This weekend I traded in paella for curry and flew back to London, my second hometown. Not only did I get the chance to hang out with my childhood best friend, but I also arrived just in time to see a football match between the U.S. and Colombia with a friend from GWU. Since I spent my summer and the span of the world cup in Colombia, I was thrilled to be surrounded by passionate Colombian fans once again. However, being at the match was a little confusing, culturally.
Sometimes I said “grathias” like I was from Spain and sometimes I cheered like I was from Colombia. I snuck back into a British accent when I was with my British friends but I chatted like an American with my GWU friend. I’ve read that we’re different with each person we’re with, but is that really the same with each place we’re in? Which country, let alone team, did I represent? At one point I think I even said “merci” to a cashier at a café by Tower Bridge.
It seems like every weekend, students studying abroad are darting between trendy cities, picking up more than just the currency. However I remember being a kid, moving between England and the U.S., and traveling all around Europe, and always feeling so self-conscious of belonging to the “appropriate” culture. I heard, “you’re American, why do you say some words weirdly?” or “you’re not British, why do you like the football team?” I always reminded myself that I was supposed to be American first and other influences were secondary. Even to this day, I still feel that pressure to prove my “Americanness.”
However I only had a Colombian jersey when I went to the Colombia v. USA match, my British accent came out purely unintentionally, and I said “claro” to people who clearly do not speak Spanish. After my third trip to London in three months, it’s become clear with each comparison that I can’t fight the culture from any country or city I spend time in. Two months into Spain and I no longer like to eat dinner before nine. I prefer tapas-style meals and I stare unwaveringly at people on the metro, admiring fashion or following interactions between groups. I respond to everything with “vale” or “claro,” and I no longer feel a rush to leave after eating at a restaurant.
Now back in Madrid, I even still say “crisps” and “cheers” and prefer a refreshing foggy morning like those in London. Likewise, from Colombia, I crave finding seasoned strips of mango or fresh empanadas on the street and love obsessive football fans. I too appreciate a well-executed preppy outfit or a good political debate during Sunday brunch, a clear change from living on the West Coast.
But there’s also the culture of travelling, of always carrying an apple and a granola bar and finding comfort in naps on buses and small backpacks that we’ve all grown accustomed to. Finally, after months of dipping between countries and exchanging stories every Monday morning with friends, its clear we carry a little more than just the stamps in our passports and the pictures in our instagrams and I could get very used to this.