Saturday, July 2, 2011

Intercultural Dissonance

By Debra Hunter

DISEMBARKING THE PLANE from the final leg on the journey to Florence, I was focused on quickly claiming my one piece of luggage that I had been forced to check. Knowing that I would be culturally disoriented upon arrival, I wanted to quickly locate my bag and follow my fellow passengers through whatever process occurred next. I found my bag and then sat down to repack some items to make carrying the luggage easier. When I looked up, all of my fellow passengers had left the baggage claim area. One female security woman was patiently watching me and used hand signals to summon me to follow her. As we entered a hallway, she told me to wait there for “customs,” the dreaded word. I waited uncomfortably. I saw a man in a uniform who could have been a customs officer but he took no interest in me. The security woman left to speak with some other passengers just outside the terminal. When nothing further happened, I decided to follow her. She again summoned me to wait off to the side while she spoke with other passengers. The other group appeared to be wealthy, movie star looking passengers, who were involved some sort of miscommunication. It was obvious from the body language and tone of the Italian being spoken that the passengers had been inconvenienced and the airport staff was trying to accommodate them. Suddenly as a private minivan arrived, the security woman turned to me and motioned me to get in the minivan with the other passengers. I hesitated and said in English and motioning with some vigor that I was not with them. It seemed the Italian passengers were perfectly willing to take me along out of courtesy. At that point, the security woman said, “Excuse me (in Italian), turned and abruptly left me on my own. Bewildered, I walked away wondering whether or not I was legally in the country.

My entry problems were not over as I joined a less well-heeled group of German and Italian tourists who waiting next to the taxi sign, none of whom were Americanos. The crowd of people waited impatiently for taxies that arrived slowly one by one. I was stunned at this inefficient process thinking wistfully of the United States where a stream of taxies pulled up within seconds to scoop up arriving passengers. The cue seemed to have some informality and did not operate on first come first served norms. I then wondered if certain passengers called particular taxies. I decided to watch and wait. I tried to hold my space in line. I got squeezed out by an aggressive family. The next group of three men and one woman looked at me disdainfully and clearly were talking about the “American senora.” Then, I was surprised when the next taxi arrived and stood aside and offered it to me. Travel weary, I overcame my usual passive approach with strangers. I stepped up giving the driver a piece of paper with my hotel name. He gave me the traditional wild ride through the Italian traffic. I was thrilled to see the hotel staff expecting me, despite my rather late arrival. From there forward, I abandoned my passive approach with life and decided to survive with whatever communication I could summon.

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