Thoughts on the bus ride from Budapest to Prague. 15 février 2010.
Lift your eyes, love, and let your worries drop like snowflakes onto the field of fields.
Lift your eyes, love, and feel this place.
Its crooked hills.
Its quiet people.
Rub your cheeks with the ice cold of this winter
and know that this snow won't last forever,
nor the hills, nor the mountains --
Walk these streets with the brisk of this wind
and know that your thoughts are going into this place,
your thoughts, love, are forming this place.
So lift your eyes, love, lift your eyes.
***
The thing about American travelers....
It's not that we're not proud of where we came from (double-negative, wham!), we just want to get away. America is huge. There's a lot to see. But America is, well, full of Americans. There are languages to be learned, cultures to be exposed to, and food to be eaten! My friend Julia says that "traveling has to do with curiosity." I think that's true. But the thing about American travelers is that when we're away, most of us feel a tad bit ashamed of who we are (and the stereotypes that come with our culture). Loud. Unfashionable. Hungry. Cheap. And the shame gets mixed in with the pride.
So there we were, three American girls in Prague - me, Julia (Colorado-ian), and Natalie (New Yorker). The city is booming with young American girls...students mostly. With Northface sweaters and white poofy earmuffs (which only permits them to be able to yell even louder so they can hear one another). I'm not judging. Don't judge me for sounding like I'm judging. (because I am). Really, if I were to turn around and spin into a dizzy whack of what the hell, an icy mirror would go "smack" in my face, telling me that I'm just the same. I'm a young American passing through Prague with an American accent, wearing a bright blue American coat to compliment my oh-so-American jeans. And everyone knows it. It's not like I really care, actually, it's more the disappointment of having to tell someone that I'm American after they find out I speak English. Come on, if I speak English, I at least want to be Irish or Canadian or British or Austrailian! In the end, though, I'm happy to be American and talk America.... because, you know, Europeans like the films and the TV shows and even Obama! But I've wondered if maybe people from other cultures feel the same way sometimes -- this sort of funny retort toward their own culture?
For Example:
on the Tea House in Prague, 17 février 2010 (true tale)
There once was a Czech guy talking to a Greek couple, and the Greek couple said that the Czechs were friendly and nice, but the Czech guy said, "no the Greeks are friendly and nice." The Greek man said, "Greek people may seem friendly because we like to talk, we talk and talk
and talk, but you, you people think, you feel. Greek people just make noise in the street and talk without thinking." And the Czech said, "all Czech people think about is beer."
......oh, and us Americans are also proud of McDonald's. Because sometimes a McFlurry is just irresistible...even on an enchanted night in Budapest.
I loved your beautiful poem.
ReplyDeleteand teahouse picture- well done! Wish I'd have found it when I was in Prague.
I thought being an American in Paris was pretty funny. especially becuase my roommates were super not proud of it and shhh-ed me everytime i did anything remotely American. But you know what? I considered it just being myself. I am a product of where I come from, but that doesn't define who I am. It does to an extent, but I think being ashamed of where you are from defines you more than the place itself.
ReplyDeleteSo don't be ashamed! There's cool and uncool people everywhere.
Nice poem!
ReplyDeleteAs for this kind of retort, well, I guess it's just universal. I can recognize Spaniards miles away, specially when they come in herds :-) At the beginning I used to think that Spanish people are so vulgar and loud, and I wanted to apologize for their noise.
But then I came to France and learned to decypher the guttural gloubgloub that is French, and when I went to Budapest I kept recognizing French people everywhere. Not to speak of that patronizing way of frowning upon things, that so much eases French-spotting.
I think our brains are very good at recognizing identity characters. It's funny how we get to single out one voice talking our language among all those in a crowd. Or facial features, or even clothes or gestures. It may even happen that those girls were not yelling so much, but your brain picked up their specific accents or attitudes and rejected others surrounding you.
The same thing happens often with thoughts: our brains select those that are familiar to us and somehow pleasing, and let the rest fade away. That way our ideas usually get reinforced with time, until we end up losing permeability to new points of view.
(Spanish people, however, are noisy. And they will always be.)
Kelly, my darling daughter, I LOVE YOU.....I love your writing. I wish Grandma was here to read it.....
ReplyDeleteLoved this post. Recently I have been noticing that (until I open my mouth) people think I am French. I don't know if my wardrobe or attitude has changed, but strangers address me as a native all the time (they never did the first year I was here). Maybe you stick out as a foriegner when you don't feel comfortable in your environment.....
ReplyDelete