Talk about a cross-cultural experience. It doesn't get much more crossed than cute-little-old Germans observing a foxy lady do the belly roll on a Friday night. And, judging by their expressions above, they were having a whale of a time.
This particular Friday night, as you might imagine, was a special one in the cute-little-old town where German Family lives. One Fachhäuser-bedecked street was throwing its annual cultural festival, during which all the shops remained open late into the night and hosted much merry culturing and festing. The theme of the evening was "Krimi," which translates into "detective story," "crime thriller," or "whodunnit," among other fine phrases. A stroll over the cobblestones would lead you to scenes in which shop owners drew chalk outlines of children on poster paper (which the thrilled zombie children could then take home and hang on the refrigerator and thus delightedly show all the neighbors what their bodies would look like dead on the ground behind police tape), a local photography shop taking mug shots of the passers-by, an ever-slinking tango stage, various crime-themed store windows with televisions playing classic black & white thriller flicks, a choir made up of mostly graying-haired persons singing jazz renditions of popular Beatles tunes-- complete with scatting and thick with endearingly dear German accents, a doctor's office turned art gallery for local artists, dancing bellies, food, beverage, and everywhere people of all ages having a ball.
I really enjoy the chaos in this shot.
Other adventures during my days with German Family included napping on the patio in the sunshine with comforting canine company, an evening of beautiful sushi rolling and ingesting, lots of family and homemade Kuchen time, and a couple very interesting discussions with people about American-German cultural differences. The first of these conversations took place at a family birthday party with a woman that I found myself sitting next to at a table. She'd overheard me talking with someone else about being an exchange student and after mentioning that I was the first American she'd ever met that could speak German, told me that her son was about to spend a couple weeks in California with an exchange program. I asked her if her son was interested in a longer-term exchange, with invoked a sudden almost-disdainful facial expression, saying that no, they weren't interested. "We won't let him, at least not until he finishes high school. It's not good for his development at his age, and the culture in America is too free." This caught me by surprise, especially considering certain freedoms in Germany (ie. sexual openness, younger drinking age, etc.) that American culture does not possess, and I politely asked her to explain this to me. She fumbled with her words for a few minutes and ended up retracting her statement, which was a little disappointing as I had become very curious. I then wagered a question about why studying abroad would be harmful to her son's teenage development. She replied saying that it would be harmful to change his school and family environment, and to be away from home for so long. She then went on to say how she'd been shocked to hear of how some exchange students call their host parents "Mom" and "Dad" instead of by their real names. She thought this was unhealthy as well. By this point in the conversation I'd gathered that all she really knew of Americans was what she'd seen on TV or heard in the media and I was excited to lightly pounce upon this opportunity for cross-cultural exchange. I told her about how I had studied abroad for a year as a teenager and about how my family had hosted three teenage exchange students for a year at a time each. I explained how calling my host mother "Maman" was important because I think it helped me feel more like part of the family on a psychological level, even if we had no blood relation. Although the word "Maman" in French translates into "Mom," the fact that it was a different word didn't impede in any way on my relationship with my mother. At this point Sabine (Mother-figure in German Family) came and backed me up, mentioning that Jonas had always called my parents "Mom" and "Dad" during his year with us and was perfectly happy being part of our family. As far as being detrimental to teenage development, ehh, maybe for some people. It's damn hard sometimes, sure, but I'm confident that my struggles during that year were incredibly beneficial for my development. I wasn't really trying to change this woman's opinions (okay, maybe a little), and I don't think I did, but at least I left her with some nuggets of a more even perspective to chew on if she gets hungry.
The other discussion happened the next day with a lovely woman whose daughters have or are currently spending a year of high school in America. She asked me if I'd noticed that Germans were too blunt in the way they spoke, saying that she'd heard Americans tend to hold back what they're really thinking in order not to offend anyone. She was very anxious for my answer because she was afraid of offending her daughters' host parents by saying something we would consider impolite. I think there is some truth in that, though not in an extreme sense. How many times have you complimented someone on their haircut when you weren't actually impressed? We tend to sugarcoat our words for the sake of nicety more than Germans, which may have something to do with the stereotype of American friendly superficiality that I've heard referred to several times in the last month. I said this to my new friend, to which she replied, aghast, "You mean you never actually say what you're thinking?" Oops, too far. No, that's not what I mean. We just use white lies to help people have a better day. That's not so bad, is it?
That certainly gave me something to chew on all the way back to Hamburg. These conversations are intellectually thrilling. Who knows what I'll learn about my culture next!
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