Photo by Evan

Friends of ours just returned from a five month hiatus in the States. After we caught up about the past year, I asked her if her kids had a hard time adjusting to American culture (they’ve lived here since they were babies, and now they’re almost 7 years old).

She thought for a moment, then said, “They went to summer camp, and when they returned, I asked their counselor how they did. She said they did great, but then added, ‘You know… They don’t really understand the concept of standing in a line. That took some work.’”

That made me laugh, because when we first moved here, that was one of the things that drove me ca-RAYzy. When you order food at a counter, you stand in a huddle and fight your way to the cashier. Might makes right. When you have to stand in a line, such as at the grocery store checkout or the ATM machine, people have no concept of personal space, and stand so close they actually touch you.  That’s bizarre at the ATM machine, for sure.

I also heard today that in Beijing, local people were encouraged to learn the art of standing in a line for the influx of foreigners coming for the Olympics. They’d line people up and have them just stand there for a long time. Then they’d reward them with some sort of gift. One time, they wanted to see if the people were getting the concept, and brought out a stack of gifts in front of them. Mayhem ensued, and everyone made a beeline for the loot.

Yep… standing in a line is definitely a western concept.

Not much has been going on lately, which has been nice.  It’s the antidote to the whirlwind spring we had, so we’re enjoying lazy summer days, hot as they are.

Friends from Spain have been here for the past few days, on vacation.  It’s been fun to have guests again; tomorrow, they head up a bit north for more traveling.

Our hot water is nil - it’s that time of year when they clean out our neighborhood’s geothermal water system, so they turn off the heating system altogether.  They do this annually, thankfully in August, but it’s still a bit annoying to not have hot water.  My thermostat is still whacked from being pregnant, so cold showers don’t bother me too much.  Kabob can’t stand them, though - he heats up water on the stove and brings it to the shower.  Chickpea and Garbanzo pretty much “swim” their baths out on the balcony in the heat of the day.  Last year, they said the hot water would be off for three weeks, and it ended up being six.  They’ve said three weeks again this year.  We’ll see what they mean by that.

We’re working on figuring out our schedule for the rest of the year, shopping around for airline deals back to the States.  Just the thought of being stateside in a few months makes us eager to mentally list the things we want to buy, see, and do.  I, for one, am looking forward to driving, at least a little bit.  I haven’t driven a car since February 2007.

Last month we went to a touristy beach for the day.  There was a group of people a few feet away from us, and they were so loud.  From their accents, they were either Canadian or American, but judging by the volume of their voice, we’re guessing it was the latter.  It was actually kind-of embarrassing, though we didn’t know them.  I saw people giving them dirty looks, and it was another reminder of one of the stereotypes we hold in other countries.

And it makes me wonder how weird it will feel in the States.  Things are getting less and less strange here, so I know that means the reverse is true for America.  I’m curious what will stand out to us the most.  We’ve been told it tends to be how huge everything is - the cars, the portion sizes, the houses.  I can see that.

I’m off to take a cold shower and hit the hay.

This morning, Chickpea was pretending to play piano and sing. Here’s the song:

“God made the rainbows, and He loves us. Mommy and Daddy got married because they love each other, and then they had a big party at Old McDonald’s*.”

*her name for the good ol’ home of the golden arches.

Yesterday, Chickpea was looking through the cards that go with our Hoopla game. They’re full-color pictures, so she has fun browsing through them.

She came across this one. It’s Beethoven:

She brought it to me and said, “Look Mommy! It’s Jack Black.”

Not “that guy in that movie,” or “the silly music teacher,” or “the guy in the red cape.”  Jack Black.