Culture Shock

We’re back Down Under for a couple of weeks and due to a bout of food poisoning (thanks Qantas…) and slow internet connection (we’re in rural Victoria) this is going to be a short post – but one that resonates with me as I struggle with culture shock of the strangest kind – my own culture!

Whenever we return home we find things that baffle us – things that after 16 years in America seem perplexing. This time it was the simplest act of turning on a light switch – who knew that Australian light switches are the opposite of American ones? That to turn on a light you flick down the switch, whereas in the US you flick it up. It took me a day of puzzlement and a belief that my mother-in-law’s house must have just been wired weirdly for me to realize that it was merely an example of cultural amnesia…yes, I had actually forgotten how to turn on a light! Add to this the whole time zone confusion – try explaining to your kids that they ‘lost’ a day traveling over the Pacific and it is now yesterday in America – and you have a recipe for family confusion.

So how can going home seem so strange? Like almost all crime fiction writers I enjoy examining the concept of the ‘outsider’ – the stranger who can observe things about a place, a society and a culture that others cannot see…but I never expected that I would feel the outsider in the place I grew up in, or that each time I return home I would find more evidence of cultural confusion. The simple act of turning on a light brought that home to me – and may provide rich fodder (I hope) for future books. But still culture shock in my own country is bizarre. Perhaps, however, I am not alone. Have any of you ever experienced culture shock going home?

8 thoughts on “Culture Shock

  1. Living in Alaska it is amazing to me how many Americans think they are in a foreign country when they come up here. To us the rest of the US and Canada is called “Outside”.

    My biggest culture shock came when my now teen son was about 3. We came in from the Bush to do some city shopping in Anchorage. Little tyke had to tinkle, so without saying anything he just turned aside from us, dropped his pants started his business. Just like in the woods at home. Problem is, we were at the Dimond Shopping center, a nice two story mega-mall. He wizzed right between Old-Navy and Banana Republic.

    Yeah…culture shock.

  2. There’s a cultural metaphor in there somewhere, Basil, but I am not going to be the one to flesh it out, thank you very much.

    I grew up in L.A., so the changes have not come as a “shock.” When I fly back into town, though, and see the place from the sky, I am always amazed at the sheer number of people who live and work and dream and drive here. And every one of them with a screenplay idea.

  3. I was born and raised in the Deep South. My wife and I moved to “down state NY” otherwise known as South Florida about 30 or so years ago. I was in shock to see my car insurance rates triple overnight. Most license plates were from NY or NJ. People drove like they were on fire. And I discovered what I thought was a 2-week-old, stale donut but found out was really something called a bagel. Everything was “New York Style”–pizza, deli, burger, etc. I was reminded everyday that “back in New York” things tasted better, felt better, (insert) better.

    Over the years, I learned to like bagels with cream cheese (no lox), I found a few NY-style pizza places that are pretty good, and sometimes I drive like I’m ablaze. Now when I go back to my hometown, I find that people speak slower, drive slower, and live slower. Sometimes they say hello, ask how I’m doing, and really mean it. It’s a culture shock in either direction.

    BTW, one of my favorite bumper stickers is “I don’t give a shit how you did it in New York”.

  4. We moved from a heavily populated part of California to a rural town in eastern Washington. I suffer culture shock every time I leave the country and drive to a more urban setting. Traffic everywhere. For us—here in the country—two cars at the same intersection and the same time is a traffic jam.

  5. Every time I return home to South Carolina, I forget that iced tea comes with sugar in it, unless you order it without. That moment of “sweet shock” as I take my first sip is always my first reminder that I’m back in the south.

  6. Well now I’m in the midst of stomach flu shock so culture isn’t on my mind much – though at least I can still speak the lingo so the pharmacist could understand me! Seems that for many ‘home’ is as much a foreign country as it is for me…

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