My parents were, effectively, refugees in Britain immediately after WW2. My mum never expressed a wish to go back “home”, but dad had family in southern Poland, and, once he had retired as a civil servant back in the 1980s, was allowed back behind the Iron Curtain. He took me and Mrs B to pre-Perestroika Poland.
We had no idea what to expect. We landed in Warsaw, and then took a train to the deep south city of Katowice. We were met by several members of the family, and one of them offered my wife a red rose on the platform, as a welcome. We were driven to the family home, an apartment where dad was born in 1914!
There was a party for us, with at least 30 members of the family, none of whom we had previously known personally. At the end of a fantastic night, half of them went home, but 15 of them stayed the night; the ladies and children in the one bedroom, and the men in the kitchen! Me and Mrs B were granted the sole use of the huge lounge to sleep. It soon became clear that instead of us being so grateful for the welcome we had received, it was actually our hosts that considered us so special, because we had done them the courtesy of travelling to their home…..
And so it continued. We went shopping with them, and joined queues that were so long, you couldn’t see from where they originated. But, as we were told, it must be for something useful, like sugar, bread, tea, milk, whatever. That was how it was in the 1980s in Poland.
We went to Auschwitz, only 60km from Katowice, one of the most moving and emotional experiences ever. We went to stay with my first cousin and his wife and two children – they couldn’t speak a word of English, and likewise, our Polish was mostly non-existent, but guess what, music is universal and we communicated by each extolling the virtues of Status Quo, the Beatles, and the Stones. As they had, at that time, no access to western materials, we promised to send them some sex toys. Image my distress, back home, when I found out I had to itemise the contents of the parcel to Poland. I got away with “electric toothbrushes”…
Oh, and the vodka. On one trip to the Tatra Mountains, we picked up a family member who was carrying a very posh brief case. Once on the bus, he opened it, and carefully took out a bottle of Polish vodka and six crystal glasses. The rest of the trip was something of a blur. Sometimes, we had to have a shot for breakfast to stop the shakes. It was so cheap. When we were shopping one time, I went to buy the vodka. I shouted to my wife, who was at the back of the shop: “How many?” She said “pięć (pyen’ch’)” – I bought five bottles, as she had asked for, and when I enquired of her why so many, she said the it was her favourite word. (Probably the only one she knew in Polish.)
We learnt so much from that trip. It opened our eyes to another world, and an appreciation of how wonderful folk can be, even if they have every disadvantage, compared to us, bestowed upon them. We will never forget it.
My Most Amazing Cultural Experience
October 1993. I am 18, a foreign exchange student at Baylor University, Waco, TX. I live in a dormitory at the university campus.
I arrived there on August 30, after a two-week orientation in Middlesbury College in Vermont. I was just making my first steps in American life.
Once I met a guy, Bill, at the campus. He was very enthusiastic about me being from Russia. I understood that he had recently gone to a mission to Irkutsk, Siberia, with his Baptist church. So, he decided to invite me to his home Texan church here in Waco.
I must say that I am not a religious person and also never cared much about the Russian Orthodox Church. However, I’ve had some understanding about the way the Russian churches, traditions and customs were.
That Sunday morning Bill drove in his Ford Explorer (students driving cars was still a discovery to me) and took me to his church. I think it was called the Church of Christ, but I am not sure as in the Bible Belt, of which Texas is a part, there are plenty of Baptist churches.
Well, I’d never thought that a church could be such a noisy place with people singing psalms in a very pop-music-style way, embracing each other, actively communicating with the preacher who looked more like a showman than a priest!
That dude, Bill, was, like I said, very enthusiastic about this visit, sharing his experience with me. He was a nice guy so I didn’t want to discourage him in any way and behave like an asshole. Though I had reason that I should.
It was noisy, annoying, not exciting me at all. The service took about two hours. I had to sing – or pretend to sing – all these psalms I’ve never read or cared about. I was light years away from this tradition and couldn’t share Bill’s and other people’s devotion. So, I had to hide my true feelings to be polite. Sunday was also my only day I could sleep as long as I wanted to because my classes were starting at 8 am on weekdays. So, I lost several hours of good sleep, too.
When I came be to the dorm after the service, I told my roommate, Rich Carpiano, from New Jersey, about my experience. It took some time for him to stop laughing, yeah. He was from a completely different Italian Catholic tradition. He briefly explained about those charismatic churches.
It was a nightmare to me. But, on the other hand, it was part of American lifestyle, at least, of Texas. In this regard, it was my most amazing cultural experience.
In all the other ways, it sucked.
My most amazing cultural experience
Before we go on, there are some things you need to remember about Yanks; on the US East Coast, the oldest buildings (you’re likely to see) would date from the 1700’s. On the West Coast, the oldest buildings would date from the late 1800’s. Show me somebody’s house and say it was built in 1908 and I would be like “OMG that’s really old.” Sergey & Roger would be like, “I love that new house smell.” My idea of history, culture and art will be wildly different.
Show me any random, small European town and I will be blown away by the architecture, the beautiful homes and sidewalk cafes along the main boulevard. East Town Mall ain’t even got one of those.
On the other hand, I can go anywhere around the world and see, hear, and taste American culture. Jeans, Yankees baseball caps, music and hamburgers everywhere. It doesn’t matter where you live – and I mean anywhere, turn on your TV and most of the shows you think are local are closely based on American television. Really, I’m not sure if I should be proud or apologize.
But is a fifty-foot-tall McDonalds sign an amazing cultural experience? I suppose not. I’m typing this on a MacBook Pro, Roger uses an iPad. But is that culture? I would guess around a third of the songs on the radio in your country are American… but is that really culture? Are lunar SLSs or the SpaceX Starships cultural?
I’m in my tenth year of living full-time outside the US. I’ve only been back once. I suppose the thing I miss is the wildlife, the nature. They don’t have green here. My computer is filled with pictures of green and animals of every description. Up-close pictures. I know, I know, “Europe has green!” Well yes, I suppose I must grant you that. But it’s not the same. Europe doesn’t have a culture of outdoors in the sense that I’m talking about.
Someone once told me that Mount LeConte speaks to me. I was struck by those words because I never really thought about it like that. Yes, it speaks to my soul and that absolutely is a moving cultural experience. Snow, Autumn (we call it Fall) colors, and summer green. It is my cultural experience.
