It all came to a head last Sunday as I watched the Italian classic Ladri di biciclette (with Spanish subtitles, of course) and went into a two day funk. You see, the protagonist realized the city he knew as home had utterly defeated him. He was dejected, confused and without hope.
After pondering his fate for a few hours, I realized that was exactly how I felt. The city I had chosen to call home had defeated me.
Now, before you get too concerned and suggest I get my hands on some good meds, I will tell you my symptoms are quite normal. What I have is a good old-fashioned case of culture shock.
I am happy to report culture shock is not a medical condition. I don't have a "disorder" or "syndrome". My brain is just confused over the many changes it has experienced over the last 11 plus months.
Culture shock is not just a term describing the realities of living in a foreign country. It's more nuanced and longer term.
While in Piriapolis over Christmas, Joe and I shared a conversation with a Uruguayan sociology major who described in detail the five stages of culture shock. We listened with rapt attention, recognizing each one, except, of course, the final stage of acceptance and integration. Check back with me in year.
For a while. the stages were progressing in true textbook fashion. Now they seem to be flip-flopping all over the place. Apparently this is quite common as well. Wonderful.
Considering culture shock is such a large part of the expat experience, my next five blog posts will describe witty and engaging personal examples of each stage. Maybe not so much witty and engaging as frustrating and irritating.
Today, I'm happy with my life in a strange land. Tomorrow may be a different story. I will say living in a foreign country is like the mother of all amusement park rides. Woohoo.
2 comments:
Boy Linda, I can relate to that isolation feeling...
Today at the feria I just about lost it. People here are still people and there are some very rude people in this world.
I can't verbally check people here because my Spanish isn't fluent enough.
I understand 80% of what's being said to me... I can communicate what I need just fine... But when my blood gets pumping my Spanish goes out the window, I start mixing Arabic into it and it's not pretty...
When that starts to happen, I resort to my favorite phrase "lo siento, no hablo espanol." Then I just listen.
Living in San Diego I heard "lo siento, no hablo English" a countless number of times.
It's kind of like payback and a way for me to escape at the same time... And it works great on telemarketers ;-)
Hi Linda,
I'm a blogging transplant from the states learning to navigate Mvd. too. I've marked your blog and plan to follow along.
I can identify with your culture shock post. Especially the idea that we can bounce back and forth.
Not easy doesn't begin to describe the trek to integration and acceptance.
Say hi sometime and don't give up. This is a jewel after all.
Jim
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