Culture Shock

Katie D.

July 20, 2011 - 8:13 PM

I've been thinking of writing a culture shock blog for some time now, basically since leaving the states. But the time has never felt completely right, and I've been embarrassed to admit I've been experiencing serious culture shock this trip. So I put off writing the blog, in the hope that ignoring the reality would make it go away.

But tonight, while "showering" in a bucket of cold water, a massive thunderstorm blew up and started to shake the tin walls of the bathroom, so I thought "fine. Things are different here, and I'm going to write about it."

Culture shock is different than homesickness. You can be homesick and never leave your hometown. Culture shock has everything to do with that sneaky feeling that everyone around you is doing it wrong. Whatever "it" is, there's just something about the expected norms that just don't match up with the way you understand the world.

It's not a good feeling, but it is a normal one. I keep thinking that I'll travel enough to stop getting that sense of otherness and (if we're honest) of knowing how to do things better. But culture shock keeps on arriving, because that's how we are as a human race: we are creatures of habit and familiarity. And when we're far from home, the strangeness surprises us at odd times.

For example, yesterday I saw someone reading on the bus for the first time. I have spent dozens of hours in buses in Honduras, and never once have I witnessed anyone reading, writing, listening to music, or talking on the phone. Folks hardly talk at all on the buses, to be honest. To the people here, that's just how things are. But if I'm honest with myself, to me this looks like a gigantic waste of time.

Another example has to do with trash. Probably most people who have traveled have witnessed the very different methods of waste disposal in other countries. While in the border checkpoint from Nicaragua, a tourist threw half a piece of chicken in the garbage, and watched in horror as a man fished it out and ate it. I have watched as people, then dogs, pigs, and chickens pick through the garbage that gets deposited on the sides of roads. A few days ago, I acted against all my upbringing and instincts and threw an empty juice bottle into the grass on the side of the road. I almost can't even write the words-I felt like the environment police were going to come and take me away, or that I'd die from the shame. But waste is not managed here, and searching for a trash can simply delays the inevitable roadside dump. But man is that little piece of culture stuck in my programming.

A bit of culture I don't much appreciate is getting kissed at in the street. I don't mind being talked to, and find the bits of English that get shouted my way to be pretty funny sometimes ("I luf you" and "hey meng" are very common) but I don't like being called "Mommy" and I don't like the kissy noises men make here. I understand that it's just the culture, and that it means less than being whistled at while passing a construction site in the US. It's a cultural thing. So I understand it, but I don't like it. That's culture shock.

Everyone here refers to me as "the gringa," which is fine. What is odd, to me, is the way adjectives become pronouns here, in a decidedly un-pc way. A Honduran with darker skin is referred to as "Black," as in "Hey, you Black." My host sister here is "the Fat One," and a friend is "Little Old Lady." It feels inappropriate to me, but no one asked my permission about it.

The final complaint has nothing to do with Honduras and everything to do with the shock of a city girl suddenly living in the country. It's the noise. Right now, everything is peaceful after the thunderstorm. There are bug noises and frog noises (both the "ribbit" kind, and the odd grinding noise some frogs make here), but mostly it's quiet. But come 4:00 in the morning, and there will be a million roosters proclaiming their rooster-ness to the world. I have to say, I am not a fan of living on the sleeping schedule of a bunch of dumb birds. I had my first dream in Spanish last night: I was complaining to my UO friends about the roosters, and explaining that they would have trouble sleeping. THAT'S how embedded the culture shock has gotten: until I was awakened by roosters, I was dreaming about them.

Lots of other cultural oddness has become part of my rhythm, and doesn't bother me. It's the adventure of traveling: dealing with the differences in time and scheduling, riding overcrowded busses, and eating strange food. I love some things here, including some small details that will certainly stick with me in the long run: every house has a hammock, all bus attendants shout dale dale dale! (pronounced da-lay) when arriving at an intersection (it basically means "hit it!) and most of the day there is no running water. I kind of like the pila system: having a sink with a large reservoir of water on one side, and washing hands and dishes in the other side.

Even the shower which inspired the experience isn't really so bad. The thing about culture shock is it's only uncomfortable for you in the moment. In the end, I'm still clean, whether by method of running water or bucket.