Adventures in Culture Shock
By: Sarah Aarssen
“It’s not all Holland, it’s not all Illinois, it’s just a little Holland-y”
According to www.dictionary.com, culture shock is “a state of bewilderment and distress experienced by an individual who is suddenly exposed to a new, strange, or foreign social and cultural environment.”
That’s the sissy version of what culture shock is. To me, culture shock was letting off a long list of obscenities about the Netherlands and how I hated the country, the people, the food, the language, the roads, the weather, the _______ (insert just about anything) for the first two years of my life here any time something would go wrong. And plenty went wrong.
Being unable to ask the teller at the post office if they have Christmas stamps, led to a tirade about stupid Dutch language and their stupid spitty mouths and why can’t everybody speak English.
A job interview, went horribly wrong, brought on a rant of how everything in the U.S. is so much easier and I don’t understand why I am living in this stupid country with their stupid interviews for their stupid jobs!
I accidentally told the woman at the hospital that I was going to blow her up when I thought I was asking about parking clearly (true story) means I’m never, ever going to get this. I suck. I want to go home.
Moving to the Netherlands was one of the most exciting, tumultuous, extreme, trying, pressing, fun, emotionally charged “things” I have ever done in my entire life. I was starting a new adventure and man, was I ever naive. Just green as the grass. Completely unprepared for the jolt of Dutchness that I was about to embark on. I guess that’s not totally fair to myself because I did try to prepare for culture shock, but much like childbirth, until you’re actually in the position of gripping your husband’s head by his ears, screaming “God help me, I am dying, I can’t do this, I want my Mom, don’t freaking touch me you ignorant cow” (and I do quote) you really can’t prepare yourself for the emotional roller coaster ride of moving to a foreign country.
“Bewilderment” is going from a 28 year old sophomore in college who was supposed to be spending one semester in Wales to becoming an immigrant in the Netherlands who was now, suddenly, illiterate. I couldn’t read a street sign or a package in the grocery store or any piece of mail that came to the house.
I couldn’t read a thing. I was a three year old searching for a picture to show me the way. That will knock you down a peg.
“Distress” is needing to go to the toilet while on a shopping trip and finding out that no stores have public toilets and when you finally find somebody nice enough to point you into the direction of the nearest place to relieve yourself you discover that you must have change to PAY TO PEE and all you have is your bank card so you’re stuck holding it. (Tears don’t work, I tried, but a big pregnant belly can sway even the toughest Dutch toilet trolls).
“Suddenly exposed” is: your loving fiance letting you drop him off at work so you can have the car when you’ve only been in the country for two weeks because he showed you the way home ONCE so you should be able to find your way back easy-peasy and when you drive down that first road and get mixed up and you knew you were doing it wrong but the cab driver scared you and you drive into the wrong exit ramp to which there is no spot to turn around and end up just driving for miles (or freaking kilometers!) on a street because you are too scared to stop and you can’t read the street signs because you’re illiterate and the signs are hiding on the buildings instead of at the intersection and you almost got hit by a tram because there are no trams in Gillespie and you just want to go home! Yes, it would suffice to say that I felt suddenly exposed.
Not all the culture shock was negative, don’t get me wrong. There were things that I really, really loved about my new life here but it really took just one little “thing” to make it all go downhill quickly. I had to really force myself not to jump on the “Hate Holland” bandwagon every time something didn’t go quite right and that is not fair to the Netherlands at all. It wasn’t a Dutch issue at hand, it was MY issue.
In all seriousness though, I have never shed so many tears in my life as I did those first two years here. Between missing my family and friends, friendships back home quickly slipping away, and Marco’s parents not speaking English, I felt isolated, stuck and very sad. Pitiful. Depressed. That’s a hard cycle to get yourself out of.
Neale Donald Walsch said “life begins at the end of your comfort zone.” (don’t worry, I had to Google him too). That was what saved me from my big, lonely depression of culture shock. I forced myself out of my sad little pity party and made myself do things that I wouldn’t normally do, here in Amsterdam or at “home” in Illinois. I joined an expatriate group on Yahoo and met up with a bunch of strangers, fellow expats., for evenings of fun and socialization. I started going to, and eventually participated in, open mic nights at a local cultural center, reading poetry which I wrote myself. I stumbled upon an English speaking radio show, sent in an email and eventually found myself as co-host of the morning show, twice. (Sidebar: the first things Mick, the radio host asked me, live on the air was “Sarah, what brought you to The English Breakfast morning show” and I replied with “I was always told I had a face for radio”. Laughter ensued and I believe I may have said one more sentence that day. The second show was much more eventful).
Once I stepped out of that comfort zone, that had held me all swaddled up warm for those first two years, I began to see what an opportunity I really had in front of me. It helped that I had found a job and loved the people that I worked with and had a bit of routine in my life finally, but it was those new adventures that were the most spirit altering for me. I discovered that my comfort zone wasn’t all that comfortable and I kind of liked wearing the coat of torture every now and again. It was exciting. It was liberating. It was that little flip of your stomach when you stepped out of the tram into this new street to meet up with people you have never spoken to in person for the very first time. It was offering a stranger on the bus one of your truffles just to see if you could make a new friend (that always works by the way). It was making eye contact, giving a compliment and starting a conversation. It was becoming more comfortable with the unknown in the world. It is something that I strive to do to this very day.
You know, I vividly remember all of the hubbub around Gillespie when the flashing four-way stoplight went up on main street. I was young, too young to even drive, but I remember how cool I thought that blinking red light was. We had an actual stop light in our little town! We were moving up in the world.
When I drove to work this morning I had to dodge pedestrians and parent’s on bikes loaded with one, two and sometimes three children (all on one bike!). I had to keep an eagle eye out for scooters and motorcycles, who seem to know an entirely different set of rules of the road than the rest of society. I had to give the right of way to buses and trams, lest be run over because, well, they just will. And heck, I drive under a runway at the airport, so let’s throw airplanes in there just for kicks. And that seemed perfectly normal.
Dictionary.com says adventure is “an exciting or very unusual experience. participation in exciting undertakings or enterprises. a bold, usually risky undertaking; hazardous action of uncertain outcome.” I simply have to agree.
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