American Through and Through

I am an American living in Slovakia. I have lived here most of my adult life. I finally found out that there is nothing I can do to make me not look like an American. I have asked my Slovak friends to give me tips. Through all the cultural anthropology classes, gaining insights on the actions and mindsets of other cultures, through all the lessons on how to love your host culture, and even through countless haircuts and shopping trips, no matter how hard I try to blend, ultimately I cannot. 

I can prove it.  I was at the swimming pool for my regular swim.  I knew the routine. Pay at the small window downstairs for both your locker and your entrance.  Give the attendant upstairs in the ladies' dressing room your receipt and your deposit for the locker and DON'T try to use a locker other than the one on the key, no matter how close it is the bank of windows that look out on the busy intersection.  Also don't go beyond her bench with your shoes on.  Fair enough.

I had finished my swim and was back for a shower. I am pretty sure I have been modest since before I was born.  My mom loves to tell the story of our trip to the playground when I was three years old.  Being a particularly hot day, my friend removed his t-shirt.  Appalled I ran to my mother and told her what had happened.  I can almost see a sweet three year old with all the indignation of a 70-year-old spinster.  My mom, completely clueless as to my duress asked, "Would you like me to help you take your t-shirt off too?"

Needless to say, gang showers anywhere still make me nervous (and fast). But as I said, Cultural anthropology classes made their mark and although I didn't want to blend enough to swim in a two-piece, I did go ahead and shower in the regular way.

As my Slovak haircut was being shampooed by my Slovak shampoo, I heard a voice behind me.  "Oh, your an American?"  (No, I have no tattoos, yet.) I turned my head to see two ladies addressing me in English.  They introduced themselves. (My first naked handshake-hopefully my last.) We talked a bit about living in Slovakia then I made my get away to the locker room. 

Deep in my heart though I was relieved. As much I as I try to blend and fail it is no one's fault. There is something about me that is as culturally bound to being an American as my birthday suit, and I can't get out of that.