To Move Or Not To Move

That is… not THE question, but a burning one nonetheless.

It has been haunting me for the last year or so and it’s a very uncomfortable situation. You see, I like things to be neat, at least in my head, if not around me. That’s one annoying feature I inherited from my mother: I need a final plan like a train needs tracks; if anything comes up to change my plan, I derail…

So this train is sitting its increasingly unused ass in the station, trying to figure shit out. Whenever I am almost 99% sure that I am either to stay or to move, something always comes up and I have to change my mind. I have therefore made a mental list of some pros and cons regarding a potential move to Brussels, which I will try to put in written form here.

1. Use It Or Lose It

That would be the no. 1 argument: do I want to get more work or not? In the beginning, this was not even an issue; with eight or nine days of work in a month, freedom to take time off whenever I damn well pleased, enough practice and cash under my belt, I declared loud and proud that I am never moving to that awful city as long as I have even one or two days of work in a month. Alas, I spoke too soon. Apparently I jinxed my calendar, because in came the months with just six or seven days, then those with just two or three. Not that I don’t appreciate the time off, but when three or four weeks pass by without booth time, you start to get a bit… rusty. And when you’re at the beginning of your career and you wanna be awesome at your work and go places, you can’t really afford to let yourself rust.

[Now I know what you’re gonna say: it’s a bad business decision to have only one client. Yes, it is! However it is not entirely my fault… except a little bit. As soon as I started working for the EU, I stopped updating my CV and looking for private gigs. Any profiles I used to have on professional networking sites are currently collecting dust somewhere in the gutters of the Internetz. Plus, in my town, there is really no private market to speak of. The truth is, for smaller languages, the main market is the EU institutions, a market that, as opposed to the local one, is at least regulated and provides a regular (if trickly) amount of work.] (memo to self: circulate statement of availability to colleagues, let them know you are still available for private gigs and can still interpret, in case they forgot)

2. Empty Stomach Makes for Bad Interpreting

Now I may not want to rust, but I don’t want to starve either. Just as I was comparing prices for shipping companies and apartments in Brussels, in came more bad news: not only has the workload decreased for all interpreters, including staff, but there are rumours on the horizon regarding “interpreting on demand” and the elections for the EP around the corner mean that Romania’s probably going to have less MEP’s, as the population has dropped by a couple of million people since the 2002 census. In other words, I have very limited ways of predicting how much work I’m going to get if I move. And living in Romania with three working days’ worth of money is not the same thing as living in Brussels with the same amount (less even, because the travel allowance and the per diems would be gone). Then there’s the crisis factor: everyone wants to cut costs, and, while cutting interpreting to a minimum (yeah, good luck with that!) would save the European taxpayer the equivalent of two cups of coffee a year, interpreters and translators are still easy targets. I’ll get back to this someday.

3. Brussels

Yeah, this deserves a subtitle of its own and the question is: do I really wanna live in that place? The answer is no, always has been, I have hated that city since the moment I first set foot in it. I find it bland and conceited, it lacks charm and personality. Of course, that’s just me, because plenty of my friends and colleagues believe it’s breathtaking, exciting, full of possibilities. It may well be, and yes, it has its nice parts, but saying that Brussels has nice parts is like saying that the Hulk has pretty eyes (which, in all fairness, he does!); it doesn’t distract my attention from the rest. (memo to self: post about everything wrong with Brussels)

If I were to move, I would move out of need and not desire. I would feel blackmailed into moving there, not drawn by new (cloudy) horizons or pushed by the curiosity of discovering a new place. Almost all my friends and family are here, whereas I know few people in Brussels and like even fewer. But thinking like that will never get me anywhere and I have a feeling circumstances may force me to give that bloody city a second (ok, twentieth) chance. What’s the worst that could happen? Would I fall into suicidal depression, break down and scream for my mommy in the middle of a press conference at the Commission? Would I get robbed somewhere near Cinquantenaire because I forgot to take my badge off after work? Would I get raped somewhere in the Theater District because I’m wearing… long hair??? Or maybe, just maybe, I would adapt, I would join a book club, make new friends, go dancing, travel more, maybe even go to college again? Maybe, maybe, maybe… I hate “maybe’s” and “what if’s” and the entire conditional mood.

4. Fake It until You Make It?

There is ONE way to foresee the amount of work I may get as a local. I could pretend to move there, I could be a fake local. After all, everybody’s doing it ;). The reasons may vary from “don’t wanna live in Brussels” to “husband can’t get a job here” to “not enough work to support myself”, and they are all… reasonable. With low-cost flights available and cheap accommodation at hand, paying the price for my own commute wouldn’t set me back that much. However, there are risks. When you are local, for instance, you may get a contract for the very next day, so you would have to check your calendar all the time to block days when you know you can’t make it. As careful as you may be, though, there will still be surprises: changes in flight schedules, flight cancellations, nowhere to stay…

Let’s presume, on the other hand, that I would get at least as many days as I do now. What would be the point of faking it then? After all, am I not trying to be rid of the tiresome travelling that paralyses me for days on end? And if I get as many days as I have now, what would be the point of faking it or even moving all together, when I could just stay home and actually NOT pay for my flights and accommodation? Either way, being a fake local would be a temporary measure followed by one of two things: moving there permanently or deciding to change my domicile back to my beloved Transylvania.

Or I could live somewhere else, some place cheap and sunny, and hip and cool, with a direct low-cost connection to Brussels. A place where people are always smiling and the police force isn’t fascist, where the buildings are painted in colours other than the various shades of “gris soviétique”, a place with more fresh fruits and vegetables than fries, with beaches and tasty food, with more brick and stone than glass and steel… Or I could move back in with my mother. Or I could dust off my CV and see what else is out there until I decide…

I have decided I hate modal verbs, too.

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Things I’ve Been Getting Used to

Do you know that expression “if you can’t take the heat, then get out of the kitchen”? I’ve always used it in one form or another, but I now find that it is a bit conceited. Of course! It always is when it starts to apply to you.

So if we start from the premises that the kitchen is a hot place, but it pays well to be there, there will be quite a lot of people willing to take a lot of sh… excuse me, heat! Nobody prepares you for the kitchen though, you just go in, find the ingredients (Oh, you thought you had them?! Silly little thing!), start cooking, screw up, figure out what’s missing, burn the food, under-cook it, and, eventually, do a half-decent job.

I’ve been working in Brussels almost every week for a little over a year now and progress has been slow, but steady. I had very few chances of working on the private market until I became accredited as an interpreter with the institutions so I guess it’s safe to say that I went up two levels in difficulty very shortly and abruptly after graduation. When you start working on the market after the master’s programme you feel as if you’ve never learned interpreting in your life and that feeling settles in again very quickly after you start to work for the institutions. I have lost count of the times in my life when I felt I didn’t know anything about anything… to build on that nothing and then move up another level and start from scratch again. It is my new normal 🙂
So here are a few of the things I’ve been getting used to since working in Brussels:

1. Commuting

The “new booths” still get flown in mostly (with the notable exception of the Polish booth, but that’s an entirely different story), so us, Easterners, the Baltics and also the Scandinavians, I believe, who are not staff, mostly fly into Brussels and still get a fair amount of work. There has been a rising trend of “deserters” (people who moved to Brussels) whose ranks I am thinking of joining. Of course you get more work if they don’t have to pay for your travelling and accommodation costs, what with everyone there complaining how expensive interpreters are (we’re not; interpreting costs are hardly 1% of the EU budget).

Luckily, I’ve had a constant flow of work, which means I travel quite frequently. For every contract I have, I can count in two inactive days just travelling or recovering. The thing is starting to take its toll on me. Commuting is really quite exhausting, and even in the time I have to myself I am mostly useless, as I just wanna sleep all the time. I’m late paying the bills, late with my taxes, my place is a mess, manis, pedis, haircuts, hair-dyes, dentist appointments, gym hours, hobbies, lunches with friends and visits to the parents’ get postponed to infinity. Add this to the back pain and the random diet and you have yourself a pretty serious pro for moving to Brussels. I’ll get back to this point someday.

2. Working with new people in the booth

On the market I had worked only with people I knew, mostly former master’s colleagues and/or friends. Upside: great atmosphere in the booth, you create a dynamic very easily, you read each other’s signals, you are able to prepare together before the event, and there’s the inevitable get-together afterwards (or during; yeah, during too). The downside? Working with people who are as inexperienced as you are tends to keep you revolving within the same patterns, greatly needed advice is hard to come by, as are tips and tricks, not to mention, as a newbie, you need to steal smarts from someone who has them (or more of them than you do, anyway).

Alas, gone are the days when the masters took in apprentices. The market in Romania is pretty much full. When I was working on the private market, I would get one gig a month (counting volunteer work and “go-interpret-for-free-because-the-rector-said-so gigs), and I was one of the lucky ones. However, with the opportunity to learn from better and more experienced interpreters comes a downside. Not knowing people leads to unnecessary self-consciousness and tension. You are (probably unintentionally) excluded from conversation, it takes a long time to connect with colleagues you only see once every few months, and that leads to… let’s call them misunderstandings: those awkward moments when you don’t know whether you should take over or hand over the mic (that is some delicate shit!), not knowing how the things you say or do will be interpreted, getting snappy replies for harmless remarks (“The French delegate is speaking!” “So, can’t you wait until I sit down?!”).

This makes performance more difficult than it already is. You end up excluding yourself from conversation when all the gossip starts to pour in (and who gossips about others, gossips about you, you can be sure). Many colleagues are reluctant to giving feedback and hardly ever listen in when it’s not their shift (or don’t appear to anyway). Basically my strategy is watch/listen and learn, do tons of research (which is never enough, anyway) and wait for the day when I’m fully equipped for whatever a meeting can throw at me. In all honesty, though, it would be mean of me to say that I don’t get advice and answers when I ask for them. Many colleagues are also nice and helpful, but essentially this is a lonely job. When the only context you ever see people in is a box, that makes it difficult to make a genuine connection. That’s why I like missions and working at the CJEU, they give you the chance to get to know people outside of the box too.

(Someday, I’ll be sorry I wrote that…)

3. Working with your teachers

As if I didn’t have enough reasons to be self-conscious in the booth. When I work with them, I always get the feeling, they’re still… my teachers and they listen critically to everything I say and I’m sorry to say that makes me under-perform. They’re kind enough to leave their teachery ways at the airport when they fly in, but paranoia knows no reason; it takes the obvious and flushes it down the toilet, so I just imagine they’re only pretending not to be horrified at the things I say.

4. Working with men

Does this sound weird? I’m sure it is. I’m generally confident around men, but for some stupid reason, it makes me nervous to have to work with/around them. In my master’s programme, we were an all-girls group and we had only one male teacher. His opinion of course mattered most to us, probably for the same stupid reason that I find it difficult to overlook male presence in the booth. It may also be habit (as I had never worked with men before) or the rare bird factor (still a very female-dominated profession) or some Freudian quirk in the back of my head (oddly enough, the presence of gay men does not affect me as much). I’ll get my head shrunk and get back to you on this.

5. The 46 official languages of the EU

This one is so vast, it deserves a post of its own, if I ever bother to write anything so boring. The main difference between the private market and the institutions, I think, is the fact that, on the market, people talk in more concrete terms and play less with words. Administrative lingo revels in ambiguity and political correctness. When specialists at a conference talk about agriculture and the CAP reform for instance, they know first-hand how legislation affects the field, what farmers can and cannot do, how the animals live, how parcels are divided and they consequently speak in very concrete terms. Not so when it comes to government officials and public servants describing essentially the same things, but in a manner that is extremely far removed from reality, either in very general terms or in very specific legal technicalities the end of which are very difficult to envisage for an ordinary person (i.e. me). Whenever I prepare for a meeting, I always get the impression that the institutions have somehow come up with a parallel language for each of the official languages of the EU and it’s the interpreters’ job to decrypt the message. I don’t have a research strategy that helps me get everything and more experienced colleagues tell me it will be three or four more years until I almost fully understand what in the world those people are talking about. When I get there, I’ll write a post about it.

These are just some of the things I’ve been struggling with over the last year or so. I’m not dead yet 🙂

Part 2 and maybe 3 to come…