I could sit on the porch of the coffee shop just outside of the farmer's market forever. As long as I've got something to sip on, I'm content to sit and watch the myriad of expats pass by with their totes full of things to make dinner with, or to share with friends. I spot several Trader Joe's shopping totes and look down at my own and grin. Some of the passersby and I come from the same place. Most of the expats around me are clearly from other places. They look and sound very different.
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A week or so after arriving in Armenia, I ventured out to a local zoo to meet up with some other expat parents and their kids. By the time we got to the zoo, my head was spinning from trying to call for a ride, communicate with the taxi driver, and hold onto all three of my kids in the back—without seat-belts—while the driver dodged wildly around other vehicles, and even backed up on a busy road after missing a turn. But we arrived safely, so I counted it a success.
I was thrilled to be out of the taxi, and ready to meet some new friends.
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