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...

It's been awhile since daddy posted. It's been even longer since he let us post. So we'll try to pick up the slack a little. No, this one doesn't have anything to do with culture shock. If you're looking for a more frequently updated American perspective on Croatia, head over to the zablogreb .  For now, here are a few of our favorite things:

Like most siblings, there are many characteristics Enoh and Ian share.  For example, they both enjoy their evening routines of reading, being carried upstairs and even brushing their own teeth.  The way  they brush their teeth though is a different story. Any idea which toothbrush belongs to which brother? Both toothbrushes were brand new a month ago.

My head bobbed back to level after bouncing off the tiled wall behind me. The just-woken-up feeling was familiar now after nodding off numerous times throughout the overnight flight over the Atlantic and the drive through Hungary. It had been eighteen hours since we left Boston and a half hour since I had been taken into border control. And I still wasn't sure why I was there. The official had explained to me that I was the only one in my family who didn't have a Zurich stamp in my passport. They couldn't figure out how I was in the same car as the others, had a ticket that showed I went through Switzerland, but didn't have a stamp. They were determined to get to the bottom of it though. And my family was to wait while they did so. Soon a police man came out and asked me what my mother's name was. I paused, thinking of several reasons not to tell him - including the fact that the document in which I was to write her name was only in Hungarian and there was no w...

We returned from America exactly a week ago. During our first dinner, Enoh looked around and said "I'm so glad to be home!" Then he sank his teeth into some burek .  Apparently the other two agree. Here they dance to their favorite Croatia song by October Light :

A Slovene by birth, my father-in-law isn't very familiar with American jokes. So he was a little taken aback when his Mujo and Haso joke was followed by a: "Knock-knock!" He paused, thought a little bit and then replied with a hearty grin: "Come in!" The house erupted in laughter. "No, Dad, you're supposed to say "who's there?" one of his daughters said. The joke took on a life of its own because it was indicative of the difference between the Yugoslavian culture he grew up in and the American culture he was celebrating Christmas in. From the meter man to the next door neighbor, in small-town Croatia it doesn't matter who you are - guests are always invited in for coffee. I learned this first-hand during my first year in Croatia. Even if you don't call ahead of time, your instant host will invite you in as if they'd been expecting you for a week. Then they'll get you out of shoes and into slippers faster t...