Americans are known the world over for being too nice (and for having serious problems in our government, but I won't go into that). For Europeans it can be disarming that smiles and small talk are exchanged freely here and that customer service, not to mention the system of tipping, is even a thing at all. A friend of mine from Hong Kong also said to me recently that Americans really know how to have fun and find happiness in life, something that Chinese people just do not know how to do. While I would argue that America is one of the most stressed out countries in the world, I think she is right that the happiness-oriented culture is there. And because we value those warm fuzzy feelings, it makes us awesome at being friendly to each other, whether we know each other or not!
It also makes us expect a certain level of warmth or at least politeness in our daily interactions (which is why the Swiss Embassy people seemed so gruff to me when I first applied for my visa). So when I first got home, fresh off the plane, I experienced a larger scale version of what happened to me after our 10-day trip hitting Berlin, Amsterdam and Paris. Before the trip, I would whine about lots of little things in Switzerland. After the trip, I wanted to kiss the ground in the Basel train station, I was so happy to be back. There's a lot of truth to the saying absence makes the heart grow fonder. But also, objectively, living abroad gave me some real perspective on my country, for better and worse.
It also makes us expect a certain level of warmth or at least politeness in our daily interactions (which is why the Swiss Embassy people seemed so gruff to me when I first applied for my visa). So when I first got home, fresh off the plane, I experienced a larger scale version of what happened to me after our 10-day trip hitting Berlin, Amsterdam and Paris. Before the trip, I would whine about lots of little things in Switzerland. After the trip, I wanted to kiss the ground in the Basel train station, I was so happy to be back. There's a lot of truth to the saying absence makes the heart grow fonder. But also, objectively, living abroad gave me some real perspective on my country, for better and worse.
I will admit that something lucky about the timing of my flight meant that I hardly had to wait in any lines coming through passport control in Dulles which I know is unusual and colored my immediate impression of being home and it's not fair to say this actually reflects on America. But seriously, the man who stamped my passport said "hi"! And smiled at me! And made a little joke about how old my passport picture was! Then, as I waited for baggage, the man next to me joked about the plight of trying to find a nondescript black suitcase in the sea of black bags on the conveyor belt. Meeting up with my parents, as we walked past a group of sign-holding chauffeurs, one of them overheard my Dad wondering aloud where to pay for parking and told us we could pay on the way out. When we walked outside, clearly lost because we were a flight up from the parking lot, someone saw us and jovially offered directions. It felt great not to be invisible and to be so taken care of by everyone.
Leaving the airport and finding a place to stop for a bite to eat, I've never been quite so happy to see an American strip mall with the usual terrible parking scheme in my life. Wawa was our destination, and it was glorious. On the way in, another customer was on her way out at the same moment, saw us, smiled, and stepped aside to let us through. Then, although the donut shelf was empty when we came in, soon a big man in orange uniform and body piercings came out wheeling a fresh supply. Now, Juna has been mildly scolded in Basel for asking for a Berliner in a bakery on a Saturday, but in the U.S. we like our constant donut access. The donut man even noticed that we were waiting, smiled and told us he would be done in just a minute (I've been almost bowled over with no apology by grocery store stockers in Basel).
The next day, my Mom took me to Cracker Barrel for lunch. Shamelessly unhealthy, typically American, downright delicious. But the food isn't what struck me most (though I was ecstatic for the cornbread). Not only was our server super friendly, but four different people came up and made sure we got the jelly for our biscuits. Four.
Just yesterday I went to browse some bikes in a bike store. Cycling to get around on some of our Europe travels made me really keen to do more of that here. Of course, it's much easier to do it there, with more bike lanes and wider acceptance of cycling as a means of travel, but nevertheless. The relevance to this post is that I walked in to Bike Beat in Williamsburg and was immediately greeted by someone offering help. While Juna and I were in Leipzig and interested in renting bikes, we walked in to a bike store where three guys were messing around with stuff behind the counter and we attempted to make eye contact, but nobody acknowledged us until we pointedly asked for help. Then, they were perfectly helpful, but in no way did they compare to this Bike Beat guy who stuck with me while I test rode bikes for at least half an hour.
None of this is to say the service is bad or the people are rude in Switzerland or Europe. It's not, and they're not. They say danke and bitte, they smile when kids do cute things and they wish you a pleasant day when you check out at the grocery store. But Swiss people are incredibly efficient at pretty much everything they do, and they might get a little impatient if you don't keep up.
There's probably something deeply wrong with our American psyche if we are so nice that we apologize when someone else bumps into us (OK, I know I'm speaking broadly, here). But whether it's legitimately a value of mine or if it's just subconsciously ingrained into my system, I love our super sweet manners and openness to spontaneous conversation. I love how we wear our happiness on our sleeve and weave congeniality into our everyday interactions. I know I will never be as happy as a Swiss cow high in the Alps, and you're killing me, America, with the processed, preservative-packed foods!, but I will savor this home, sweet, home feeling, at least for now.
Just yesterday I went to browse some bikes in a bike store. Cycling to get around on some of our Europe travels made me really keen to do more of that here. Of course, it's much easier to do it there, with more bike lanes and wider acceptance of cycling as a means of travel, but nevertheless. The relevance to this post is that I walked in to Bike Beat in Williamsburg and was immediately greeted by someone offering help. While Juna and I were in Leipzig and interested in renting bikes, we walked in to a bike store where three guys were messing around with stuff behind the counter and we attempted to make eye contact, but nobody acknowledged us until we pointedly asked for help. Then, they were perfectly helpful, but in no way did they compare to this Bike Beat guy who stuck with me while I test rode bikes for at least half an hour.
None of this is to say the service is bad or the people are rude in Switzerland or Europe. It's not, and they're not. They say danke and bitte, they smile when kids do cute things and they wish you a pleasant day when you check out at the grocery store. But Swiss people are incredibly efficient at pretty much everything they do, and they might get a little impatient if you don't keep up.
There's probably something deeply wrong with our American psyche if we are so nice that we apologize when someone else bumps into us (OK, I know I'm speaking broadly, here). But whether it's legitimately a value of mine or if it's just subconsciously ingrained into my system, I love our super sweet manners and openness to spontaneous conversation. I love how we wear our happiness on our sleeve and weave congeniality into our everyday interactions. I know I will never be as happy as a Swiss cow high in the Alps, and you're killing me, America, with the processed, preservative-packed foods!, but I will savor this home, sweet, home feeling, at least for now.
