A couple of months ago I came across an interesting article in the American edition of that indisputable fashion bible, Vogue magazine. Now, it should be noted that Vogue is my monthly indulgence, my precarious link to the world of glamour and boundless shopping I left behind upon moving to Romania. It is also, I am rather ashamed to admit, my source for hard-hitting journalism. Faced with the terrifying instability of the world where each month brings a new terrorist attack and unable to peruse local news sources due to my rather limited grasp of Romanian, I choose to confine myself to Vogue''s reporting on the latest social events and the benefits of an all-salmon diet to my skin.
Unfortunately, most of the Vogue articles do not apply to me at all. After all, while I am more than happy to accept that surfing is by far the best way to tone my abs, guaranteed to help me attain Zen-like serenity in the bargain, I doubt that I would be able to get myself to a surf camp in Costa Rica any time soon. This was why the aforementioned article caught my eye: it discussed, with appropriate gravity, the problem of binge drinking amongst professional women of my age.
"Aha!" I thought, "Here''s something useful." The article was intelligent and balanced and instead of condemning drinking outright or being unnecessarily shrill about its dangers, it gave a clear assessment of the problem and an analysis of its potential risks. There was just one little problem with the article: it defined binge drinkers as those who, while abstaining during the week, indulge in six or more alcohol units on the weekends. This data made me sigh with relief: my friends and I were not binge drinkers after all. How could we be? We have our six-units-a-night at least four times a week!
We, the expats, are a heavy drinking bunch. Many a house party is turned into an Animal House-style drinking free-for-all, with forty-ish businessmen slamming shots like hyper frat boys. Traditional expats haunts like Barka Saffron - the expat version of Cheers - must make ninety percent of their profits from alcohol sales, food serving as a mere accompaniment to the countless mojitos and pints of Ursus.
Expat drinking habits are especially jarring when compared to those of Romanians, especially the women, who, as a rule, drink little or not at all, but even by the standards of our home countries we are the champions of imbibing. The reasons for expat drinking are many: we are a relatively small and highly social community, alcohol acting as a lubricant in smoothing out cultural differences or the awkwardness of running into one''s ex, which in a group this small becomes nearly inevitable.
Then there is the simple economics of expat life - with higher income, lower cost of living and cheap drinks, we can afford to go out (and drink) far more frequently that we would have been able to back home. For most New Yorkers and Londoners a night out downing cocktails is a treat, for the expats it''s a Wednesday.
Finally, there are the more nebulous and, perhaps, more disturbing aspects of expat drinking. Many of us are single, unencumbered by familial or relationship responsibilities. Alcohol may be a means for having raucous fun with one''s friends, but it also becomes an easy, but dangerous band-aid for the pain of loneliness and for the daily stresses inherent in our lifestyles. I may have the time of my life with my friends over rounds of drinks, but when I leave and see one of them slumped over, sleeping on the bar, I am left with a bad taste in my mouth that is different from the stale taste of alcohol and cigarettes.
There are those of us whose drinking problems are even more pronounced. Even in our eternal quest for fun we can see that for them alcohol is no longer a just source of enjoyment, but a crutch and a liability; yet, we are reluctant to criticise or stage interventions because, after all, we are usually too hung over to cast the first stone. And then again - no one likes a spoilsport!
I sometimes feel that we live in a world of make-believe, a place where we never need grow up, where friends replace family and alcohol replaces love. We maintain the dubious magic of our surroundings by engaging in elaborate self-denial and when we do ram our heads into the walls of reality we just reach for that beer-flavoured band-aid and continue merrily on our way. Hey, maybe it ain''t pretty, but we like it.
* Lola Gusman is an American lawyer working in Bucharest
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