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copyright ©1999-2002 |
09.06.2004 | 1
2 continued from page 1 If
you’re a smart person who’s ever wondered what it’s like to feel
really, really dumb on a daily basis, move to another country. Suddenly,
you’ll find that acts as simple as using a computer at the public
library or getting a drink at a bar send your brain into a flurry of
confusion. Having spent $100K to get yourself good and educated, you
hold up the checkout line while trying to figure out which funny-shaped
coins will produce the proper amount to cover your Orange Fanta. When
you ask directions to a street whose name you’re inevitably
mispronouncing, you don’t understand what the nice local tells you;
ever-friendly, he repeats it slowly, in a louder voice, the way you do
when you’re talking to your hard-of-hearing, senile grandfather. When
you still can’t decipher what he’s saying, you smile blankly, nod
vigorously, and shuffle off in a direction that is invariably the
complete opposite of where you’ve just been instructed to go. To
some extent, this is something that any relatively well-traveled person
has experienced. But moving to another country feels a lot different
than tooting off on a visit. As a tourist, you don’t really have to embrace the culture. Sure, you can hang out with the locals
at the little neighborhood cafe, and stock up on picnic goodies at the
local market rather than those supermarket chain store monstrosities
you’re used to back home. But for the most part, you’re a voyeur,
peeking from the outside at a way of life that’s different from your
own. You can try your best to get a taste – and you should – but
there’s no need to commit to this other way of life because in seven
days, two weeks, whatever, you’ll be back in the safe comforts of
whatever burg you call home. You
wouldn’t think things would be so different living in Edinburgh.
The movie posters all advertise the same Hollywood dreck we see
in the States; familiar names like McDonalds, Starbucks, and Pizza Hut
anchor every other street corner. This
is the UK, not some third-world country; heck, they even speak English.
On the grand scale of things, life’s not a whole lot different here. No,
it’s in the tiny details of day-to-day living that I’m having the
hardest time. As I try to settle into this city that feels so foreign in
every sense of the word, I can’t just pretend I know what’s going on
when I’m having a conversation with the bank person, or the realtor,
or the health services receptionist, and I realize that there’s the
English I learned back home in the States, and the English they speak
here. And that the gap between the two sometimes feels huge. This is why
I’m constantly having to say “I’m sorry?” and cock my head
quizzically, admitting my cluelessness, even though I hate how dumb it
makes me feel. Because it’s ultimately more important that I get an
apartment, have access to moolah, find a doctor – make something
resembling a life. And that’s the part I’m looking forward to, the
thing that gets me smiling again when I start feeling too sorry for
myself. So
Edinburgh, it’s not home for me… yet. But I’m getting there, one
dumb question at a time. Speaking of which, anyone know where I can
score some chocolate chips in Edinburgh? -- past editor's notes | 08.05.2004 • 02.04.2002 • 01.04.2001 • 08.28.2000 • 03.30.2000 • 02.16.2000---------------------------> lounge . nourish . host . laze . home . |