Culture Shock

Culture shock is an interesting idea. I think most of us usually use it when referring to traveling somewhere new – the shock of being surrounded by foreign habits and norms, like crossing the street in China or buying meat from a wet market in Vietnam or facing that cold and distant feeling from people in Hungary or the huge size of all meals served in America. This is all true. These things take a little getting used to, and quite frankly, even for the best of us it sometimes never truly becomes normal. Even after living in Beijing for four years, I’d still get into swearing matches with taxi drivers that tried to run me over as I crossed the street. My friend Wendy, who also lived in China for many years, actually slapped a woman in the subway for crowding her as she was in line to buy a ticket. Truth is, it’s hard to break the habits and norms that we’ve grown used to – like respect for pedestrians or personal space – over the course of our entire lives. Thus, it’s just as strange to think of what is often referred to as “reverse culture shock” where, after living away from our the place we’ve called home for the majority of our lives, we feel more like a stranger visiting for the first time than like we’re returning home.

Upon deeper reflection though, its not so hard to understand. People can get used to living basically anywhere, and eventually we manage to find aspects of life that we enjoy and find comfort in wherever we happen to be. In Asia, I’ve always loved they dynamism and the chaos, the energy and the sense of movement. In normal people terms though, this means super crowded streets, lots of pushing, incredible traffic, and an intense lack of personal space. It is, for many people, utterly unbearable. Funny enough, when I go back to the States from Asia though, I never fail to notice how empty the streets are, how devoid of people sidewalks are, how distant everything and everyone seems. I appreciate the personal space, but I feel somehow less alive. This I think is an ideal example of reverse culture shock. The adrenaline rush of being surrounded by a mass of humanity constantly on the move is like a drug – somehow life in America just seems boring compared to life in Asia. It’s a difficult adjustment, and truthfully, one I’ve not yet committed myself to making.

Yet, it’s not so bad for me. Having personal space, rules and standards to follow, and the freedom to walk as fast or slow as I please are things that I can quickly get used to again. What happens when the opposite is true, when you discover the joy of a little peace and quiet and then have to return to a place where there is none? I met a friend of Trang’s while in Hanoi named Trinh. She’s 28 and recently left Hanoi to go study in Melbourne. She’s only been gone a year and a half, but it was clear upon talking to her that while mentally she believed she wasn’t suffering from reverse culture shock, physically she really may have been. Walking around the Old Quarter in Hanoi with her, she seemed even more timid than I, as if she was physically scared for her life as we picked our way through the sea of motorbikes coursing dangerously around us. She talked about how she wanted to come back to Hanoi in the same breath as how wonderful the lifestyle in Melbourne was. At one point, she stated that if she could physically move the city of Melbourne to Hanoi and just replace the people with her Vietnamese friends, she’d be happy. It sounds extreme, but I can understand the feeling. I think the unspoken truth is, she’s seen a way of life she enjoys more but she misses the friends and family that she has in Hanoi. When push comes to shove she’s going to choose her friends and family, but I don’t think she has fully admitted to herself yet how difficult moving back to Hanoi is going to be on her.

It’s a similar problem for Trang and Son, Son especially. He’s been living in the Netherlands for over seven years now. Trang has been gone for three years this time (in addition to time spent in Australia before). Both of them talked about how difficult it was to come back to Hanoi, if for no other reason than how much the city itself was changing. Again, something we often don’t think about – with the incredible growth and change in cities like Hanoi or Beijing, not only do you have to reacquaint yourself with parts of your old lifestyle, you have to figure out what parts of your old world has evolved. It can be as simple as discovering new streets and new neighborhoods to something as subtle as changing ways of ordering food or going out. Its difficult, intimidating, and I believe, something that may reach a tipping point while you are away from “home.” For Son and Trang, it’s pretty clear that the Netherlands is home now, even though they retain very strong ties to that “home” which is defined by where their parents, family, and friends are. What though, happens in three years, when Trang is done with her PhD and Son has lived away from Hanoi for over a decade – more than ½ of his adult life? While it would be unfair to say that Trang and Son don’t think or worry about this issue – we talked deeply about it during the short while we had together in Hanoi – it is safe to say that they don’t let it bother them too much. Trang is quite fatalistic about it. For now, they’ll go home once every year or two and make sure to bring back 50 kilos of food and spices to the Netherlands whenever they do. What will come eventually will come and they will cross those bridges when they get there.

Maybe it’s the fact that they are going through it together and have some sort of support that makes this perspective easier to have, but I just don’t feel the same sense of liberating ambivalence towards the issue. Or it could be that I just think too much. I know there’s a good lesson to be learned from Trang and Son, but I don’t know that I’m yet equipped to learn it.