For many people, being a good traveler is virtually synonymous with being able to blend in. You should look like a local, eat like a local, think like a local, and aside from extremes like ritual scarification and honor killings, you should pretty much embrace every aspect of an unfamiliar culture without a second thought. This is the philosophy espoused in the most famous travel advice in history (a piece of advice so well known that you don't even need the whole sentence): "When in Rome . . ."
Changing your style of dress and drinking passion fruit juice for the first time is easy. The challenge comes, for me anyway, in trying to make my brain adapt. I spent my first two months in Panama absolutely determined not to react strongly to something just because I found it shocking or surprising. I would not let anything phase me. I would be comfortable in all situations. I failed miserably.
Race and skin color come up a lot in conversation in Panama. Being American, I'm used to discussions about race. As it relates to politics, American society as a whole, etc. I am not, however, accustomed to conversations like this:
"You look like my cousin. She's white."
"Oh, um, ok."
"She and I don't look alike. Look how much darker my skin is that yours."
"Yes . . . my skin is kind of white."
"Yes, but not as white as blond Americans. Sometimes they look like cream cheese."
"Yes . . . I am darker than cream cheese."
"Also the English. The English are whiter than you."
"Yes, probably."
"They burn in the sun. Do you burn in the sun?"
These conversations, despite my best efforts, turned me into an awkward, bumbling idiot. I quite simply had no idea what to say in response. My brain was not programmed to have a casual conversation about skin color. History? Discrimination? Sure, I can talk about that. But to non-chalantly say, "Hey, you're right. If we were crayons, I would totally be apricot, whereas you sir are more of a burnt sienna."? I cannot say that. I felt awkward just writing that, let alone saying it out loud to someone. So instead, I said next to nothing. I'm sure I left several people with the impression that not only am I pasty, but I also have either a mental deficiency or a speech impediment.
And I haven't just failed in conversation. Wild taxi rides have also gotten the better of me. Clearly, cabbies who drive like maniacs are not unique to Panama. I have met plenty in Washington, including an astonishingly drunk one who offered me a shot of whiskey from his flask one night. The difference is that in DC, I have no problem yelling for them to slow down, or if all else fails, telling them to pull over before we all get killed. Here? I've said nothing. I tell myself, "this is just what the driving is like here. (*Clunk* as I hit my head on the window.) So what if there are no seatbelts? (*Clunk*) It will be fiiiiine. (*Clunk*)" Somehow I don't think it really counts as adapting to your surroundings if you're paralyzed in fear.
And it's probably best that I just be as brief as possible about men yelling at me from car windows, construction sites, the seat next to me, etc. Sufficed to say, I have been told that is the norm here. Men like to voice their "appreciation." Ok, whatever, that's happens back home too. But once again, in the US I might say something if they cross the line. But in Panama, I have no idea where the line of acceptability is. With any of these things. Where is the line? And if I have no idea where that line is, how could I possibly try and blend in?
The answer is that I can't. Trying to blend in is futile. Yes, if you live in a place long enough, your perspective starts to change and you can blend in. But that's a result of time and experience, not incessant trying. And why all this emphasis on blending in to begin with? It's obviously important to make an effort to understand cultural differences, to not make snap judgments, and to expose yourself to new things. But do we really need to try and erase our cultural context to do that? If all cultures have value, doesn't that include our own?
It's a bit like zebras and flamingos. You can put a zebra in the middle of a bunch of flamingos, and try as it might, it will not blend in. Even if it stands on one leg like a flamingo, you will not mistake the zebra for a flamingo. If it hunkers down to the size of flamingo, it will just be a zebra squatting in a sea of flamingos. If you paint the zebra neon pink, it still will not blend with the flamingos. And honestly, why on earth would the zebra bother with all that? It doesn't have to blend in with the flamingos to hang out with them. It doesn't have to blend in with the flamingos to use the same watering hole. It can be a zebra, and still get a long just fine with the flamingos. (Do a google image search, it's true.)
The other day I shared a cab with a business man, and a Panamanian woman and her three children. And the ride was like being on space mountain. We weaved in and out of lanes; we were up on two wheels; we pulled a U-turn in the middle of oncoming traffic. After we nearly collided with a pedestrian, the woman said to the driver, "Please be careful, my three children are back here." For once, I knew where the line was. So when he launched into a vicious tirade after her comment, I spoke up. I released an angry torrent of rapid-fire Spanish, demanding that he desist in his efforts to break the land speed record. He slowed down, and we made it back in one piece. I smiled the whole way home. And I didn't care if my response was right or wrong, or judgmental or American or anything else. It felt great.
Who knows, maybe tomorrow I'll yell at a lecherous construction worker. :-)
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