![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=92.1){kind=small}
The arrival of a new group of volunteers reminded me how I used to feel about being American in a foreign country when I first arrived, and for quite some time afterward. I'm American, I'm special, I'm protected. I felt like an ancient Roman who was protected simply by saying the words "civus Romanus." No one would dare mess with a roman citizen because the fear of retribution was so great. After several experiences with harassment I must say that not even the teenagers behind my bloc fear a foreigner. Granted, when they found out I can understand what they say to me, they shut up pretty quickly but just being American doesn't make me special.
Often times I find myself wondering if people know they are interacting with a real live American. It seems elitist of me to think that I should stand out in their day to day interactions, but shouldn't I? Most of these interactions are short enough. Checking out at the grocery store, buying veggies at the market, sitting on a bus, hitchhiking and randomly at the terasa, restaurant or bar. I always wonder if they go home and say "you'll never guess what the American bought today! Pretzels and manual laundry detergent!" It must be the affect my village life had on me still trickling into my day to day life. I couldnt stand outside on my balcony without a crowd of students standing outside my house. Teacher's would ask me how I liked a certain kind of bread I'd never eaten in front of them or what I did when I rode my bike into the woods. In the city, I've learned to think of myself as just another blip, thoroughly unremarkable.
Case in point. Most cities in Romania have what they call Zilele orasului, city days. Its usually a festival of some kind celebrating the heritage of a certain city. September 7th and 8th are the city days in Tirgu Neamt and I made sure I was around to go. Both days were unseasonably cold and rainy. The clouds were so low I couldn't see the top of the hill behind our city, only two kilometers away. However, I put on my rain/winter coat and trekked outside to see what the fuss was about. I walked past the cotton candy vendors, games of chance, mici stands and gugosi dealers (gugosi is a kind of pastry) and settled in at a little makeshift beer garden.
I sat alone at a large picnic table watching the teenagers fall of their skateboards and listening to the rain pelt off of the awning over my head. After about 20 minutes two men came over and immediately involved me in their conversation. It took them quite some time to realize I wasn't a Romanian. My answers were short and simple. Usually either agreeing with what they said or offering a simple opinion in opposition. Deep into our second beer the man asked me if I was foreign. I said yes... nothing else was said about the topic. We just continued with our previous conversation. Me being foreign never came up again.
This hits me in two ways, one he didn't really care who I was or where I was from, and Two he didn't really care who I was or where I was from and still included me in the conversation.
A few weeks ago I went to a baptism for my director's new daughter Georgiana. After the ceremony they served a small course of appetizers and wine. As is my custom, I stood toward the back trying to avoid being loaded up with cucumbers, tomatoes and stinky cheese when the godfather approached me. We started talking and introduced ourselves and discussed the ceremony all in Romanian. After about 15 minutes my director came over and told him I was from the United States, something I had neglected to mention. He was shocked. He laughed for a few seconds unsure if my director was making a joke or not. He became much more interested in me after finding out where I am from and then wanted to practice his English.
Two weeks later at the party for the baptism I made my way over to say hello to the man again and He proceeded to tell his entire table the story of how we met. They too were interested in hearing about what I thought about their country and what life was like in the U.S. and exactly why it was I decided to come to Romania in the first place. The enthusiasm of this one man had rubbed off on his cohorts and I must say it felt refreshing to experience that kind of interest again, and while I might not be protected by the words "civus Americanus" it was good to feel that little bit of special I had felt when I first arrived.
Often times I find myself wondering if people know they are interacting with a real live American. It seems elitist of me to think that I should stand out in their day to day interactions, but shouldn't I? Most of these interactions are short enough. Checking out at the grocery store, buying veggies at the market, sitting on a bus, hitchhiking and randomly at the terasa, restaurant or bar. I always wonder if they go home and say "you'll never guess what the American bought today! Pretzels and manual laundry detergent!" It must be the affect my village life had on me still trickling into my day to day life. I couldnt stand outside on my balcony without a crowd of students standing outside my house. Teacher's would ask me how I liked a certain kind of bread I'd never eaten in front of them or what I did when I rode my bike into the woods. In the city, I've learned to think of myself as just another blip, thoroughly unremarkable.
Case in point. Most cities in Romania have what they call Zilele orasului, city days. Its usually a festival of some kind celebrating the heritage of a certain city. September 7th and 8th are the city days in Tirgu Neamt and I made sure I was around to go. Both days were unseasonably cold and rainy. The clouds were so low I couldn't see the top of the hill behind our city, only two kilometers away. However, I put on my rain/winter coat and trekked outside to see what the fuss was about. I walked past the cotton candy vendors, games of chance, mici stands and gugosi dealers (gugosi is a kind of pastry) and settled in at a little makeshift beer garden.
I sat alone at a large picnic table watching the teenagers fall of their skateboards and listening to the rain pelt off of the awning over my head. After about 20 minutes two men came over and immediately involved me in their conversation. It took them quite some time to realize I wasn't a Romanian. My answers were short and simple. Usually either agreeing with what they said or offering a simple opinion in opposition. Deep into our second beer the man asked me if I was foreign. I said yes... nothing else was said about the topic. We just continued with our previous conversation. Me being foreign never came up again.
This hits me in two ways, one he didn't really care who I was or where I was from, and Two he didn't really care who I was or where I was from and still included me in the conversation.
A few weeks ago I went to a baptism for my director's new daughter Georgiana. After the ceremony they served a small course of appetizers and wine. As is my custom, I stood toward the back trying to avoid being loaded up with cucumbers, tomatoes and stinky cheese when the godfather approached me. We started talking and introduced ourselves and discussed the ceremony all in Romanian. After about 15 minutes my director came over and told him I was from the United States, something I had neglected to mention. He was shocked. He laughed for a few seconds unsure if my director was making a joke or not. He became much more interested in me after finding out where I am from and then wanted to practice his English.
Two weeks later at the party for the baptism I made my way over to say hello to the man again and He proceeded to tell his entire table the story of how we met. They too were interested in hearing about what I thought about their country and what life was like in the U.S. and exactly why it was I decided to come to Romania in the first place. The enthusiasm of this one man had rubbed off on his cohorts and I must say it felt refreshing to experience that kind of interest again, and while I might not be protected by the words "civus Americanus" it was good to feel that little bit of special I had felt when I first arrived.
Leave a comment
