On Culture Shock...

Culture shock. It´s one of those slippery terms that can mean just about anything, from somebody serving you a steaming platter of ox tail to having your cab driver weave down the street backwards in an attempt to find your house (both of which have happened, needless to say). It can be other things too, like the acceptance of a perpetually volatile political climate. Televised news affirms this daily, with its incessant newscasts of the Indigenous marching the street, yelling and rolling tires and tossing burning branches, all in protest of the government´s policies on water. Culture shock is mostly just the daily things, though, like remembering to greet everybody with an ¨Hola¨ and a touching of cheeks. Getting beyond the greeting, of course, is an adventure in itself, and mix-ups are more or less constant for new speakers like me. The words ¨city¨ and ¨careful¨ sounded very similar to me, and when my host mother in Quito would admonish me to be careful, I would attempt to agree by saying, “I´m a city,” and step cheerfully out the door. I´m sure that was little comfort to my host mom.

“Cuidad,” or “careful,” is perhaps a word I need to take to heart. My first day in Riobamba on Monday, I popped on my running shoes, ready to take advantage of the safer environment that Riobamba affords (more so than Quito, anyway). But what Riobamba lacks in thieves and frenzied traffic, it more than makes up for in potholes. I was about six blocks away from my house when I stepped in one of these little hazards, twisting my ankle so badly I could hardly limp out of the street. Sitting down and trying desperately not to faint, I was obliged to eventually hop in a car of an Ecuadorian family, who seemed rather excited to be rescuing a lame foreigner in distress. I promptly called my host mom upon returning, trying to explain what happened over the phone, but I used the wrong word for pothole, saying instead, “Violetta, I have little problem. I ran and stepped in golf hole. Now ankle sick.” Probably wondering what on earth I was doing on a golf green, my host mom came home and whisked me off to the doctor, where I was fixed up with a brace and an ancient-looking crutch sized for Bilbo Baggins. Already conspicuous as a 5’10” white female, flailing down the street with my tiny cane I must look like a regular circus act.

I´m happy to say my ankle is doing better, though I need to stay off of it for a few more days. In the meantime, I´m settling down with my stacks of English grammar books and attempting to guess what my future students may or may not know. I will be teaching advanced-intermediate, which could really mean anything….like all things "culture shock," I´ll do my best to anticipate my students, and, when my expectations hit way off mark, I´ll just simply readjust and keep going.