Category Archives: Cultural Differences

Casual Meanderings of America

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I won’t mention the canceled flights, the overnight stay in Minneapolis or the 9 hour delay in Newark, NJ. I won’t discuss the high amount of obese people rolling around on their automatic wheelchairs through the casinos or the woman in her wedding dress getting a cosmo at the Ghost Bar at the Palms with no wedding party in sight. I won’t talk about the waiter on auto-pilot who was dead behind the eyes and didn’t even register that we were two live beings sat at a table or the man with platinum teeth falling off his chair, or for that matter, the clearly underaged girl puking behind the couch. No use in harping on fact that roads in Vegas are bigger than freeways in England or that the portions thus far have allowed Jock and I to share a couple of meals.

What I want to talk about is how amazing it was to hold my nephew, to hug my mama, to meet my sister’s boyfriend, laugh with my best friend, look into my sister’s eyes right in front of me and relish in my uncle’s company and incredible cooking. Hearing American accents around me still makes me turn my head – you can imagine how often that’s been happening. Oh and the use of a cell phone is miraculous. I can actually communicate and call my friends and family on a whim, for no reason whatsoever, just because I feel like it. That’s a great feeling.

CNN isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. It seems America has grown up a bit since I’ve been gone – I say that and then I hear about the USDA official being fired over a badly cut youtube video depicting her as a racist that in no way described what she actually meant.

Oh how I’ve missed the nonchalant chit chat that goes with being in America, follows you to the grocery store, into Terry Fator’s show at the Mirage (absolutely recommend), up the Las Vegas Eiffel Tower and into Yama Sushi. The southern woman who wants to talk about her bad vertigo, the young rocker who boasts about which sushi to order or the old man who laughs at the fact that the margarita he consumed fifteen minutes before is now making its way into his brain (he doesn’t drink much normally). The casual meanderings of the simplistic and genuine American citizen floats its way back into my heart and I can feel myself re-opening up that side of me – transforming back into my louder, more gregarious person (which may surprise some of my English friends that I can become more of that – I didn’t shy away too much). But now its more accepted.

I never thought I’d be so happy to be back. I truly didn’t. The tear I felt leaving France after a year of studies abroad and the yank of incredible reverse culture shock coming back here five years ago was one of the most painful things I’ve ever experienced. Perhaps the difference is that I wasn’t ready to leave France, I felt it wasn’t my choice and that the school system’s decision to make me leave by June 1st felt unjust (even though my visa had ended and I actually didn’t have a choice.). This time I decided when I would leave, how it would happen – it was on my terms.

And the difference also is that I know I’ll be back in no time. Back then, I was a student, unsure of where my next paycheck would come from, let alone how I would ever be able to go back to the way I lived in Paris. Now, I am more settled, with beau and money – how much comfort comes from that feeling alone – for, I am not alone.

More soon. Leaving Las Vegas for Chicago today. Then back to Baltimore. Will update as regularly as I can.

Thank you all for continuing to follow my journey.

VIEW FROM MY LAST MEAL OUT IN ENGLAND, The Ship, Portsmouth:

VIEW FROM MY FIRST MEAL OUT IN AMERICA:

Sharing the Repatriation Experience

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(For some reason, the entry below did not post on schedule. So, I’m back now! More soon on that. In the meantime, please read below!)

As you read this, I am on a plane back to Dulles International (I scheduled the entry to go live at 10:25AM, the time our plane takes off). Jock and I land in Newark, NJ for two hours layover before heading to DC for my mom to pick us up at the height of rush hour traffic at 5PM. She must really love me because anyone who knows DC traffic, knows that it is the worst!

To kick off the re-pat experience, Alisha wrote an entry for me. Finding Alisha’s blog, Seattleite Imagery, has been serendipitous – definitely for me. I’ll let her do most of the explaining, but I feel so lucky to have someone going through the same things I will be going through in the next couple of months. I especially like her entry, “Bird by Bird, Brick by Brick” – that sums up what I know from experience moving and repatriating can be like, but we often forget after it’s gone and done with.

Please welcome Alisha:

When I heard that the Lady who Lunches was coming back to the States I was delighted, partially for the selfish reason that I also just moved back after eight years abroad and will have someone to share the repatriate experience with.

My British husband Dan and I decided last June that four years in England was enough and began to embark on our year-long exit strategy. We took the unorthodox but luxurious route home to Seattle via 6 months in New Zealand (January in the Southern Hemisphere – highly recommend it) to visit his parents and just touched down in the Emerald City in June.

It’s hard to believe it’s only been a month; part of me feels like I’ve been back forever, which is only a good thing. I’d been warned about reverse culture shock, how difficult it can be for the expat to return and find they no longer fit in anywhere. I was concerned my rose-tinted glasses would be ripped from my face, people would be uninterested in my experiences and all the things I’d learned as a foreigner (and holy crap I’d learned a lot!) would be null and void, forcing me to squeeze back into the life I’d left as a high schooler. Yikes.

I am happy to report however that re-entry has been relatively painless. I feel bad saying this, but I’ll go so far as to say it’s been easy. I mean, easy is relative – moving across the world without a job never compares to a week in Bali. But with a track record of cold-moving to a new city or country every two years for almost the last decade, I’m embracing the smooth landing.

A huge reason the only reverse culture shock has been positive is that the US is engineered for comfort, convenience and consumerism (sorry for the alliteration), a reality I consider it’s best and worst feature. It’s something I took for granted growing up and always enjoy rediscovering. In the US I have the opposite challenge I had in the UK: not getting too comfortable. I have a love/ hate relationship with consumerism, but gotta tell you I LOVE walking into Trader Joes, grabbing my free coffee and samples, cheap food and being fawned over by the sales staff. This all helps.

I’ve met quite a few Seattle transplants (usually from the mid-West) who comment about the Seattle freeze. Apparently Seattleites just aren’t as friendly as the rest of the country. Walking into coffee shops and dodging smiles and invitations to casual conversation, I always think this supposed freeze is hilarious. Three times in a row while asking directions to coffee shops on Capitol Hill (Seattle, not D.C.), perfect strangers have said, “I’m not sure, but I can look it up for you,” and have preceded to bust out their iphones. So I tell those mid-Westerners, “Honey, you ain’t seen nothin’,” and that Seattle is perfectly tropical compared to the London tundra of inter-stranger interaction. Basking in smiles, if not sun, is a great way to transition.

Another reason this supposed reverse culture shock has been MIA is the generosity of friends and family. It makes a huge difference to move somewhere you know people, specifically people related to you. I’m so used to starting from complete scratch when I move that I feel kind of like I’m cheating. But instead of feeling guilty I’m just feeling fortunate to be able to housesit for friends with beautiful houses, borrow parents cars and be taken care of.

The most important reason why moving back to the US has been minimally traumatic is larger than good friends, coffee and smiles. The main reason is that we were ready. When I fled the US straight after snatching my degree I had to get out. Back then the thought of staying Stateside suffocated me. But now, after doing what I needed to do in Japan then England then New Zealand, I’m ready to come home. I appreciate my imperfect nation now and, focused on the pros I have more patience with the cons.

I’m all about blooming where I’m planted but right now I feel so fortunate to be redeployed to the familiar turf of the Evergreen state. People always ask us if we’re back for good, which is a difficult question for nomads. For us, being somewhere for good isn’t comforting but scary. But I will say being here is good and I have no plans to leave.

I’m really looking forward to hearing how our lunching lady gets on in America and hope everything goes as well for her and Jock as it’s gone for us. In the meantime I’ll be perched up here in the Pacific Northwest warming the country up for her and enjoying being home.

Realization: America Does Have Culture

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The thing is, the reason that I’ve always been so attracted to European culture is because it was just that – a culture. Growing up in America, I felt that we lacked a fundamental sense of being, a sense of tradition and it was that I craved all along. I had a friend who was Greek and she used to take us to Washington D.C. and show us the festivals with Greek dancing and traditional costumes, the parties where plates were smashed and the baklava that was so unique tasting. My father is from Cuba but even though that makes me half Cuban, I felt miles away from the Cuban heritage. My cousins in Miami would tell me about the politics, cook me arroz con pollo and shoot me up with a shot of Cuban coffee – but I never truly related. I still felt foreign and like a spectator. Living in France, I observed the French women’s je ne sais quoi, learned the language and lost 30 pounds to become one of them. I drank their wine, ate crepes, escargots, steak tartare – the lot. France was the closest I felt to being one of them.

And now that this year and a half is coming to a close in England, I realize what America had all along. It took the British to teach it to me, but I am truly grateful that they did. America has its own culture and the world around us acknowledges it as such. Perhaps the rest of the world doesn’t approve or abhors us for what we do, how we are and spreading our ideas – but isn’t that part of having a unique culture? Surely the English hate the French simply because their culture is different, just like the Greeks don’t particularly get on with the Turkish or the Palestinians could do without the Israelis.

It may seem obvious to everyone else, but perhaps it took a seemingly “similar” culture to show me that the United States of America is unique, has its own attributes and is a country that I should be proud of belonging to. I swear I never thought I would be writing those words – I was the eternal expat, the born foreigner – I never felt like I fit anywhere (until I moved to France), but now I think I might be able to cope and even love my country. We’re not all McDonald’s, Walmart and Subway. There is more to us than that. Baseball, dreams, hope, ambition, melting pot, extremes, Hollywood, American football, 4th of July, Thanksgiving, Rosa Parks, Norman Rockwell, Jack Kerouac, Louis Armstrong – the list starts and continues forever.

So, without getting any more sentimental, I just want to say that in nearly 48 hours, I will be landing.

Bags are packed – all six of them – and Jock’s parents are sending us off in an English way. BBQ today, a bit of roast dinner tomorrow, supper on the pub’s waterfront with a drink of cider yesterday. The perfect way to leave. And to think, it’s even sunny!

What is it about your culture that you’re most proud of?

(P.S. Did I ever mention that I finally finished my book? Like the one I’ve been working on since I moved here? Like the one that has been on this journey with me? Friday night I typed the last words, and I may have said something similar to this before, but this time I mean it. It’s time to sell the darn thing! I may be posting e-books for sale on my blog in a while for my readers to get first glances. Will let you know! Thank you all for following me on my escapades. I am truly grateful.)

Meet Tiffany – the American in Holland

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I’m doing a small series of blog swaps.

First up is Tiffany. She does crazy things like me and sign up for things that push her to her limit – like write 31 blog entries in 31 days (except since she has three blogs, she ended up writing 79 entries in a month) and she freelances for Demand Studios just like I do. More specifically:

Tiffany is an American who moved to the Netherlands for love in December 2008. She lives in Utrecht with her husband and their dog. In addition to chronicling her adventures on her blog Clogs and Tulips: An American in Holland, she also works as a freelance writer and runs her own company, Little Broadway.

Please enjoy her post below:

Sesame Street and Bicultural Relationships

“What did you say about Big Bird?” My husband asks as we walk through the train station.

“I said ‘I love Douwe Egbert’s coffee’” I giggle. “I just saw an ad poster for it. I didn’t say anything about Big Bird!”

Funny that Big Bird should randomly come up – I had just had a conversation revolving around the same topic with a friend via Facebook. She declared that she would be starting her work day at the daycare center where she volunteers with a Sesame Street marathon. We’ve both found ourselves transplanted in the Netherlands in the past year-and-a-half due to being swept off our feet (and our home countries) by Dutch studs, so technically it was a Sesamstraat marathon.

I bring this up in my conversation with my husband.

“She can’t get over the fact that your Big Bird is blue and named Pino” I confess on behalf of my friend.

My husband laughs. We’ve had this conversation before. While the TV show exists both in the United States and the Netherlands with the same concepts and purpose, it’s not the same street.

“And the mouse,” I continue.

“You mean Iniemenie?”

“That’s right!” I exclaim. “That’s his name.” (See, I’ve watched the Dutch version – I’m totally with it.)

“You don’t have Iniemenie?!?” He asks incredulously, as though I’d just told him the world was about to end and we had just a few moments left to live.

“Nope.”

American Sesame Street

“But, you have Tommy, right?” He presses.

“Tommy, the dog,” escapes both our mouths simultaneously.

“Nope,” I say.” “No Tommy.”

“Oh.” My husband’s totally dejected by this. “Well, who do you have?”

“Well, there’s Cookie Monster and Elmo…” (The Dutch have those too, of course, including Bert and Ernie).

“And the purple guy,” he interrupts.

“Grover? I think he’s blue.”

“Whatever,” he shrugs. “Yeah, Grover. We have him too.”

There’s a pause. I’m forgetting someone. Then it hits me:

“And Oscar the Grouch!” explodes from my lips.

I’m met with silence as my husband stares straight ahead, walking to our bicycles parked outside the train station.

“Oscar?” I press. “You know, the green guy who lives in a trash can and is grumpy all the time.”

Nothing.

“Well, I think you’d like him,” I conclude. “He’s funny. Maybe next time I’m back in the States I can grab a Sesame Street DVD so we can watch it.”

“No thanks.”

Dutch Sesamstraat

USA versus England

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The day started beautifully. I had an amazing writing masterclass – they’re doing another one in October, for those who are interested – and then I headed to the pub for the England versus USA game. I was ready to show my American patriotism. Then, it all went wrong.

I wrote about it on my bi-weekly column for AND MAGAZINE. Click below to read all about it.

USA versus England
Attempting to Remain Patriotic While Abroad