Culture shock for me in Cuenca has not been nearly as prominent as I expected it to be. There are little differences that pop up most days, but this overwhelming feeling of being in a different country really hasn’t hit (yet?). The most prominent of these differences pop up in the home, but outside I don’t notice it as much. Of course the occasional cat-calls and almost getting hit by a bus/taxi/car multiple times per walk call attention to the fact that I am not in Portland anymore, but it is very easy to overlook. Right now, the cafe in which I am sitting is notoriously “gringo” and its simplistic artwork, American music, and patrons with man-buns and lumberjack beards could easily be Portland or Providence–not at all what I expected of Ecuador before I arrived.
My favorite instance of cultural difference is my constant battle with remembering to keep my shoes on inside. I never wear shoes inside anywhere and on my first day I removed my shoes to the tune of giggles from my seven and ten year old host nieces. Thinking they were just being giggly kids, I laughed along with them and walked around the house barefoot. Moving forward, I realized that everyone in the family is always wearing shoes and on the off chance that they aren’t, especially the kids, will point out how they are being “just like me.” I got slightly better at remembering, but after coming home from a day volunteering at Amaru, I removed my muddy boots and walked through the house. My host mom had what I would consider a mild panic attack that my sock-feet were getting mud all over the house when the obvious culprits were in my hands and not dripping (I checked before I entered). Yesterday, after walking on a dry sidewalk with the kids, I got reprimanded for not taking my dry, clean shoes off before going back inside. I think this is a seriously subjective battle and I am losing.
The other little piece of culture shock came with the realization that the oven in my house is used as a storage unit. Baking is one of my absolutely favorite things to do in at home. The oven in my house has not been used the entire time I’ve been here and no one has indicated that they are interested in baking ever. I noticed this and foolishly thought that I could go a semester without baking. Today, Sadie and I caved and baked a ridiculous amount of chocolate chip cookies. The trip to find ingredients was quite the adventure– we couldn’t find chocolate chips anywhere and didn’t know how to ask for them, nor could we figure out if it was baking powder or soda that we purchased. The actual act of baking, which is usually straight-forward, was now in metric units and at altitude, altering my usually mindless experience. Regardless of these little mishaps, the cookies still turned out lovely.
The small culture shocks here hit me at random times, mostly when I don’t know a word or need someone to repeat what they said (otra vez?….otra, otra vez?); it serves as a stark reminder that as much as I can pretend that I know my way around and can order food (usually), I am in fact in a very different country–even if the cafe plays Beyonce.