BEING AN EXPAT
WHAT turns people into an expatriate? A good question. No doubt a multitude of things, so let’s think of some. Well, the TRNC has a lot going for it. The sun still shines regularly, which is obviously a factor (unless your dream home suddenly finds itself unexpectedly in the shadow of a 10-storey tower block) but I can’t help wondering if it’s something more than that.
It might be the fact that the TRNC is still not a member of the Galactic Empire (EU), but I suspect not, despite their Death Star circling the UK (otherwise known as Theresa’s “deal”). It might be a consequent desire simply to escape the likes of Theresa and Jeremy (now that I can understand), as they prepared for their now-abandoned TV Brexit “debate” extravaganza (that’ll mess up the viewing figures for whoever broadcasts it).
It may be simply to avoid politicians altogether, especially the former MP for Cheadle, but that can’t be the reason as (sorry to disappoint) I’m here.
One pal of mine recently told me he “still loves the land of his birth — it just doesn’t exist any more” (a thought that’s crossed my mind). Even the likes of UK school sports days and garden fêtes have been ruined by more health and safety restrictions than there are rules governing the Common Agricultural Policy, enforced by a host of clipboard-carrying Charlies, sent to ensure nobody loses, everybody gets a medal and no entrant acquires a proudly borne cut, bruise or sticking plaster in the process. The land of the free and the brave? Not these days.
It might be that expatriates from more rural UK backgrounds have come here to escape the newly arrived “townies” who buy a house next to a farm, complain about the smell, then form a protest group to have the farm shut down on grounds of environmental pollution and cruelty to animals, while labouring under the illusion that their lamb roast originates in neat clingfilm packs, having gestated in some freezer at Tesco. (No? Ah well, I’m entitled to the odd rant, surely?)
It could be that expatriates recognise one particular characteristic that the TRNC shares with the UK: the locals drive on the left (well, most of the time), which surely must be a plus.
I won’t mention the UK becoming “Wild West Britain” as a reason for many leaving, mainly to avoid ruining any more retired senior police officers’ Saturday morning breakfast (Letters, last week).
Whatever brought us here, it’s best to remember that the TRNC is not UK-in-the-Sun. Happily settling here depends on understanding that. Most do, although there are inevitably those that don’t. “They don’t speak English you know,” is their common refrain. Such folk shouldn’t worry, neither do large sections of the population of the modern UK, including many Anglos, for whom interspersing every sentence with multiple references to the “f”-word has become normal parlance, thereby even reducing a particularly unpleasant swear-word to the status of meaningless drivel. In other words, it’s no good folk leaving the UK, justifiably complaining that “immigrants don’t integrate”, then doing the same when they get here.
This article may not adequately explain why folk leave the UK for these shores, but, in truth, I suspect the reason might simply be a desire to enjoy a retired lifestyle that cannot be matched in Britain. A good enough reason for anyone.
This probably also explains why members of the Victor Meldrew Appreciation Society and the Association of Grumpy Old Men & Women unofficially inhabit every TRNC expatriate bar from Karşıyaka to the Karpaz (absolutely wonderful). It was probably so for generation after generation of expatriate arrivals here. It’s just the reasons why we get “grumpy” that have changed.
One final word of advice for any UK reader thinking about coming here: most would enjoy it, especially the banter of those expatriate bars, but one very necessary reality needs to be recognised as newcomers lift their first Efes and attempt to join in the verbal exchanges. The world may be teetering on the military brink, the pound and Turkish lira might be bouncing all over the place and aliens spotted off the coast of Ireland, but all you will really need to know is whether Arsenal beat Manchester United last week! Get that right and you’ll be fine. Oh, and one other thing: ignore the rumour factory. Now, who were you saying ran off with Mick’s wife?