Living Abroad Is Like Being Stuck In A Super Mario Game

Now I’ve got your attention… Hi! Maggie here. Some of you already know me. Others will read this and worry they need to rethink their activity on this platform because why on earth would it bring my post to THEM?

Tough titties for those people, I suppose.

Anywho, I’d like to talk about my travels, and why it is the best thing I’ve ever done in my life, but also why it has brought me more pain than I ever thought I could handle. Does that statement make me an asshole? Or just a party pooper?

I am originally from Belgium (yep, like Dr Evil’s parents), and one fine day I decided that my life felt a little goalless/soulless and so I would either take singing classes or travel to Australia. Australia being the less disruptive one out of the two of course, for my environment anyway - there’s really no demand for the sound of mating cats I was told.

Me being the overanxious, controlfreaky and routinely overwhelmed by simple decisions such as what to eat practical type, I was worrying about which path to choose.

So I talked to my friend Ivo and what he told me changed everything. He said: “Well if you like it over there, that’s great. And if not, you’ll appreciate what you have here so much more. You’ve got nothing to lose really.”

Bam! Those 3 sentences changed my life. No, I didn’t book flights that same day. I still had the obligatory week of overthinking and self-mindfucks to get through.

But then I did, and it started a journey which ended up with me living in Australia for 4 years, England for 1 (until Brexit, happy days!) and Malta for 5. I now live in Uruguay, speaking my very best toddler Spanish. ‘No problemo’.

Now what is the image that pops up in your head when you think about living abroad? I bet it’s something nice. Like, you get to live in the loveliest, most interesting place, meet a bunch of intelligent, open-minded, and above all interesting people, and rainbows appear right before you kiss your wonderfully interesting crush for the very first time who then of course turns out to be your soulmate.

I truly hate to shatter that image for you (or do I?). Living abroad is HARD. Whether you have money or not. What those Instagram travellers don’t tell you is that it can be really fucking lonely, for starters. Especially in the beginning.

But, at the same time, the people you meet and connect with, become your family. There is a depth of friendship amongst travellers that I never experienced when I was still living in Belgium.

Maybe that’s also because I was always the black sheep, someone who felt too much, wanted too much, ‘was’ too much. And lots of travellers are black sheep in some way or another. Plus have the mental instability courage needed to pack their shit and fuck off out of their comfort zone.

I digress, let me go back to party pooping and telling you why travelling is hard.

You have to be prepared for everything going wrong. Yes, everything. No, it doesn’t matter that you are aligned with vibration number 42. It also doesn’t matter how positive you are.

Everything.

When bright-eyed and bushy-tailed little old me arrived here, I had to move places 3 times within 6 months, dealt with a crazy-making level of bureaucracy because coaching is a ‘luxury service’?, couldn’t find the right contact lenses for months, forgot my phone in a cab (which was then stolen a few months later), lost my most important client and pissed off a fair amount of people.

I always say that ‘travelling time’ or time abroad = 3 x ‘home country time’. Everything happens three times faster.

And unfortunately, that means that ‘travelling manure’ = also 3 x ‘home country manure’. At times it feels like you’re stuck in a Super Mario game, turtles included. Annoying little shits.

But as I mentioned in the beginning, travelling is also the very best thing I’ve ever done in my life.

It chewed me up and spat me out, which made me grow more than I ever would have, had I stayed. I got out of my little political bubble, came up against some good old racism (both towards me, and preconceptions I never even realized I had) and understood that I was a neurotic arse and needed to change.

I also met two of the most important people in my life while travelling. And yes, I did end up kissing my wonderfully interesting crush, who is now my wonderfully interesting boyfriend.

Was it worth it? Abso-fucking-lutely. Just…

PS: let me know if you liked this! I have no idea if people are really interested in my written ramblings.

PS 2: this post was inspired by

Marie Vandoorne

‘s post about travelling. You should check it out!