Nationalism [noun]: a feeling that people have of being loyal to and proud of their country often with the belief that it is better and more important than other countries.
Now. As much as I try to avoid nationalistic behavior, I must admit that I felt it coming on strong this week. That’s how I knew I had hit the frustration and hostility stage of culture shock.
Unlike my Stage Zero experience, my Stage Two escapade wasn’t a series of big dramatic events. The little things prompted my frustration and hostility. Little things… like line cutting.
See, the thing is, I simply struggle to accept that “line cutting” is okay under any circumstance. Let me define my terms, though. I’m referring to the type of line cutting that doesn’t involve emergencies, or when you offer your spot in line to someone out of respect or kindness (for example: a mother with young children, an elderly person, somebody with far less items to check out). I’m talking about aggressive line cutting with no justification.
But in Italy every trip to the grocery store, without fail, old women will cut you in line. Now these are not sweet, frail old women. They’re strong enough to knock your items out of your hand and ram your cart out of line (yes, this happened on multiple occasions). Where is the justice?!??!!!
It’s the sum of many small cultural differences.
For example:
There’s no ice or cold drinks here. It’s like 95 degrees and humid, but they don’t serve cold drinks. Plus you have to pay for water. This is particularly difficult for native Oregonians.
The only trustworthy fruit here is the apple.
Smoothies are not smoothies. I’m convinced that they are just blended room-temperature juices.
The sirens are obnoxious and frequent. They’ll haunt your dreams.
Drums are played at all hours of the day and night, but 99% of the time you’re trying to nap.
The constant fear of pick pocketing is too real.
Now, these are inconsequential and truly not a big deal. I think they simply manage to bring my deep-set discomfort and subconscious longing for familiarity to the surface, which has resulted in silly amounts of irritation. It’s all laughable and a part of the “study abroad” experience. It’s bringing my peers and I closer. It’s even giving me a stronger sense of self identity and cultural awareness. So don’t let the title of Stage Two scare you, because to be clear I’m still having the absolute time of my life.
That being said, I’m off to go find out which café has the coldest water.
Best,
Kenzie
Now. As much as I try to avoid nationalistic behavior, I must admit that I felt it coming on strong this week. That’s how I knew I had hit the frustration and hostility stage of culture shock.
Unlike my Stage Zero experience, my Stage Two escapade wasn’t a series of big dramatic events. The little things prompted my frustration and hostility. Little things… like line cutting.
See, the thing is, I simply struggle to accept that “line cutting” is okay under any circumstance. Let me define my terms, though. I’m referring to the type of line cutting that doesn’t involve emergencies, or when you offer your spot in line to someone out of respect or kindness (for example: a mother with young children, an elderly person, somebody with far less items to check out). I’m talking about aggressive line cutting with no justification.
But in Italy every trip to the grocery store, without fail, old women will cut you in line. Now these are not sweet, frail old women. They’re strong enough to knock your items out of your hand and ram your cart out of line (yes, this happened on multiple occasions). Where is the justice?!??!!!
It’s the sum of many small cultural differences.
For example:
There’s no ice or cold drinks here. It’s like 95 degrees and humid, but they don’t serve cold drinks. Plus you have to pay for water. This is particularly difficult for native Oregonians.
The only trustworthy fruit here is the apple.
Smoothies are not smoothies. I’m convinced that they are just blended room-temperature juices.
The sirens are obnoxious and frequent. They’ll haunt your dreams.
Drums are played at all hours of the day and night, but 99% of the time you’re trying to nap.
The constant fear of pick pocketing is too real.
Now, these are inconsequential and truly not a big deal. I think they simply manage to bring my deep-set discomfort and subconscious longing for familiarity to the surface, which has resulted in silly amounts of irritation. It’s all laughable and a part of the “study abroad” experience. It’s bringing my peers and I closer. It’s even giving me a stronger sense of self identity and cultural awareness. So don’t let the title of Stage Two scare you, because to be clear I’m still having the absolute time of my life.
That being said, I’m off to go find out which café has the coldest water.
Best,
Kenzie