It first happened in Copenhagen when I was meeting a young Lithuanian girl whom I originally got to know few days before. We made plans to meet up near the train station at exactly eight o’clock. As usual, I was running fifteen minutes late and didn’t think that was much of a big deal. I knew I was late but didn’t mention it, instead opting to judge her mood first and go from there. Of course she was upset to have waited there fifteen minutes and not being shy at all quickly confronted me. I felt bad and assured her I’d try to make it on time next time.
Days before I was due to arrive in Prague, I made separate plans to meet up with several Czech girls to do some sightseeing and perhaps to grab a drink. I was due to arrive Monday night, so we arranged to meet on Tuesday afternoon; while the other was free Thursday at 9pm. Since I wasn’t even in Czech Republic at the time I made plans, I vaguely remembered having to do something on those dates but thanks to past experiences, knew the likelihood of us actually meeting up was small. About an hour or two before each appointment, both girls confirmed if we were still on. I ended meeting both of them at exactly the specified time.
When I was in Dubrovnik, I had a very interesting conversation with a Croatian girl who couldn’t have been over twenty-one years old. I needed an opening so I spoke to her in Russian and asked her if she understood what I’d just say.
“Not all of it, but the languages are similar, so I can pick up a word every now and then,” she countered.
“Great, so Serbo-Croatian and Russian are similar?” I remembered Serbo-Croatian as the standard language on Couchsurfing.org website and didn’t realize the possible implications.
“No, it’s not Serbo-Croatian, it’s Croatian!”
“Oh, I didn’t realize the languages were that different, I thought they were quite similar”
“No, we’re different people with different traditions”
“So you guys still don’t get along with Serbs?”
“Why would we, they heavily bombed us, and wanted to takeover our lands.”
“What about the Russians, do you hate them also?” She obviously knew I was Russian
“Well, they supported the Serbs during the War, but we’re kinda neutral to them now”
“Come on, you were probably less than three years old, if you were even born when this happened!” I countered, waiting for her reaction.
“Yes, but my father remembers this very well.”
I was astonished. Here, a random twenty-one (maybe twenty-four at the most) girl was telling me things that I only expected to hear from someone her father’s generation. Not only did she know the whole story (even the Russian side of things), but she had a very strong opinion about the conflict herself.
Kiev is a gloomy place in late fall and winter. People on the streets don’t smile and ignore eye contact at any cost. The metro might as well be in a state of daily mourning; sporting exclusively black jackets and coats, the people stay quiet without any eye contact. But make plans with a girl to do something, and she would show up on time and give you her undivided attention without looking at her phone every five minutes. The guys are cold, but should you break through that and make friends with one, you’ve got a friend for life. It helps to have real friends in this part of the world. It can make a difference of finding your next job, or even getting out of a jam with the cops.
In Colombia, I couldn’t for the life of me create any kind of lasting connection with a guy or a girl, so I spent all my time hanging out with gringos. Girls were spoiled and would cancel dates on a whim, so double-booking or triple-booking was the norm.
In Brazil, you learn the art of flaking. It’s as tightly ingrained into life’s fabric as samba or coconut juice. If someone says they’ll show up at 10pm, you can expect to see them at 11:30pm, or might as well head out yourself, they might be at the club anyway. A typical ‘let’s meet 1pm on Posto 9’ means ‘I’ll be there anytime between 1pm and before the sun starts to set’. Somehow even with the lack of commitments, things end up working out in Brazil because of the ease of meeting new people.
It was finally in Central and Eastern Europe that I started to see values I can appreciate.
Makes sense in many ways. People are much less spoiled. People aren’t as rich. They actually have to work for a living. I rarely saw people glued to their smart phones like you see on the streets of New York or Los Angeles.
Family traditions run supreme. Families sit down together at dinnertime and discuss the day’s events. It’s not unusual for children to live with their parents until marriage helping out with whatever is needed.
Wars helped to enforce what really mattered. From Germany and eastward, countries were effectively trying to destroy each other for much of the last century and beyond. Overtime people developed values and appreciation for what really matters.
When I flew from Italy to Croatia, I was beaming with excitement. I was excited that I was leaving a laid back Latin commitment-less country and going to a more grounded Balkan country. I had high expectation for a region that I wanted to explore for so long. I would not be disappointed with the hospitality and straightforwardness of the locals.
My friend in LA complains that it’s impossible to find people to commit to anything. People make arbitrary plans but rarely follow through.
Well, what do you expect from a place where people make a living of entertaining and of being someone they’re not (acting)?
Where it’s sunny all year long and people never really need to “suffer” to rain or less than 50F (10C) degree weather?
Where superficiality and plastic surgeries are as common as the $5 latte?
Who would think such conditions wouldn’t attract people that are “too free”?
I told him he’s crazy to think it should be any other way. People get spoiled and adapt to their environment quickly, so if everyone around them doesn’t take commitments seriously, then soon they won’t either.
That Croatian girl I met doesn’t exist in America. At least with her Croatian values intact. If she ever did move, I’d give her a few years at most before she becomes a spoiled, robotic human completely disconnected with her the values of her parents or grandparents. Instead of us actually having interesting human conversation, I’d probably see her glued to her iPhone 4S on a subway car in Manhattan. She might tell you that she’s Croatian, but you’d have a hard time differentiating her from the run of the mill native-born American.
Last week, a girl who I used to know in California moved to New York for school. Since I was back in the big apple, I asked her on Monday if she was free to grab a drink. She agreed and we planned for Friday evening at ten. Fifteen minutes to ten, I received a text saying that she couldn’t make it. Already in my pajamas, I quickly glanced at the phone, and without ever replying, slowly put it back on the table fully relieved that I won’t miss another second of this interesting movie.