When Culture Couldn't Cut It

A Roman ruin here, a medieval Spanish Cathedral there. Everywhere I look,

I’m surrounded by culture. But for some reason I’m not having any of it. I’m having an anti-culture day. You know, those days when foreign foods lose their appeal, stop being “interesting” and all you want, is to sink your teeth into a nice big (fill in the blank. In my case, bagel, or cheeseburger, depending on the mood I’m in). When stumbling excitedly through streets and neighbourhoods eager to discover new places turns into tired of getting lost and never knowing where you’re going. When fun, simple exchanges with locals at the grocery store, bank, or train kiosk become maddeningly frustrating exercises in communication (seriously, how hard is it to understand where is the butter, I’d like to make a withdrawal, or what track number is the train on?)

Whether away from home for years or just a few weeks, many travellers experience those moments, though few seem to want to admit it. Unless it’s just me, in which case, I’m an unappreciative ingrate, looking a gift horse in the mouth, namely, the chance to travel through Europe while here to pursue my studies for a year.

I don’t know what it was that triggered my “no more foreign culture” freak out. Maybe I was longing for familiarity. Maybe I was homesick. Maybe I should just drink my one euro bottle of wine while on the shores of Playa Miracle, as I watch the sun set on the Mediterranean and shut up; tomorrow is another day, and it’s up to me to make the most of it.