November 14, 2007

I'm so bored with the U.S.A.
The (not so) little differences

Ryan Lowell l contributing columnist

Why did it take me two solid months to realize I don’t have Europe sized up just because I’ve seen a couple Quentin Tarantino movies? In his 1994 masterpiece "Pulp Fiction," Tarantino kicks the first act off with a pair of hipster hit men comparing and contrasting US culture with that of European countries. John Travolta's character Vincent Vega specifically sites “the little differences” between the continents. When he starts in on Paris, he notes that a Quarter Pounder at McDonald's is called a Royal with cheese because of the metric system, and that you can order a beer with your combo meal. Simple enough, right? But Mr. Vega grossly oversimplified the differences between French and American culture by neglecting one very important detail: everyone speaks French!

If you read my last column and have proceeded to read this one, well then, you must be a masochist. But that’s beside the point. The real reason I stated that was because if you do indeed remember, I am actually starting to make peace with British culture, and even beginning to enjoy it. So, being the modest soul that I am, I decided that if I’m mature and independent enough to take care of myself in England, I must be such an incredible being that I can thrive anywhere in the world I choose… and this is how I ended up buying plane tickets to France.

"Pulp Fiction" aside, I should have remembered my past experience with the French language, nearly soiling my pants on rue St. Catherine in Montreal because I thought the word “sortie” meant restroom. Every time I walked through an exit I wondered why all those crazy Canucks wanted me to pee on their sidewalks. This is what I should have been thinking about on the plane ride to Charles de Gaulle instead of dreaming about $0.80 baguettes and happy hour happy meals.

In case you’re wondering (and who cares if you’re not, I’m going to write it anyway) I did end up travelling to McDonald’s on my last day in Paris, but the last thing I wanted was a beer. My head was already spinning and I felt slightly nauseous, and I know what you’re thinking, but no, I didn’t pre-game too hard. My sickness was stemming from the four-day system overloading side-effects of severe culture shock.

Now I’ve heard of this “culture shock” business before, and I thought I could handle anything that came my way, but I was sadly mistaken. It’s true I’ve traveled around three continents, and noticed their “little differences,” but all of the countries I’ve bounced around have spoken my language. I mean I did go to Puerto Rico once, but the only phrase I really used was “yo quiero nachos con me cerveza por favor.”  

But in Paris this culture shock was taken up several notches, then multiplied by one million, then taken up several more. The fact that I couldn’t read any of the directions on the airport maps and really had no idea how to navigate the city was the least of my concerns. It was about lunchtime when I realized I didn’t even know enough French to order food. It was at that time that I contemplated pretending to be mute and making a sign to ask for donations. Then I remembered my sign would be in English, and I would still starve.

In retrospect, I can see that it was very naïve of me to assume I would be able to charm the locals with my dashing American smile alone, I think knowing simple sentence structure words like “and” and “the” would have helped me fit in a little better. But there was one immediate benefit that came of this language fiasco. After every rough trip I’ve ever taken, I’ve always been dying to come home, and this time around, I was dying to come back to England. Those four days made me forget about my British pet peeves and reminded me of just how much I really do love this country. I flew back into Heathrow on Nov. 5, just in time to watch the Guy Fawkes Day fireworks from above. It may have been November, but it felt like the fourth of July, and I was consumed by patriotism, ecstatic to be in a country where I could once again connect with people in the society around me.