reading “Le Petit Prince” and finishing some applications to UBC.
My trip to New York now seems like another lifetime. The rush, chaos and cacophony of life in New York was very different than any city experience I had ever experienced. Gastown, Vancouver’s historical center, is only several blocks long compared to the kilometers of historical buildings in Manhattan. In Vancouver, one will hear English and maybe one or two Asian languages. In New York, walking in Times Square I could hear French, English, Spanish, and a multitude of exotic accents.
Whenever I travel to the States, I am never prepared for the vast cultural differences. I know logically that Canada and the US have different politics, history and ideals, but I always expect them just to be a slightly more conservative Canada.
My expectations couldn’t have
been more off about New York. I am a good Canadian, so naturally if I bump into someone, I apologize immediately. I will apologize even if I haven’t touched them. However, my apologies in New York were treated with indifference, bemusement, puzzlement, and sometimes a glare. Once when I was walking with my suitcase, a man ran into me and knocked my suitcase over. Logically (at least to a Canadian), I apologized profusely. Of course, he was already gone.
Yet after talking to a New Yorker for a few minutes, they became very friendly and talkative. Taxi drivers, street vendors and pedestrians wanted to know where we were from, why we were here, and what sites we were seeing. However, the phrase “We are from Vancouver” usually produced a blank stare. Ah well, I’d hoped the Olympics would have cured that.
