little shocked. You’d never see this in the US. As a matter of fact, my mom recently reminded me of the time, long ago, when I reprimanded her for changing into her bathing suit on the beach in Florida (under a towel, which is how it’s done in Sweden). I had only been in the US for about a year at that time and I desperately wanted to fit in.

When asking my daughter what differences she has noticed during our travels she had lots to say. I already knew that she doesn’t feel like she can wear her usual daily uniform of leggings and a t-shirt while in Europe — she says that people wear this strictly for exercising here. Her sense is that, unlike where we live, where the dress code is notoriously laid back, people tend to dress according to their social status to a much higher degree. If you have money you show it with your clothes and your accessories.

She also pointed out that people don’t queue the same way in Europe — it’s much more erratic when people line up, and not infrequently, the whole scene is a bit rude. One thing she has noticed that everyone seems to be doing, regardless of location: zipping down the street on an electric scooter. Rental scooters are everywhere, whether in Indianapolis, Gothenburg or Palma.

Belonging does not mean being the same or subscribing to all the same ideas. Belonging has to do with understanding what it is that makes a certain society tick and then making your own way within that framework. Belonging means accepting that people, and places, are different.

By: Felicia Shermis