my life – 2nd Avenue

Making 180 days more comfy

Part of the relocation package when we’ve moved with Tony’s work is a place to live upon arrival. This not only gives us somewhere to lay our heads, but also facilitates the necessary immigration admin like registering with local authorities (essential for Germany, Switzerland, and Denmark), getting set up with bank accounts, and all the rest.

When we moved to Switzerland and the UK, the company provided temporary accommodation (basically an Airbnb) for a month. The apartments are furnished (interior designers for such corporate housing tend to be fans of faux leather sofas) and include the basics (bedding and towels, rudimentary kitchen equipment, a TV), but lack any sense of homeyness.

A colourful blanket and socks in the foreground with a window behind. Looks very cosy and comfy — A bit of cosiness in our temporary flat

With this move to Denmark, we get three months accommodation, which is great—and a long time to live somewhere relatively soul-less.

After a few relocations, we’ve learnt to pack a few beyond-basic items that make everyday life more comfortable. Here’s what we brought this time around…

Starting again (again)

The author (Laura) grinning with a Christianshavn canal and clear blue skies in the background. Showing how delightful it is to be back in Denmark. — Hej fra Christianshavn! Det er dejligt at være tilbage i Danmark! (*Hello from Christianshaven! It’s delightful to be back in Denmark!*)

Another (much welcome) relocation. Another temporary flat (thankfully quite comfortable). Another monsoon of admin (visas, residency registrations, bank accounts, insurance, it feels like the list never ends).

New streets to learn. New transit options to figure out (so many Metro stops opened in 2024!). New paths to explore (and familiar ones to retread).

The in-between time

We’re in the midst of relocating from Switzerland to England. And, as with any move, there is much (oh so much) that can only become clear in the fullness of time. I know that patience is necessary, but I’m struggling with the culturally conditioned drive for productivity.

I want to jump into action (find a place to teach yoga! start the job search! investigate dog adoption!), but inaction is far more appropriate in so many areas.

Countdown to calm

Keeping calm and counting on five fingers

On a Sunday evening a couple weeks ago, I got stuck in an elevator with a friend and his six-year-old kid. Panic was inevitable.

My anxiety transformed into a super power in that elevator, though (so much practice halting my own downward spirals!). And I wanted to share the straightforward trick that helped me and that six-year-old avoid a full meltdown.

Riding the rails and receiving critiques

In front of York University’s iconic Central Hall

At the beginning of September, I shouldered a bag and hopped a train from Zürich to Paris, the first of many trains as I travelled to York and Kent in England and on to Antwerp. The Interrail app tells me I took 14 trains over 2,779kms and logged more than 22 hours on the rails.

The big draw in York was the Festival of Writing, where I hoped to get feedback on my novel-in-progress, and finally visit the school where I did my two-year Postgrad Diploma in Creative Writing. Tacking on some sight-seeing afterwards, plus catching up with friends in southern England and Belgium, rounded out a week and a half of travel.

The cost—and the lesson

I’ve made a dumb mistake. I’ll be on my way back from Sargans at 2pm instead of at my appointment. The email I sent my physiotherapist earlier today was not cheery.

After three and a half years of taking Swiss trains, I got on the wrong one today, costing myself 2 1/2 hours, upwards of 30 CHF, and a missed physio appointment.

Ugh. I was not meant to be in Sargans.

“Be the Queen”

Entrance to a bathroom in France (W-C Publics) with 'Je pisse donc je suis' in cursive writing and a silhouette of Queen Elizabeth II superimposed in the lower right corner

People celebrated 70 years of Queen Elizabeth II on the throne last weekend with street parties (it looked cold in the UK!), reminiscences about her reign (like this secret 1970s lawn chair party in Manitoba), scones and Pimm’s, and staggeringly expensive memorabilia.

My memories related to Liz are much more, um, visceral. Yes, I mean related to intestines or digestion.