Culture Shock

"Do you know the difference between Americans and ours (Croats) when it comes to elevators?" I had just pulled into the new recycling center in Osijek and had begun unloading old plastic milk bottles into the designated bin when the man in charge approached me speaking Croatian. How he knew I was American within two seconds without even talking to me  was beyond me. Plus, what in the world does recycling have to do with elevators? It must be joke, I reasoned to myself. "No, I haven't heard this one before," I responded in Croatian. He looked at me puzzled. Then resumed: "Well Americans only get into the elevator if they can maintain their personal space. But Croats will keep filling the elevator until no more can fit..." I was taken aback. He was absolutely right. He had correctly identified a key distinction between Americans and Croats. But this was a strange setting for a conversation about cultural differences - especially seeing tha...

A basketball skitters along the gravel driveway prompting a dog to defend himself against the perceived threat. A mower to my right and a weed-wacker to my left provide white noise while the moon balances on a phone line above me. And barbecue, from every direction, reminds me of my former life. This evening could easily be part of a 4th of July weekend in America. But the air around me, filled with these sensory stimulants, is foreign. Even though I call Croatia home, there are still days like this - days full of effort, hard work, preparation and presentation but void of satisfaction. It's not always like this. I've received a kind word and a pat on the back before. There have been compliments accompanied by smiles. There have been warm greetings and fond farewells from genuine people. Still, encouragement seldom arrives when I need it most. Nor do I suppose that America is the land of the carefree or home of the praise. Dreams built up by well-intentioned mentors in elemen...