Expat. Expatriate. We like the sophisticated word "expat" especially whenit is pronounded with the slighly French accent. Makes one feel remotely linked to the likes of Hemingway, Anais Nin or David Sadaris. The dictionary defines the word EXPATRIATE as "2.. to leave one's country and reside in another" and the word IMMIGRANT as "one who leaves one country to settle in another" - I think that Webster's is missing out completely on the subtlelity of perceptions and attitudes conveyed in usage of these seemingly interchangable and yet such different words. To me the word expat on some subconscious level conveys the idea of free will, of choice, of leaving for some personal reason, of not having necessarily been constrained by political or economic necessity... Another words of having been blessed enough to have had a choice or stupid enough to choose for yourself self-imposed exile. For the romantic notion of "expat" is brutally murdered by the first definition from the damned Webster's. It says, bear with me because I am really not obsessed with definitions, that the word EXPATRIATE means "1. to send into exile." Only Poles in the 19th century Poland have created a romantic and patriotic notion of the word "exile" when the country ceased to exist under brutal partition by Prussia, Russia and Austria. So Chopin could get away with living in France as long as he composed Polonaises and still be deemed a patriot. These times are over. Now one has to have a damn good explaination for deciding to live abroad. Great, well paid job is usually what works to assure your loved ones back home that you are on the right track. So I decided to start this website in order to make my motive of moving to Italy official: my utter, irrational love of tasty tomatoes. There are also secondary motives: the climate, beautiful landscapes, the sounds of the church bells, the sense made out of chaos of Roman traffick and above all the other expats who call themesleves expats and understand your lust for tomatoes. These reasons alone are enough to make one endure bizarre living arrangements , frequent moves, Italian bureaucracy and learning how to be comfortable with label of "the other". So here. My ranting is only about to begin... but now I have to get back to my work in order to try to save the taste of Italian tomatoes while officially ranting about the unsustainability of our global food system. aha. And tonight I will have a tomatoe salad.
