I often find myself wondering, "When did I become the Ugly American?"
Back during my glory days (i.e. my college years), more importantly my introduction to the global community via Semester At Sea, I first heard the word "ethnocentrism." I'm not going to point and laugh at those of you who don't know what this means, at least not while you're looking.
Here is the 'ol MacBook definition of Ethnocentrism: "the tendency to believe that one's ethnic or cultural group is centrally important, and that all other groups are measured in relation to one's own. The ethnocentric individual will judge other groups relative to his or her own particular ethnic group or culture, etc..." blah blah blah, you get the gist.
Picture someone coming down to Buenos Aires who has on a "God Bless America, and F*ck Everyone Else" t-shirt yelling "Hoorahh" (no offense Sammy-boy)... That is a prime example of ethnocentrism. While I understand that judging another culture is wrong, when you have decided to leave all your loved ones and uproot your life to a foreign country, you may have some gripes from time to time. Sometimes I feel like the "ugly-american" thinking that we have it all figured out in the states (or Canada eh). It's not my fault we have functional internet and sewer systems that actually drain water... pshh.
I have been here for a month and a half and am still working on assimilating to the Argentinean culture. First, for example, I have been dutifully observing the Argie standard for staying up late on the weekends. Yes, I had my wild nights in college, but Sports has nothing on discos that don't even open until 3:00 am. It's a difficult life to go out until sunrise, drinking champagne, and dancing all night, but someone's gotta do it; it's my cross to bear in life...
Secondly, I have slowly been acclimating myself to a quieter vocal level. Remember in grade school when your teacher obnoxiously said, "6 inch voices kids." Allegedly, I was the kid they were directing that at. My Irish roommate Jessica, first coined the phrase "American-Level" about three weeks ago. I've been told that when I get extremely excited (which tends to happen often), I raise my voice to an unreasonable level, at which time Jess corrects me. I, like my fellow North-Americans, am not aware of how loud I speak. I keep telling her that I'm one of the quietest in the Gilbert clan, but I'm not sure she believes me.
(No one used their 6 inch voices when a cockroach decided to crash on our floor. Poor taste buddy.
Now you have to die.)
Finally, I have fully accepted the fact that I will have to make do without a microwave, a freezer that is functional, and a big, comfy bed. Oh, we also have a stove that will one day singe off my eyebrows while being lit, I just know it. Nope, I'm not letting myself get sucked into negative thinking... Screw you ethnocentrism!! I can make my quesadillas in a pan, I don't like ice cream that much (bold-face lie) to need some handy in the freezer, and I curl up in a ball when I sleep anyway... Ok, the stove thing really does freak me out, so there's no candy-coating that one.
Like anyone else, living anywhere in the world, I have my good days and I have my bad days. Yet, each day I wake with excitement up wondering what kind of ridiculousness will happen that I can share with friends and family back home (my devoted readers-ha!). Whether it be a tag-team grope fest on the subte that makes me want to cry, trying new foods (both good and bad), or sharing a laugh with friends who have quickly become my support system, each day has been unique and special.
Simply put, I love it down here. With all the good, the bad, and the ugly, I am proud to call Buenos Aires home.
