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A couple of days ago I spoke about Russia at a local organization called the Kent-Dudince Sister Cities Association. Most members of this organization are elderly members of the community who have ties to or interest in Eastern European countries and cultures. This event reminded me of how much I admire American small town communities, which I first realized during my first stay in the US.

The amount of local organizations and causes is pretty large in the US. It was endearing to see the local members of the community, who were here before some of the current student were born and will probably be here after they graduate and move away. I feel like your typical exchange/international student doesn’t usually get to experience the local community (unless they stay with a host family). International visitors tend to associate with locals of their own age, who are often also newcomers to the area. Meeting the older folks gives you a whole new level of involvement in the community.

They are usually the ones who run the local charities, take international students shopping, and do other things for the well-being of their town. I am definitely looking forward to meeting more people who aren’t in my town for the university.

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So, you start talking to this person you’ve just met and try to come up with some topic for conversation. Oh yeah, what’s that curious accent all about? So you drop the question. “Where are you from?” is a great way of getting a person to start a mutually enriching cultural exchange, right? Wrong. Let me tell you why.

Granted, exchange students, immigrants, and other people who may, for whatever reason, have come to your country don’t expect to be taken for locals. They are, most likely, well aware of their accent, different appearance or whatever else may distinguish them from the natives. Perhaps, they even cherish your interest in their culture and the chance to share it with you. Still, “Where are you from?” could make your international buddy feel not engaged, but alienated.

Personally, I can’t help cringing at the inevitable question. While I do recognize and appreciate the person’s friendliness and interest, I can’t help thinking, “Is that the first thing people notice about me?” It is not without hesitation that I take this, genuinely well-meant, opportunity to start a cultural exchange. While I’m aware of my “foreignness,” I’d like to think there’s more to me than coming from a different country, however intriguing that aspect may look.

Not to mention the fact that, more often than not, the “cultural exchange” stops at “Oh, that’s cool” because my buddy doesn’t really know what to say. Or, even better, they give me the well-meant, but indefinitely vague question “So what’s it like?”

I’m not trying to advise anyone against asking where an apparently non-local person is from. But perhaps it shouldn’t be the first question that comes out of your mouth. Try something less personal instead.

Clock Tower in Bern, Switzerland

As some of you may know, I spent this past summer as an intern with an international organization in Geneva, Switzerland. I had stayed abroad for extended periods of time before, either as an immigrant or as an exchange student, and thought I had a fairly accurate idea of what “living abroad” would be like. Yet my expatriate experience was quite different from my other stays abroad.

An external observer might have described me as a typical expatriate – one who is brought to a country because of their job or other similar circumstances, never bothers to learn the language, and sticks within their own expatriate circle. Let me explain. I found out I would be going to Geneva on a very short notice. I had never taken French before. I was to work in an international organization.

As a result, I ended up speaking English at work, and, while I did go out and meet people, I mostly found them through expatriate networks. Needless to say, the people were fellow expatriates who spoke English. The whole experience gave me a different perspective on expatriate communities. I had, too, been quick to judge them as self-contained and unwilling to embrace the host society.

However, my summer in Geneva shed some light on why expatriates tend to be isolated from the mainstream society. First and foremost, working in an office with 1 (one) Swiss co-worker and thirty times so many foreigners, I had very few chances of even meeting locals. In a place like Geneva, with so many foreigners working in the city, it’s natural that the expatriate scene is quite vibrant, with thriving fully-English social network websites and events.

Language is usually another big accusation directed against expatriates. Why was I not much better at French after 3 months in Switzerland? While I do commend those who manage to learn a language on their own, I must say working full-time is not really conducive for it. With many language schools closed for the summer or offering classes in the afternoon while I was at work, I found my only French resources were the two self-study books I had brought with me. Again, I do believe it is possible to learn a language on your own, but I think it’s safe to say a lot people need some sort of formal learning framework to make progress, if only to receive guidance from a language professional.

So, here I am, having been the ugly, scowled, unadjusted foreigner abroad. What I took out of my time in Europe, which was by no means lonely or miserable, is that “backstage” of expatriate living. I remember my own disapproval of some foreigners I would encounter in Russia. Perhaps you’ve experienced similar feelings? Stop and think, though, what opportunities are their for expatriates to mingle with the locals? Are there any language classes full-time workers can take?

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Some co-workers told me they found my blog while trying to find me on Facebook. Well, it is official: I am not on Facebook. Any namesake you find is a different person.

Just to clarify: it’s not a “going-against-the flow” attitude or some sort of statement. I had a Facebook profile for 3 years and am still on a Russian and a Swiss expatriate social network. I agree with those of you will say Facebook is a great way to keep in touch with far-away friends and share news and photos easily. The reason I left Facebook is personal, and I’ll try to explain it in this post.

In a nutshell, I want to have the luxury of being contacted exclusively by people who care enough to make an effort to get in touch. In other words, would you remember my birthday if the website calendar hadn’t reminded you, would you ask me how I was if you hadn’t read my latest update and would you make a point of sharing your news/pictures with me if they didn’t show up on everyone’s wall at a click of the mouse? Too demanding, you say? Perhaps. That’s why I call friends of this quality a luxury.

If you’ve as much as written an email, a text or an instant message to me, you know that I am always frequently online and am fairly good at answering incoming correspondence. Which means there are effective ways of getting in touch with me, besides social networking… if you want to.

Once again, I am not trying to condemn social networking in general or Facebook in particular. It’s just that at this point in my life, it’s not something I feel I need. But, yes, I am officially alive and accessible via all sorts of media, so if you landed on this page while looking for my Facebook page, feel free to drop me a line.

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I feel like I’ve now been to enough American restaurants to point out some things many of them have in common that a visitor from overseas may find different, if not disconcerting.

1. “Rationing” napkins
2. Asking if everything is fine right after you’ve taken a huge bite of your meal
3. Bringing the check before you ask for it (some people explain this is actually supposed to mean the waiter is not holding you’re up; they’ll take it “whenever you’re ready”)

Anything you can add?

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I think our generation’s been fortunate to witness the rise of the Internet and cell phone technology. The 7-year gap between my long-term US stays enabled me to witness an equally fascinating development in a different realm: the rise of bilingualism in the US.

When I was in Pennsylvania in 2002-2003, I didn’t see signs in any language but English. Granted, Pennsylvania is a predominantly white state, far from areas of high immigration.

However, here I am in 2011, in the equally Northeastern state of Ohio, and – lo and behold! – virtually every public sign has a subscript in Spanish.

It only makes sense for a country that has no official language to move toward bilingualism and reflect its current population makeup, but I wonder what other Americans have to say on the matter?

Image by belisle

These observations are not to be taken personally as these are just things that are peculiar to the US as opposed to other countries I’ve been to. I am in no way bitter; in fact, I plan a similar post on my home country of Russia.

So, only in the USA…

• can a person who has no house still have a car
• people go out to eat sandwiches and subs, which in other country you wrap up to eat for lunch at work
• a “small” ice cream equals European “large”

Can you think of any other things to add to the list?

1. Don’t get stuck on your firsts
   I did fall in love with my first American town and my first American state, but you have to appreciate the new surroundings, too.
2. Don’t assume you are befriended
   Appreciate the nicety and politeness, but don’t take them as tokens of a nascent friendship. Better be pleasantly surprised by the resulting closeness than disappointed at the distance.
3. Admit you are a foreigner
   This may sound strange since I just emphasized the importance of being open-minded and fitting in your host community. However, coming from a different background, you are bound to do some things differently. It will often spare you a lot of funny looks if you tell the locals you are new to the area and ask for help.

My first house in the US

Last time, I stopped at the point where my program coordinator Lea picked me up at the airport after what seemed like an hour-long wait to me. I don’t remember who the girl that was with her was. Anyway, Lea drove me to a parking lot in some town (I’m assuming it was somewhere in the vicinity of Uniontown, PA), where my host mother Esther was to pick me up.

I am now getting into a dangerous zone where my experiences intertwine with those of other people. I’ll try my best to respect their privacy and present a balanced view of things, revealing only as much as is necessary for telling my story. In any case, dear people who were around me during my FLEX year, if I hurt your feelings in any way – let me know and I’ll edit my entries.

My host mother was a red-haired middle-aged woman. Her looks involuntary struck me as homely, but I quickly suppressed the feeling. She drove me to what was to become my home in Carmichaels, PA.

I think it was evening when we arrived. My host mother occupied the first floor of her house, the second one being rented out to tenants. The girl from the upstairs family would become my friend for the time I was in that town. I saw the white fluffy rugs on the floor, saw the big bed, a crucifix and a cabinet, but no desk in my room. I believe I went to sleep pretty soon that evening as I had not slept during my 20-hour flight.