Cross cultural differences can be amusing. We don't laugh at our Turkish friends but sometimes we laugh with them. Sometimes just the cultural differences make us laugh - what is so normal to us but is so foreign to them, and vice versa. Here's three cross-cultural moments that made me smile this week.
- While waiting to pay at the hospital for Z's two month check up, the lady next to me was giving her best shot to arguing for a discount for the cost of an X-ray. I've got used to paying when we go to a private hospital but the idea of bargaining for hospital services is so foreign to my British-ness, I couldn't help but smile - especially at the effort to which the lady was going to. Unfortunately for her though it was to no avail.
- After paying, I was sitting waiting to be called for Z's hip ultrasound (routine here and really not worth the effort of arguing that it's probably unnecessary for him!). J and S were sitting on the floor next to me colouring and I was holding Z. We'd already been at the hospital for nearly an hour at that point as we'd seen Z's paediatrician first, so the boys' patience was starting to wear thin. While trying to oversee the fair distribution of crayons and ensure they didn't end up all over the entire corridor, look after Z, and field questions about whether or not my husband was Turkish and where we were from, the older lady next to me was trying to tug the hem of my t-shirt down for me because in amongst getting Z out of the carrier that was strapped to my front and bending down to deal with said crayons and small children, the back of my t-shirt had ridden up and was showing maybe 1cm of bare flesh. At that point, I really wasn't too bothered (particularly as I had my back to a wall anyway) but the lady was obviously very concerned for my decency and was doing her best to help me out. I did my best to hide my smile and thanked her.
- And my personal favourite - I was out walking with a Turkish friend one evening this week, pushing Z in the pushchair. It was nearly 8pm but the temperature must have been at least 25 degrees still and there was no breeze. Z was dressed in a sleepsuit, which I considered more than sufficient, but for a typical Turk that was definitely underdressed. As we passed one lady sitting on a bench, she tried to stop us while indicating to Z, ready to point out that he had no blanket and (in her opinion) would be getting cold. Without breaking a stride, my Turkish friend - who is well aware that my children are almost always underdressed by Turkish standards, as most Turks worry about children getting ill from being cold, whereas I worry about them overheating - just waved to the woman and said 'she's English' - as if that was explanation enough and no further comment was needed. I laughed out loud and tried not to think what impression of British people I'm creating around here.
