I was recently asked to describe how my experience abroad has impacted my self-understanding,
maturity and appreciation of cultural differences, I quite literally do not
know where to start. My exposure to other cultures and customs as been a part of my history for as long as I can remember. In high school I lived and worked in Malawi, Africa; Córdoba,
Argentina; and Agua Prieta Mexico, and as a little girl I spent time living with my
family on Native American reservations in the United States. However, it was markedly later that I first took ownership
of these experiences as an individual. When I moved away from home, my experiences suddenly became entirely self-directed. Each connection I made, each language barrier I
overcame was completely dependent on the decisions I myself made.
This began with
a Birthright trip to Israel. It was a disaster. Not that one can really
complain about a government funded trip, but the ten days I spent on the trip
was nowhere near as enlightening or enjoyable as I expected. I realized that
travelling with a horde of other students from the United States was about as
far away from cultural immersion as possible, and it was virtually impossible
to learn anything of cultural substance in their company. With this in mind, I
moved my return trip back several weeks, determined to gain more from the
opportunity granted to me. I left the group at the airport. While my fellow
students scrambled to their gaits, excited to fly home with stories full of
drunken escapades and hook-ups, I stood alone in the airport. I had no idea
where to go or what to do. I just knew I needed to do something. It was, I would imagine, much like being dropped in the
middle of the ocean, treading water and knowing, deep down, that the only answer
was to choose a direction and start to swim.
Alone, suitcase
in hand, I made my way to an internet cafe and tracked down a backpackers
hostel in Tel Aviv. I met incredible people there, from all over the world, who
had fascinating travel stories and phenomenally different ideas about the
world. It made me crave my own stories, my own connections with places and
people from all over. It made me want to transform all the spaces on the map
into reality—smells, tastes, noises, smiles…and thus started my transformation.
I realized that, as enjoyable as it was to share beers with backpackers from
all over the world, it was, in reality, little better than a tour with my
American companions. Granted, these were still people with drastically
different cultures and backgrounds, but the more time I spent with them, the
more I felt like I was missing out on the culture of the actual place I was in.
I began to notice that locals are the very last people likely to stay in a
hostel. So I made friends with the Israeli workers. They told me places to
explore, their favourite restaurants and cafés, and took me on walks to their
favourite places in the city. By night I did my best to learn from the other
hostel guests, but by day I carved out my own time to try my absolute best to
explore the area through the eyes of an Israeli. I sat and tried to soak up not
just the beautiful sights, but the sweat and dirt, I tried to sync my footsteps
with the city’s pulse.
Eventually I
tracked down long lost family members who lived near Haifa and stayed with them
for a few days. They brought me yet another glimpse of the reality of daily
life, something which, despite my best efforts, was always just out of reach. I
learned about how they lived—always on edge, always waiting for the next bombing
or friend returned home from duty in a casket. They taught me about patriotism
and sacrifice, about what it means to have a citizen army, where each and ever
member of the population has a vested interest in national affairs…affairs
which made me realize I knew nothing of the other side. So, a few checkpoints
later, I wound up deep in the West Bank. It was a gesture more than anything,
but I was quickly overwhelmed by the hospitality and kindness of the
Palestinians, I began to learn about their insatiable desire to share their
side of the story.
I realized I
knew nothing.
I remember
sitting under the desert stars in Jordan, the place I trekked to next, my head
aching from the sheer beauty as I tried to make sense of all the ideas in my
heart. It was a culmination of the history feeding the conflict from both Israeli
and Palestinian sides, the kindness and cruelty of people, regardless of where
they or their parents were from. I felt so small and so lost, but somehow,
puzzling through everything simultaneously made me feel far larger and stronger
than circumstance. Larger and stronger than I have ever felt before.
When I came back
to school, I had a much clearer direction in life and in my
education. I knew coming in that I wanted to study something international, and
had begun work on an independent major focusing on a constructivist approach to
international relations my freshman year, however my time in the Middle East
gave me more focus. I specified my desire to examine cultures without a state
and ethno-nationalism. All of my research projects and essays began to revolve
around this topic whenever applicable (and a few times when it was not). During
this process, I began research on one of the most famous examples of
ethno-nationalism in the world today: The Basque and Catalan independence
movements in northern Spain. This was the major driving factor behind my
decision to study abroad there sophomore year.
Characteristic
of my luck, two of my flights were delayed on the way, and I arrived to my
apartment in the Eixample district of Barcelona exhausted, sick and late. I was
disappointed that all of my housemates were from the US and none of them spoke
or had any desire to speak Spanish. They were clearly there on a nightlife tour,
with no interest in learning anything about the local culture. To each their
own. I chose to distance myself from the study abroad program as much as
possible, so as to avoid another Birthright.
This decision was fundamental to my experience in countless ways. I learned
that, in contrast to a transient visit, staying in hostels or studying at a
university, it is actually quite difficult to establish real relationships with
people. For the first month or so, I had few contacts in the city. After
experiencing a sharp pain in my side, I went to a walk in clinic and, after a
battery of tests, was diagnosed with Kidney Failure. Unable to get in contact
with my parents, and without contacts in the city, I spent two of the loneliest
weeks of my life in the hospital. I learned exactly how vulnerable I was, and
the importance of self-awareness and health. I thought my Spanish was decent
until that moment, when I realized the gaping holes in my vocabulary. There was
never a reason to learn medical vocabulary. Slowly, I improved my heath and
Spanish. I had nothing but time. By the end, I was chatting and joking with the
nurses. One of my most vivid memories was two days before I was released. One
of the nurses brought me my daily broth—I was only allowed one meal a day, and
was on an all-liquid diet. I thanked her and reached my spoon in, only to find,
hidden at the bottom of the bowl…NOODLES! I instantly broke down in tears. It’s
the little things.
When I was
finally released, I was determined to do more to meet people. I got involved
with MeetUp and couchsurfing, and began attending regular language and culture
exchanges. I learned that the best way to meet people is to get involved in the
things you care about. I got to know the receptionist at the building where I lived,
the workers at my favourite coffee shop, and through them met many others who
became close friends. I had daily language exchanges, where I would speak
Spanish and my local friends would speak English, or otherwise trading off
every twenty minutes. International friends and I would have meal exchanges,
where each person would make a dish typical of their country and we would all
share foods and traditions. I was even invited to traditional celebrations such
as calçotadas and correfocs. This self-determination and
independent involvement in the community was far and away one of the most
impactful lessons I have ever learned, and have no doubt it will continue to
serve me time and time again in the future.
At the end of April, and on my twentieth
birthday, I found myself alone again. It was the day I was meant to move out of
my apartment after the conclusion of the program. I, of course, had no plan
whatsoever. I had [intentionally] neglected to purchase a return plane ticket,
and all I had to do was choose a direction to go. Easier said than done, as it
turns out.
After a few days, I decided to stay with
a local friend until I decided where to go. Then, one day, the opportunity
arose to take an all-expenses-paid road trip to Slovenia and Croatia. A Frenchman
I had met was an avid rock-climber, determined to use his vacation time from
work to scale the world-renowned rock faces in Slovenia. He offered to cover
costs if I went and belayed him on the mountain. Needless to say, I jumped at
the opportunity. We drove across the southern portion of the continent, climbed
in Slovenia, and explored northern Croatia. I was so intrigued by the place,
which I had known painfully little about beforehand, that I decided to stay. I
swapped between hostels and local couchsurfing hosts, until I eventually found
a help-wanted notice at horse ranch, looking for someone to help train ad care
for horses that were used by international guests on treks through the Croatian
countryside. It seemed like a dream come true. I lived on the ranch, working
with locals on daily upkeep and care of the horses, and then assisted them in
making camp when guests arrived and began their trips.
During this time, I began to learn more
and more about the history of the region. One of my co-workers, a Bosnian, lied
about his name each time we stayed with a different host along the trail,
telling me it was unsafe to reveal his obviously Bosnian name to people who
could be Serbian. The wars may have ended, but the violence and hatred felt
throughout the region is still a very real part of daily life. I saw hidden
shrines to Tito at some of our hosts’ homes. I heard strong sentiments of
communist nostalgia, and hateful words hurled at all sides. More than ever, I
wanted to understand what drives that hatred. How do people who were taught
that they were all Yugoslav brothers for decades, suddenly have such strong
distrust of one another? I continued to travel and ask questions of everyone I
met along the way. I learned how the identities that divide the region are not
only historical, but economic and political as well. Because many of the topics
were never discussed, the wounds each side afforded the others remain unhealed.
And still, no matter how many people I
talked to, I found no answers, but instead just endless questions.
I came back to school again,
more determined than ever to increase my knowledge and understanding of
cultural identity and ethno-nationalism. I read voraciously, and continued to
talk discuss the issues with my international friends, and pick the minds of my
professors.
My final summer before graduation, I had
no intention of spending time abroad. It happened purely on accident.
Nevertheless, I woke up in San Jose, Costa Rica one morning in June, again
without the faintest idea of what to do or where to go. I explored the city for
a day, meeting up with Costa Rican friends, before beginning
to search for work. Luckily, I found a backpacker’s hostel in desperate need of
immediate help. A bus ride later, I arrived in the tiny coastal village of
Sámara.
For two months, I worked as a
receptionist, helping travellers of all ages and backgrounds. I switched back
and forth between Spanish and English, reveling in the ease at which I
rediscovered my linguistic abilities. Working at a hostel provided very
different opportunities than staying in them did. I was able to balance a more
permanent and integrated with locals and time spent talking to international
guests. I was fascinated to augment my knowledge of different cultures, and was
fascinated to hear different stories of ethno-nationalism repeated by people
from across the globe. Cultures without a state, as it turns out, exist in
varying capacities, in almost every country in the world. Somewhat less
surprising was the fact that each and every person had differing opinions about
them. Guanacaste itself is a prime example. Although I had never heard of it
before I began working there, they are very much culturally distinct from the
rest of the country, historically trapped between Nicaragua and Costa Rica, but
not really a part of either one.
When my more permanent replacement
arrived at the hostel, my plan was to spend my remaining two weeks travelling
in Nicaragua and Costa Rica before catching my return flight from San Jose. But
I have never been good with plans. Instead, I ended up engrossed in the rich
history of Nicaragua, captivated by the way each Central American country’s
history and culture bled into those of their neighbors. Instead of returning
south to San Jose, I went north. Again conducting interviews with anyone that
would talk to me, I slowly learned more and more about the many dynamics of the
area, and how it fit on a broader level to my own topic of study. Eventually, I
ended up in northern Mexico. My trip had spanned six very different Spanish
speaking countries and had been not only a perfect opportunity to further my
ethno-nationalistic questions, but to begin a foray into the rich topic of
cultural anthropology as well.
Eventually, I stopped for breath in a
region of Mexico called Querétero. The people there emphasized again how very
different cultures can go unrecognized under the umbrella of a single state. I
was exposed to a variety of indigenous groups and languages, struggling to
coexist in a model that made no room for them.
The end of this particular trip was
special. It was one of those not-so-rare instances where reality is even better
than imagination. I at the last minute invited to a wedding of a Mexican girl
to an English man, a friend of a friend from my trip. Symbolically, the
ceremony was a beautiful answer to many of the questions that had arisen from
the previous couple months. The couple had found a way to integrate their two
cultural traditions in a way that embraced and respected both sides of their
families. Although this compromise is difficult on a large scale, it was a
symbolic beacon of hope—that a happy ending, or a happy beginning, is possible.
I don't know if this answered the question. Maybe it isn't supposed to. I do hope that it provided a glimpse into the depth of the experience and the lessons I learned.
1. Your mind is never as open as think it is
2. The people that touch your heart and change your life are never the ones
you expect
3. It is easy to learn how to navigate public transportation and how to
slip between checkpoints. You learn because you have to. It is difficult to
learn what is inside a person’s heart
4. The only way to learn the answers to your burning questions is to ask. Ask
everything and ask everyone
5. The best way to learn is the hardest: there is no greater beauty or
vulnerability than handing your heart over to another person and immersing
yourself in their world
6. Bite your tongue, swallow your words and listen. You know knowing and
the sooner you accept your ignorance, the easier it becomes to learn
7. There is a difference between living and being alive, and you are the only
one who can decide between them
8.
Patriotism is not waiving a flag over your head,
looking down on the traditions and cultures of others. It is something you tuck
into your back pocket, to carry with quiet ease. You are a human first, a
nationality second
9.
Once you learn to see the world through the eyes of
someone else, the world grows infinitely and there is no going back
