jynnorah During the early part of the 20th century wealthy American parents often sent their post adolescent children abroad to Europe. Most often the objective was to fortify a character weakness or instill in the subject superior taste, and class that apparently only the old world could inspire; a sort of ‘finishing school’ for the well heeled. In spite of the fact that I have neither wealthy parent nor character flaw I have set out to experience Europe as it is today. Would I find a culture of charm and gentility, just oozing old world class unparalleled on our barbaric continent? Or would common stereotypes and generalizations prove accurate? Are all Frenchmen really named Perrier? Do the Germans really wear leder hosen? And more importantly do all the English really have bad teeth? The stakes were high. I enrolled at Nottingham University last September as an exchange student to pursue these pressing questions. The search for answers led me to over 5 countries (6 actually) in good conditions and bad, and while I mostly ended up studying indigenous food and beverage to the detriment of my original mission, I managed to come up with several unsupportable, sweeping, stereotypical generalizations of my own (mostly for country’s who’s soil I had trod for but a weekend). This blog will consist of a collection of stories, observations and sometimes ungraceful culture transitions (like speaking Italian, in a nervous moment, to a Starbucks employee…in England). The reader must be warned, however, that as of two weeks ago I moved from England to Germany to live with my pregnant sister, her husband, and my two nephews. Consequently tales of debauchery and bohemia my in fact be mixed with reports on a small child who urinates on himself for attention or an account of a harrowing trip to the grocery store to obtain cilantro before it closes (at noon, mind you, the grocery store closes at noon). If this is disheartening to some don’t fear, I manage to consume the occasional after hours martini and am bound to mis-negotiate the stairs to my attic chamber at some point sooner rather than later.

Trip: the god damn mother country

There are [2] stories from my trip: the god damn mother country

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GERMANY | Saturday, 17 Feb 2007 | Views [422]

My cross continental journey begins in England, Nottingham England in fact (yes Robbinhood, although the residents don’t like to talk about it). It seems fitting that a return to the old world would start at the origin of the new world. In retrospect ... Read more >

Tags: Culture