Crossing Cultures

What do you get when a three generation French family, two Palestinians, and an American student sit down to dinner together?

It’s not a bad joke, the answer is a 3 to 4 hour meal of good food and wine, conversations in multiple languages, and a wonderful time had by all.

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Last weekend, one of my host family’s former students came to visit. When my host mother told me that Dahlia was coming with her husband and daughter, my first thought was there’s gonna be a lot of people in the house. And there were—10 in total, including two 2-year-old children. But to my surprise, it didn’t feel cramped; instead it was cozy. The house was alive with people. And I realized that Dahlia wasn’t just an old student who came to visit often, she was family. And by the end of the weekend, I felt like a part of the family too.

Dahlia and her husband Gabriel grew up in Bethlehem, Palestine, went to college in the United States and now live in Boston. They’ve lived and traveled all over the place, and are the type of friendly, worldly travelers you’d hope to bump into on the road. They both speak English, French and Arabic fluently, and their 2-year-old daughter can already understand and speak a little of all three.

The arrival of this little family marked an unexpected turning-point in my time here. With almost exactly one month left in Strasbourg, I’d been focusing more on what was exciting about leaving, rather than what I still had left to enjoy. Seeing Dahlia come into the house, full of joy and appreciation for these people and their culture after so many years, gave me pause to think and reexamine what it was that I was excited to leave behind. And I found there was a lot to appreciate.

Dahlia and Gabriel proved to be a sort of bridge between my host family and I, over a gap I hadn’t even realized was there. As Dahlia explained many of the little things my host mother does and all the reasons behind the way they live—things I might have noticed before but never really picked up on or fully understood—, I began to truly appreciate what a unique cultural experience I am having.

My family still lives a very traditional Alsacian lifestyle, and their house has not changed one bit in the 15 years since Dahlia was a student there. My host parents spend most of the day working in their garden, which provides many of the vegetables we eat, they watch the same dubbed American soap opera every day which they’ve been watching for at least the last 15 years, they can still speak the dying Alsacian language, and my host mother prepares traditional Alsacian meals all the time (trust me, it’s quite different from normal french food). Their house has no internet, and their TV’s are several decades old at least, but it all just adds to the charm of their lifestyle.

I realized that I am really lucky to be living where I am. Most of the host families in Strasbourg today are totally modernized, and the traditional culture is disappearing. The experience of living with them is a modern European one, rather than a traditional uniquely regional one. But with my host family, it’s almost like time is at a standstill, lost somewhere in Alsace between the 1960’s and 90’s. I may live further away than most people, and have less internet access than everyone else on my program, but I’m getting a very authentic experience with an incredibly nice family. But it took the arrival of Dahlia and her family for me to fully realize that.

Having them here put things in perspective and shifted my view of my family, even how I interacted with them. With Dahlia and Gabriel at the table, conversations were more lively, and when I didn’t know how to say something, they could serve as translator. Even when we were speaking in English, it was mostly about other cultures, be they French, Palestinian, Japanese or whatever.

What amazed me most was how easily everything meshed. It just worked. Dahlia and Gabriel really are family to them. Every night there was a big dinner with everyone and my host family would pull out all the stops, because there’s only five days a year they get to spend with Dahlia and Gabriel, which means every dinner must be celebrated. One night after we’d finished eating, Dahlia explained to me that it had taken her 10 years to earn the right to help do the dishes after dinner, and my host mother still won’t let Gabriel help with anything. 

In fact, the only time I’ve ever heard her raise her voice was at him. After pretty much every meal, Gabriel would get up and try to start taking dishes into the kitchen, but as soon as my host mother noticed what he was doing, she would yell at him in French, saying “No! You are in my house, therefore you will do nothing!” to which Gabriel responded with a smile and a hapless gesture, retreating back to his chair until after the next course, when he would diligently try again.

There was lots of joking, of course too much eating, and plenty of scenes just like that between various family members. It was during all this that it dawned on me that family really is the same across cultures. You talk, you joke, you yell, you eat, you get told by the mother in charge to eat more, you enjoy each other’s’ company, and you have a good time. 

It might have been one of the stranger combinations for a family gathering, but in this house, where you come from doesn’t matter, only that you become a part of the family. I think it says something that with a Jewish American college student, a Palestinian couple, and a large French family all gathered around the same table, the biggest conflicts weren’t cultural, but over who would get the slice of tart with the most cinnamon on it and who was allowed to help with the dishes.

Around the table from left to right: Rene (my host father), Suzanne (my host mother), Philippe (their son), Valerie (Philippe's wife), Marilyn (their daughter), Gabriel, and Dahlia

Moments and Reflections from the Road

In 10 days, from February 23rd to March 4th, 2012, my friend Veronica and I embarked on a journey to 5 cities; taking 7 buses, 6 trains, and 4 planes in the process. Our whole trip can't be captured in one short description, but what follows are a few excerpts and highlights from my journal. Note: all quotes are at least slightly wrong.

3:05pm, 2/23/12, Strasbourg, France. Transit to go: 17/17

There is a man playing accordion on our tram to the Strasbourg train station. He’s the first accordionist I’ve seen in 2 months in Europe. Veronica and I decide he is a good omen for the start of our trip. I snap a photo by pretending to take one of Veronica’s head, to be seriously cropped later.

6:57am, 2/24/12, Baden-Baden, Germany. Transit to go: 15/17

We’re sitting on a cold concrete bench, waiting at the bus station. It looks like the sun will start to come up in a few minutes, but for now the German bus station is cast in the glow of half-morning twilight. We sit, munching on a breakfast of home-made mini-sandwiches on local german bread that the hostel staff left for us by the door for on our way out. I’m only half awake, but feeling mostly excited, though slightly nervous that we’ll miss our first plane.

1:34pm, 2/25/12, Barcelona, Spain. Transit to go: 13/17

Dunc, our excellent Irish architect/ free walking tour guide is explaining to us the significance of the plaza we are standing in. 

“Those steps over there were where Columbus walked up to King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella and triumphantly proclaimed, ‘I have found a new world!’ then showed off all the great things he brought back. However, he also brought back syphilis, and was the first European to die from it. Little known fact though, is that Queen Isabella was the second.”

This becomes my new favorite fun fact.

10:46pm, 2/25/12, Barcelona, Spain. Transit to go: 13/17

“I’m probably not going to remember your name, how bout I just call you America?”

“Then do I get to call you Australia Jack?”

“Sure”

This was the start of my friendship with Jack, a very interesting 20-something year old man from Australia. We were walking in a herd of other young travelers through the narrow cobblestone alleys in Barcelona’s gothic district, heading towards some bar. 

“So what are you doing in Barcelona, Australia Jack?”

“Well...” then he launched into a story of 6 months of travel, mostly in South East Asia, with breaks in between traveling to work as a waiter or chef for a month or two in fine dining establishments all over the world, and plans to continue doing so for the next 2 years. I was fascinated and pelted him with questions. By the time we got to the bar, I had been just as thoroughly bombarded, but with reasons for why I needed to go Laos.

Australia Jack and I were friends for only about 4 hours, then I never saw him again after that night. But I have some fond memories of Australia Jack. And hey, I’d consider going to Laos.

9:32am 2/27/12 Barcelona, Spain. Transit to go: 13/17

Walking to the train station to go to Madrid:

“Ok, one of the guys who was in our room at that hostel snores louder than anything I’ve ever heard!”

“Yeah, I know. If he was asleep before I was, there was no way I was falling asleep. I actually had no idea that it was humanly possible to snore that loud!”

“I went to the bathroom in the middle of the night last night. You could hear him from the bathroom...”

“It’s pretty impressive.”

“Yeah, it sounded like a trumpet...only less melodic.”

“Mhmn.”

Ahhhhhh, adventures in hosteling.

11:08am 2/27/12 Between Barcelona and Madrid, Spain. Transit to go: 12.5/17

Sitting on the nicest train I’ve ever seen, I’m idly making notes in my journal, but mostly staring out the window, watching the Spanish countryside stream by. Veronica is watching our in-train movie, “Captain America.” (Since when have in-train movies been a thing?)

“Oh no! They just switched it to Spanish! And the subtitles are still in Spanish. Aw, I can’t watch now.”

“Really? Ooh! Now I wanna watch.”

I grab my headphones and plug in to the train’s audio system, then proceed to thoroughly enjoy the rest of my train ride. I pass the next hour and a half watching Captain America dubbed in Spanish and letting my dormant Spanish speaking skills slowly start to resurface themselves. To my left, the Spanish countryside continues to zip by, bringing us steadily closer to city #2.

5:03am 2/28/12 Madrid, Spain. Transit to go: 12/17

“Wow. The streets are actually completely empty.”

“Uh, well, except for that guy up ahead who is cleaning the sidewalks with a giant fire hose or something...Can we make it our goal not to get covered in water on our way to the airport at 5am?”

“Hmm, yeah. Good plan. Let’s go around him.”

3:22pm 2/29/12 Venice, Italy. Transit to go: 8/17

“I love you! I love you!”

We’re standing on the Rialto bridge in Venice and a gondolier passing below (with a full boat of tourists) is shouting up at us.

“Come, jump in my boat! Jump in my boat! We will have a party in my boat. I’ll bring the champagne!” 

We laugh. I briefly consider the jump. It’s about 40 feet. Something tells me the frame of a gondola may not support that kind of landing. The gondola passes under the bridge.

10:19pm 2/29/12 Somewhere between Venice, Italy and Vienna, Austria. Transit to go: 7.5/17

I’m laughing and snapping photos as one of our Japanese train-car-mates tries to give Veronica a back massage in the awkwardly cramped space. We’re sharing an overnight train car on an 11 hour ride with four very excited and friendly 25-year-old Japanese guys, who all graduated one month earlier from medical school and are on a celebratory trip through Europe. 

After chatting a while, one of them asked, “You have health problems? We can help.” We said not really, but with one small mention by Veronica that her back had been hurting earlier, a back massage immediately became top priority. Within a few minutes I was pulling my camera out, unwilling to miss documenting this bizarre and hilarious event.

12:34pm 3/1/12, Vienna, Austria. Transit to go: 7/17

“You went to Moshava? No way, I went to Miriam.”

We’re taking a walking tour of Vienna, and for some reason or other I start talking with the guy next to me, and soon discover he went to the same summer camps as I did and knows many of the same people, as he was in the year above me. His travel buddy and Veronica also started talking, though their conversation quickly became part conversation, part scrabble game (yes, of course there’s an app for that). We exchange travel stories, and he and his friend spend the better part of the next two hours convincing us why we should go with them to Budapest for a day. I must have heard “Come to Budapest!” a dozen times. And the thing is, we almost went.

1:27am 3/2/12 Vienna, Austria. Transit to go: 7/17

Facebook conversation between my friend Ksenia and I:

Me: Yo! Guess what? I just was in a four-way water gun fight in the hostel bar!

Ksenia: what???

Me: It was awesome! Now I’m soaked. And sitting in the lobby on facebook.

Ksenia: good job. How did that happen?

Me: They use water guns to knock shots into jaggerbombs (they balance them on top first and make you shoot them in)

I guess they had a few extra guns and people just started keeping them, and then using them. My friend Matt the funeral home director handed me one, so I joined in.

Ksenia: wait, what?! funeral home director?

Me: one of the guys in my room is a 26-year-old funeral home director from New York. He majored in creative writing at Tulane. Go figure.

Ksenia: hunh.

Me: right?

...

i think my hair is dripping onto this chair.

Ksenia: dude, go to bed.

Me: :P

6:58am 3/3/12, Vienna, Austria. Transit to go: 7/17

The door to our room clicks shut behind us and we start walking down to the lobby to check out.

“Is this real life?”

“I don’t know, but we’re going to Rome right now.”

“Like I said, is this real life? You realize we went to bed less than 2 hours ago after spending half the night talking to a Canadian banker who got recruited to be the hockey goalie for the German national hockey team and a New Zealand golf course lawn manager who’s worked all over the world--which apparently you can actually go to school for and its actually a highly in demand field of work.”

“Yeah, that was ridiculous. A well spent night. Let’s go to Rome. We’ll nap on the plane.”

4:27pm 3/3/12, Rome, Italy. Transit to go: 4/17

“Don’t marry! Never marry!”

We’re wandering around the old city of Rome, when we pass by a middle-aged Italian man playing the guitar. Or at least, he would be playing the guitar if he wasn’t so preoccupied shouting advice to the American man walking by him. He strums disconnected cords intermittently between phrases.

“Go, go back to your wife and be a slave! Be a slave...for free!”

We continue walking, hiding our snickers, lest he choose to give us some advice as well. Behind us, the strumming begins to take the form of something that resembles more of a song.

3:52pm 3/4/12, a small train station near the French border, Germany. Transit to go: 1/17

We have a 1 hour wait for our final train, which will return us to Strasbourg. We kill the time by writing down all our favorite quotes from the last 10 days.

“What was it she said? You must go to the Famada Sangria?”

“Do you mean go to the Sagrada Familla? Cause that’s what she actually said.”

“Oh...yeah.”

“Freudian slip?”

“Yeah. It’s been a long trip.”

5:06pm 3/4/12, Strasbourg, France. Transit to go: 0/17

I’m greeted by my host family as I enter the house, and to my surprise I am still relatively coherent at speaking French. Exhausted and in need of a shower, I give them a brief explanation of how the trip was, assuring them of how much fun I had and how tired I am. They ask if I’ll be joining them for dinner. 

My response? “Si, si, si!”

I immediately caught myself and switched back from Spanish to French, this time saying “oui.” A few minutes later, as I finally went up the stairs to my room, I thanked my host mom for something she had just said.

“Grazie!” I said.

The funny thing is, I don’t even speak Italian.

Train Travel

Taking the train has a sense of calm to it. There’s something about a long train ride that's almost soothing. When going by train, I find myself in a state of peaceful reflection, staring out the window, lost in thought as the hours wind by. 

On the train, you see the most interesting parts of cities. The neglected and run-down parts; long forgotten corners and neighborhoods too poor to be further from the tracks. It’s the “other side of the city” tour, the one you cant request, but comes complimentary with any train journey. In TrenItalia, SNCF, Renfe, Deutsch Bahn, and OBB cars you speed through city after city--some whose names you know, others you will forget within the hour--catching flashes of graffitied buildings that have seen better days, overcrowded housing developments, and a glimpse of the more industrial side of town.

In these stretches, I’m not a tourist, but an anthropologist. I pay careful attention as the train wooshes by the parts of the city people like so much to forget. Because here is where the contrast is most interesting. Here I search for the differences between each city and the last. Is there more industry? Less housing developments? Has the style of graffiti changed? It all gives a raw picture of life in the city, coloring my understanding of where I’m going to and coming from.

And then there are the in between periods, when the view out my window opens up to a sweeping rural landscape. Mostly it’s just barren winter farmland on these trips. But sometimes, there are mountains and the occasional treat of an old castle or pristine lake in the distance. Generally though, I see flat plains or rolling hills dotted by small villages that seem to go on forever, eventually merging with the grey sky somewhere in the distance. I let my mind wander on these stretches, losing myself to my thoughts somewhere in that grey landscape. 

Sometimes my mind wanders to what it would be like to grow up in one of those many small towns we pass; so far from everything, so quaint and comfortable-looking. How different would life have been?

But most of the time my mind goes to its reflective place. Something about settling in for a long bus or train ride is a cue for me to start reflecting on the bigger things in life. Train rides more than bus rides--the view from the train tracks is always more interesting that the highway. Staring out that window, I mull over the big questions: what I want to do with my life, where I want to be, what makes me happy, and how to do it all.

The funny thing is though, when we pull into the station and I step off that train, I’m usually burdened with more new questions than answers to old ones. But somehow, I step off each time with a feeling of relaxed contentment. 

Maybe it’s because I always have one good answer. When I ask myself what makes me happy, of all the answers, one always comes to mind. Traveling. So when I step off that train, in a new place, ready for new adventures, I can’t help but feel content on some level. I’m doing something that makes me happy, and as long as I keep doing that, I’ve got all the train rides I could want to figure out the rest.

On Europeans, Language, and Feelings of Inadequacy

     “Das ist sehr interessant!”

We hadn’t even had lunch yet and I’d already heard my professor speaking 3 languages that morning. Berry Kralj, lawyer at the Council of Europe and my European Policy Seminar professor, was taking our class on a three day tour of the EU institutions in Luxembourg and Brussels.

  We were at the European Court of Justice in Luxembourg, and he was speaking German to a British lawyer who had moments ago been explaining to us in English the finer points of how the court functions, and why the rest of the EU hates Greece right now. Professor Kralj had started off the morning conferring in French with Pierre, our bus driver (that’s right, Pierre and the purple papillon bus were back!), given us a brief introduction to the Court of Justice and our schedule there in English, talked to the security officers in French, and was now chatting with an Englishman in German.

     What I was only just realizing, was that Berry Kralj wasn’t some kind of superhuman anomaly of incredibly impressive language knowledge. He was just European. 

Professor Kralj and our class, outside the European Commission in Brussels. Photo courtesy of Arielle Ashley.

  It was an educational trip, and I learned a lot about European government, but what really stuck with me was what I learned about the role of language in Europe. A huge percentage of the European Union staff is dedicated exclusively to language translation. In the Court of Justice, 1/3 of the staff work in some form of translation, including a large team of lawyer linguists whose sole job it is to transform verbose legalize from one language to another as accurately as possible. 

  Everyone who works at the EU is required to know French, as it is the official language used, but they pretty much all also know English, and most people know at least one other language too. It’s not uncommon for people to know 5 or 6 languages. According to our guide at the Court of Justice, there are a few staff members there who speak 12 or 13 languages--and that’s barely even half the languages spoken in the EU. The EU recognizes 23 official languages, and all documents must be translated into each language for the sake of transparency. The sheer amount of resources that much translation requires is astounding.

  But it’s not just people who work at the EU; it seems like pretty much everyone I’ve met lately can speak at least 2, if not 3 languages very well. Even a little eight-year-old girl I helped learn to do a back handspring. Her mother is French and her father German and spoke both languages fluently, but she was apologizing to me for not being able to speak English. Standing there, communicating with her in my rough French, somehow, it seemed I should be the one apologizing.

     Multilingualism is such an ingrained way of life here that people hardly even think about it. But I am constantly reminded of it. Being here in Europe, I want to reach fluency in French and Spanish now more than ever. But it’s no longer just the idea that knowing several languages would be cool or would make me special in some way. Now it feels like almost an obligation. What gives me the right to expect everyone to learn my language just because I was born in an English speaking country? I believe the more effort you put into communicating, the more you get out of it. Being around Europeans, who have so much practice at it and handle multilingual situations with total fluidity is at once both inspiring and intimidating.

     It’s hard not to feel inadequate when someone who speaks upwards of 5 languages tells you they know “a little Spanish,” then starts speaking and you realize their Spanish skills are better than yours. But, despite the intimidation, as weird as this may seem, interactions like these have only made me more determined to become fluent in another language. Or two. Or maybe five. We’ll see. If I stick to it, I might get there one day. Till then, adios, au revoir, auf wiedersehen, arrivederci, sayonara, and see ya later.

Things I've Learned While Traveling Through Europe pt 2

This is the second installment in this series of rules based on my experiences and adventures in Europe, based on my travels to Stuttgart, Germany, the class study tour I went on to Luxembourg and Belgium, and my 10 day spring break trip to Barcelona, Madrid, Venice, Vienna, and Rome. I'm very behind on blog posts right now, but expect blogs about my adventures in those places soon!


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14. Go to the local market every place you visit if you can. It’s a great way to get a glimpse at the local culture, and stock up on fruit.

15. Don’t underestimate the utility of a Razor scooter as a mode of transportation. It’s the most popular mode of transit for commuting to work among the performers in the Palazzo Circus Show in Stuttgart, Germany. And if they use it, then clearly it must be a good idea.


16. When given a choice, get the Belgian beer. They’re only about a zillion times better than American beer. But careful, they’re also more than twice as strong.

17. Sometimes it can be really fun to just wander through the streets of a city at night with your friends for several hours, taking silly pictures with all the statues you find, instead of going to a bar.


18. Chocolate. Get some. Especially in Belgium. Gourmet chocolates are a lot cheaper there. And possibly even tastier. And often they give you free samples.

19. Should you find a mysterious automatic shoe-shining machine in your hotel, use it--as often as possible until you leave. But don’t make your friends late for dinner by deciding it’s imperative you shine your shoes before going out. 

20. Bring a travel-sized towel and a combination lock with you on your journey. They will come in very handy at hostels, and the less space they take up, the better. You’ll need that room for other things.

21. Know the exact dimensions of your bag, so you can know for sure if the stingy airlines will make you check your bags and pay a major extra baggage fee. 

22. Don’t plan every last detail of your trip in advance, and don’t always consult the map. It’s good to get a little lost and have some unexpected adventures. They make great stories.

23. Don’t always go to bed when you planned to; let your friends convince you to stay out just a little longer, or you know, another 3 or 4 hours.

24. Go on free walking tours. It’s a great way to see a city, especially if you have an awesome guide, and cool way to make new friends.

25. Never leave your stuff out of sight. Even on a deserted beach at 3 in the morning.

26. Don’t wear flip flops to the club.

27. Stay in larger hostel rooms and make friends with your roommates. Don’t be shy about talking to them!

28. Hang out in the hostel lounge, make new friends, and take advantage of internet access.

29. No matter what kind of diet your on, always make exceptions for regional specialties.

30. Check a guidebook before you go to a new city, just so you don’t feel completely lost. It gives you a good idea of where to start, and usually some excellent restaurant recommendations, cutting out the difficult task of finding good cheap food  on an empty stomach.

31. Take overnight trains. They’re a great mode of transportation, you can actually get some sleep, and if you’re lucky you might share a car with 4 japanese med school grads and get a free back massage out of it.

32. Try to spend at least 3 nights in every city you go to. Otherwise things just feel kinda rushed. There are some exceptions to this rule of course.

33. Don’t spend more than one night in Venice. Unless you’re rich, above the age of 50, and into expensive Italian shopping, there’s not much to do once you’ve walked around the small city once.

34. Talk to the people who work at your hostel. Ask them for recommendations where to go, what to eat, and about their life stories. They’re almost always super interesting people.

35. Make friends with the Venetian gondoliers. 

36. Never get a meal on the main tourist strip of a city unless you’re desperate.

37. Always be prepared for a water gun fight. Even (or especially) in bars.

38. Consider changing your plans at the last minute. But make sure to double check prices before you do.

39. Ask any new friends you make what they do for a living. The answers may surprise you. Within 48 hours you could meet people as different (and random) as a golf course lawn manager, english teacher, and funeral home director.

40. Always bring a pair of at least somewhat nice shoes.

41. Don’t be surprised to hear random languages when you travel. Like Hebrew from a cheese vendor in Vienna.

photo courtesy of Yehuda Mivasaur

42. Expect to encounter a lot of ham.

43. When on the go a lot, grab a banana for breakfast.

44. Even if you speak the local language, don’t expect to understand the dialect.

45.Take advantage of free breakfast. Even if you simply get up, eat, and then go back to bed right afterwards.


46. Be a traveler, not a tourist.

47. If you see an accordionist, know that it’s a good sign and something must be going right.