Culture Shock With a Twist – When Things Hit Home

(Photo taken in Inverry, Scotland, awaiting the boat – even in July the weather was quite pleasant and cool!) As mentioned in a recent post, I’m back in New York City for a brief pause in my travels to catch up with family and friends. My overall feeling about returning, apart from seeing family and friends, and not having to pack and unpack every week, was apprehensive.

My first moment of shock came when my Lyft car turned onto East 96th Street. Everything was exactly the same. It was so the same that I wondered if I had actually been gone at all. The streets, the buildings, the feeling, everything, was the same. It was depressing.

And then, there were the noticeable differences – a bus stop I use regularly got a digital sign to let people know when the next bus was coming. A new supermarket is coming in to a previously empty storefront. Other stores are gone, new buildings have started to be constructed, the layouts of stores I was in 4 months ago have changed…the differences made me feel like a stranger to my own city.

Then there are those moments that begin to hit home about differences. While walking down an Upper East Side street to meet a friend for lunch, two black teenagers were walking towards me. When they reached me, one of them put his face in front of mine and made a spitting noise and then laughed and walked on. I didn’t react at all – I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction but I also didn’t want to start a fight. It raised my concerns about racial anger. In all my travels, nobody of any race got in my face and did anything like that. Back in New York less than one week, I felt narrowly assaulted.

New Yorkers lend a helping hand to a woman in need.

But then another huge moment – while eating lunch with my friend, I gazed out the window and saw an older woman walking by. She caught my eye because she was walking and leaning back while walking and it concerned me. She reached the corner, and while waiting for the light to change, fell. I started to get up to run outside and help, but another woman immediately got down on the ground with the woman, and before barely 10 seconds had passed, a small crowd had gathered – someone was comforting the woman on the ground, another passerby held her dog to keep him calm, two other people called 911 and got an ambulance. It was heart-warming to see people jump into such immediate action and this is something I often see in New York. I do the same and am grateful to have this conditioning and, though New Yorkers may have a reputation for being rude, when someone gets hurt, they are anything but.

In stark contrast, I was at a train station in The Netherlands, plans gone awry and ended up so upset and shocked at the lack of support I received that I started coughing and couldn’t stop. I had to drop to the floor of the train station because it became hard to breathe. I didn’t know where the toilets were. I thought I would vomit, and sat there for a good 5 – 10 minutes trying to stop coughing, tears streaming down my face. In all that time, though many people were in the station and walked around me, not one person stopped to ask if I was OK or offer any help at all. This was one of the most shocking and unpleasant experiences I have had during my entire adventure. Unfortunately, friends in other countries in Europe have told me they feel that New York is special in this way, and that their country mates would also be unlikely to offer a helping hand to someone that falls or needs help. I can only say I fell in London last year, right on a residential street. There were a few people arond and nobody came to my aid. Luckily I was ok, but I did wonder, if I were not, would anyone help?

And so, as I continue to adjust to being back briefly, I’m sure these stark cultural differences will find their way to me. More to come!