From Famous to FU

I miss being famous. Not the autograph, sex tape, Oprah Winfrey, serial killer kind of famous. But the notoriety that came from being one of the first North American immigrant families in a small seaside town called Herceg Novi in Montenegro. I think we were numbers 6,7 and 8 for Canadians in the entire country.

When we landed, the fame was instant. Though I didn't quite realize it at the time largely due to the fact that I couldn't speak or understand the language and thus, failed to notice the grumblings in the community.

But when, after 4 months or so in the country, we magically hooked up with another family of quasi-Canadian immigrants (fled for Canada during the Balkan Wars and returned) who became the dearest of friends, I found out just how much we were the talk of the town.

Here's the story: While I was back home in Canada recovering with my newborn, hubby and his son flew back early to set up our new apartment. Hubby was bent on having a jacuzzi tub. There was nowhere to put it so he opted for our bedroom. Having it installed was a nightmare as at this point the Russian invasion hadn't hit with its full magnitude (meaning wealth) and noone in the town seemed to know how to install the bloody thing.

Our new friends eventually told us that word on the street was we had a hot tub smack dab in our living room. What?! The first evening we invited them over for drinks, they were anxious and excited to see this living room spa we apparently had going on. They also spilled some additional gossip. We were rich, very rich, evidenced by the fact that we had a nanny for our son. Ok, by Montenegrin standards, I guess you could say we were well-off.

We were a mystery. Noone could understand why sane people would leave the comforts of the Western world for the rough of a country picking itself up after a decade-long war. One of the most exquisitely beautiful countries in the world.

But the people embraced us. They took us under their wing. From boutique and local produce market workers to artists and lawyers and other prominent citizens, not to mention fellow expats from other countries, primarily the UK. They were helpful and kind and generous. They invited us over to their tiny apartments for lavish meals. They treated us like family. They included us in the most sacred family celebrations. We were humbled and grateful and honoured by each and every gesture, no matter how small.

They knew our son. They watched him grow. They loved him as one of their own.

And now we're here, in Sweden. Just a few more immigrants, another set of numbers. With the obvious exception of our dearest friends, we're alone. No friendly waves, smiles and jokes. No candy for my boy. No dinner or coffee invitations. Noone noticing if I've gained or lost weight. Noone overcharging us because they think we're rich.

Just a few more immigrants is all. Nothing to see here.