In terms of favorite holidays, the Fourth of July has always scored
top marks with me. Somewhere between my eighth slice of watermelon and the
junior-high marching band's triumphant rendition of "You're a Grand Old
Flag," I'm flooded by a warm, gooey sensation of national pride.
"Living in
After bracing myself to be pelted with Italian
meatballs, however, such pessimistic warnings seemed entirely unfounded. The
old woman running the sandwich shop waited patiently as I stumbled over the
Italian word for artichoke. The delivery men cheerfully realigned my
bicycle chain after watching me struggle to do it myself. My
eight-year-old host sister illustrated Italian vocabulary words on napkins at
the dinner table.
Almo st every
Italian I meet is approachable, friendly and helpful, despite my blonde
hair, pathetic attempts at Italian and Vera Bradley wristlet. If Italians
dislike Americans, they certainly aren't showing it.
Unfortunately, the elusive concept of "ugly Americans" became
mortifyingly clear in the course of a single evening and I needed no
Italian perspectives to see why. I[I heard ]
"I can't believe they don't have the menu written in English."
"I hate how they never bring you butter here, I have to ask for it at
every restaurant I go to."
After waiting weeks to experience the ristorante many
called
"Excuse me, last time I was here we sat at that
table, could we move?"
"I've been here for like two months but my Italian class is a joke, my
teacher only speaks in Italian so I never pay attention ?
pomodoro is like cheese,
right?"
"Scoo-zee, I asked for my steak medium-rare and
this looks medium, can you have them re-do it?"
The server was polite and helpful, with a nearly genuine smile, using the
little English she knew, while my cheeks seared red in shame at the thought
of being associated with these students.
Those 20 minutes of obnoxious dinner conversation embodied the kind of
demanding, superior attitude and ignorance of other cultures that fuels
negative stereotypes of American travelers, student or otherwise, and I had
the unique experience of witnessing it from a semi-foreigner's perspective. And
let's just say they were lucky I didn't have access to my own Italian meatballs
to chuck.
Some students seem to forget they are guests in a foreign country -
supposedly here to immerse themselves in a different
culture they paid good money to explore. By clinging exclusively to their own traditio ns and cultural assumptions, these students are
not only leaving a damaging impression, but also shortchanging their own
experience.
It's the differences we're here for - if you're looking for English menus and
table butter, they are readily available back home.
This overheard interlude reminded me that words and actions, in some small way,
reflect on all of us, even if you really would prefer butter to olive oil.
But as I promise to look at that evening's embarrassment as a lesson in
foreign relations, I will also hold another
When a Super Bowl party began (game time: 12:30 a.m.) the national anthem cut
through the din of the bar like a blazing Fourth of July fireworks display. The
room was crowded with American study abroad students eager to get a taste of
something familiar after spending weeks in an unfamiliar world.
And as we followed Jordin Sparks' lead on the big
screen, belting out those ingrained words until the room reverberated with
"The Star-Spangled Banner," I realized that even while discovering
and embracing the traditions of a foreign culture, it is always important to
honor your own traditions as well.
And you can't get much warmer and gooier than that.