Mostly this trip has made me more grateful to be an American. Not the result I was expecting, but it happened. In this moment, I hate it. I tried to help restore some dignity by showing extreme interest in the bowl of saldainiai ir sausainiai that he put in front of us after your third denial of Kavos, but one can only stomach so many stale cookies before indigestion trumps manners. You considered it an act of kindness not to make the old man get up. I consider it a cultural atrocity. You speak the language, I don't. Does that make you right ? This is not the first time I've hung my head in shame at the mention of the words, Amerikos, Amerikiete, or Amerikoje.
On my first day of classes at the University, a bubbly young Emily from Connecticut came around to our table at the welcome party and invited us to join her and some other students for a beer later that evening. I had just met Laura (US) and Piri (Germany) and we decided to spend a few hours showing the nearly arrived and Vilnius virgin, Piri, around old town and then meet up with our new classmates. We did, and all started well with about 8 of us (6 US, 2 German) enjoying a 1/2 liter of Svyturys in the central square. Then came the second round. The volume, which was already heightened by the first round, got turned up. And up. And up. I can imagine it kept going up, but Piri, Laura, and I excused ourselves and headed for our respective busses to get home.
These American students are perfectly nice people. They are all like Laura and me with one or two Lithuanian parents, but varying degrees of understanding of the language and culture. Like us, they came to this course to connect. They also came to drink beer. They are young. I felt old. And embarrassed. I like beer too, but I don't like being so "visible" in a foreign country and I don't like filling a bad stereotype. Later, while discussing my new acquaintances with my cousin, Andrius, he shared with me his theory of why Americans are so loud. He explains that the heightened volume has to do with the big distances in the US. Big apartments. Big cars. Big tables. Big cheeseburgers. All of these require near shouting for any chance of communication. Andrius has an explanation for everything. Over the next 4 weeks, he shushed me more than once.
In a language lesson on how Lithuanians greet people, our teacher explained that you ask "Kaip jus sakasai?" This means "how are you?" She went on to explain that unlike in America, when Lithuanians ask this question, they really want to know, and so they wait around to hear the answer. Ouch. However, this conflicts with another professor's explanation that in Lithuania, people don't waste their time with small talk. So I guess here, it's all or nothing. If someone bothers to ask, then they want to know. But most times they don't ask.
Having Barackas Obama as president made being abroad much more comfortable this time. Never once did I pretend to be Canadian or see anti-American graffiti. We did get spit on by a group of middle-eastern teenagers in Amsterdam, but I haven't yet processed what that was about. In general, I behaved as a respectable, non-stereotypical American (although I still cannot control the volume of my voice) and my country's actions during my time abroad gave me no reason to be ashamed. Yet, the guilt and self-consciousness was still there. Thank you, George W. I guess the part of the self-consciousness that lends itself to cultural sensitivity is a good thing, but the knots in my stomach at the mention of oil are not. Despite my intentions to represent well, most of what is "American" is out of my control. The best I can do is sit here and eat his cookies and candies and try to help him to feel like Lithuania's most successful host.
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