A culture shock is 'the feeling of disorientation when suddenly subjected to an unfamiliar culture, way of life, or set of attitudes'. Photo / Getty Images
A culture shock is 'the feeling of disorientation when suddenly subjected to an unfamiliar culture, way of life, or set of attitudes'. Photo / Getty Images
A culture shock is defined as “the feeling of disorientation experienced by someone when they are suddenly subjected to an unfamiliar culture, way of life, or set of attitudes” and they can be as joyful as they are unnerving, as the Herald’s Travel and Lifestyle team knows all too well.
Roasted guinea pig? No gracias, señor!
I like to think I keep an open mind when it comes to local foods. However, in the Cuyerias of Peru, there was one delicacy at which I drew the line.
Guinea pig is not an everyday treat but you’ll see them everywhere in the Andean highlands. Like little sucking pigs, with rodent buck teeth.
Kept on the floor of kitchens and the roadside pubs serving corn beer, the fluffy free-range rodents are treated like house pets. That is until someone orders “roast cuy”.
You’ll see them in Cusco market stalls as well as the local churches. In the Cathedral Basilica on Plaza Haukaypata you’ll see one being served to the Apostles in a painting of The Last Supper.
Well, if it’s good enough for Jesus.
- Thomas Bywater, Travel Journalist and Multimedia Producer
Exploring Peru, while avoiding the roasted guinea pig, a popular menu item. Photo / Persnickety Prints on Unsplash
Raise a glass
It’s the accidental encounters you remember most. Like the time husband Phil and I gate-crashed a wedding in Vietnam. It was peak summer, a steamy 35 degrees, and we’d gone on a bike ride over a dauntingly steep hill to a little fishing village north of Da Nang. Following the sounds of raucous music somewhere nearby, we came across a huge open-sided marquee that had been set up on the sand, a couple of blocks back from the beach. Much to our embarrassment, the bridal party beckoned us in.
No one spoke English but friendly smiles were exchanged. Phil’s stool collapsed the minute he sat on it. Full of apologies, they brought him another one.
I’d never seen a foaming champagne tower before or such a suave father of the bride, who doubled as MC and karaoke-style entertainer as the shy young couple went from table to table, toasting their guests. After a quick lesson on how to say “congratulations” in Vietnamese, we gave a short speech thanking them for the honour of welcoming a couple of Kiwis into their midst, then disappeared with full bellies back onto our bikes.
- Joanna Wane - Senior Writer, Lifestyle Premium
When bike rides in Vietnam lead to an unexpected wedding invite. Photo / Getty Images
The ultimate ‘slip-up’ in Japan
Of all the cultures I’ve been surprised by, all pale compared to Japan; a destination with an exhaustive list of social rules and a value for ‘face’ that means they’ll never point out your mistakes.
Well, unless they’re truly disastrous.
See, one cultural quirk in Japan is their approach to shoes; specifically, the numerous places and particular ways they must be removed, from shops and hotels to houses or museums. Mostly, I nailed the custom, keeping an eye on nearby locals to follow suit, until one hotel.
In the lobby, I received a pair of slippers to wear to my room, where a second pair waited beside the cubicle-sized bathroom. At breakfast, slippers on, I couldn’t understand why several staff raced over, eyes wide as they shout-whispered in Japanese and practically pulled my slippers off and hid them in a paper bag. It was only later, upon returning to my room I realised I’d made the ultimate faux pas; wearing my ‘toilet slippers’ in a public place.
- Sarah Pollok, Travel Journalist and Multimedia Producer
A cultural faux pas can lead to shock, embarrassment and laughter. Photo / Getty Images
Enlightenment in Thailand
As I sat in the back of a shuttle van in 31-degree heat, vomiting into a double-bagged plastic bag, I was delivered a lesson in Buddhism.
Sure, the timing wasn’t fantastic - in the throws of food poisoning which saw me hospitalised from some buffet smoked salmon. But the impact on my wellbeing and mental resilience in this moment was profound.
As a lovely tour guide held back my long locks and patted my back she started to describe her daily Buddhism practices to me softly. “That’s nice”, I muttered as I momentarily lifted my head from inside the bag and shot her a polite, but closed-eyed smile.
“Everything has a beginning, a middle and an end,” she continued. “Right now, you are in the middle. The middle will pass and you will then be at the end.”
While in that moment, the end felt like it honestly could be death, I also felt like suddenly I could cope with what was ahead. Of course, this would pass and I would be back on my feet again in a few days time - much like most troubles we face in life that knock us down momentarily. It’s something I’ve taken with me into daily life and many times found myself muttering, “Everything has an end”.
- Jennifer Mortimer, Travel and Lifestyle Editor, Audience
A lesson in Buddhism is a lesson in life. Photo / Unsplash
London geezers ... and stealers
It was my second day in London. I emerged from Earl’s Court station into the crisp morning sunshine, carrying everything I owned on my back and I was trying to figure out the way to my hostel when a kindly old overalls-wearing man offered to show me the way.
He was very chatty and at some point he suddenly had a thought – hey! – he would be driving his truck up to Edinburgh later that day and would be happy for some company if I wanted a free ride.
Hell yeah! I thought. New life, new country, let’s go for it! But then the side of me that feared being drugged, robbed, and murdered kicked in and I said, actually no, I would rather just stay in London for a bit, thanks mate.
No worries, he said, I’ll show you around the city anyway. And he did: Hyde Park, Buckingham Palace, Harrods, even a pub where he knew the Kiwi barman. After we’d spent a couple of hours together, it was clear he had no intention of drugging and robbing me, so I said, hey mate, change of heart, let’s do it, let’s go to Edinburgh!
Great! he said. He just needed to go into the official-looking building across the road and get a permit for his truck. But after a couple of minutes, he came back out with bad news. They had refused him the permit because he didn’t have the exact change. I didn’t happen to have a tenner on me, did I?
No, I said firmly. I certainly did not have a tenner on me. Would a 20 do?
I waited a long time outside in the freezing cold while the cruel realisation slowly dawned on me. It would have been much easier to take if I’d been drugged.
It's a long wait in London, when you expect the con artist to come back with your money. Photo / Getty Images
I’ll drink to that
In New Zealand you’re promised one thing; that every wine with a dinner out, every cheeky cocktail on a Friday arvo and gin-buying mission on a Saturday starts the same - “Can I please see your ID?”
Spirits aren’t sold in supermarkets, let alone the local dairy, alcohol is harder to get than a fake ID (okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration), BUT THEN, you come to Europe and alcohol is not only sold everywhere, it’s almost (it is) cheaper than water.
I’m currently in Europe and I haven’t been asked for ID for over six weeks and I’m lowkey starting to feel more suspicious than James Bond tailing a baddie. Are Europeans too blessed to be stressed about binge-drinking culture or are Kiwis just overly strict about their alcohol laws?
- Lillie Rohan, Entertainment Writer
In Europe, alcohol is not only sold everywhere, it’s almost always cheaper than water. Photo / Dmitrii Eliuseev on Unsplash
Run! It’s raining!
I arrived in New Zealand in the summer of 2012, fresh off a plane from the UK via Sydney. At first, Auckland didn’t raise too many concerns; nothing overtly odd that I’d scurry home and email my family about. That is, until, it rained.
For someone born in the north of England, where a downpour settles in for a good 51 weeks of the year, I wasn’t prepared for such an unfamiliar reaction to drizzle. Which was extreme. Notably, for anyone behind a steering wheel.
It was absolute bedlam. Pandemonium. Something akin to Pompeii when Mount Vesuvius purged her guts and buried a city.
I didn’t have a car at the time but even as a pedestrian, I wondered if I’d missed something. Where was the fire? Or, judging by the erratic nature of a city consumed by mass panic, the spewing lava?
If it’s raining in Auckland, traffic lights lose all purpose. Indicators? Don’t be absurd, there’s no time. There are squeals as cars career around corners and mopeds mount the curb. Children are flung into the backseat of an SUV, the engine still rolling while mum skids out of the school gate doing sixty.
That first time, I half expected to see Godzilla straddling the Sky Tower.
When I somehow managed to make it home, wet but unscathed, I wasn’t quite sure what I’d just experienced.
Twelve years on all I can say is this. If it rains, godspeed.
Rain causes carnage in Auckland. Photo / Getty Images
That’s the joy of travel
Going from the relative quiet of Auckland to the busy, buzzy Chennai, India, was a sensory overload for me – and a good one.
I don’t think culture shock is a bad thing, or something to be embarrassed about. In fact, it’s one of the most significant things about travelling. Those feelings of confusion and anxiety come from being outside your comfort zone in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by noises and smells and social practices that you’re not used to.
How you view culture shock and react to it is what’s important. If you feel uncomfortable, ask yourself why that is. Something may be new to you – or a far cry from what you’re used to – but normal to people in the place you’re visiting, so consider what people might find shocking in your place of residence.
Reflecting on how a place and culture makes us feel is how we learn and grow, gaining understanding and empathy, while expanding our world view with first-hand experiences.
That’s the joy of travel! That first surprise of something different when you arrive somewhere new and unfamiliar; those first 24 hours where everything feels sharp and loud and full of life, new tastes and smells and things to see.
