Reverse Culture Shock in America’s Paradise

Reverse culture shock never ceases to amaze me when I travel back to the U.S. You would think it would “feel like home,” but it doesn’t anymore.

I talk often about the shock one experiences coming east to France, and having to cross the cultural divide that can be vast, moving from our American lifestyle and thinking to a French and European one…but what happens when we have crossed that divide and then go in reverse?

I travel to the U.S. a couple times a year, only for the purpose of visiting family, as I have no other reason really. It’s not that there aren’t wonderful places to visit in the U.S.—the French are certainly clamoring to see America, but growing up there means “I’ve been there; done that”…or at least most of it.

This trip to Maui is to visit my daughter and three-month-old grandson. She connects us daily on FaceTime and Baby Monitor app so I can watch him live, even though we are 11 hours apart. This trip was planned even before I left Maui three months ago. So, in spite of recovering from Flu A, I wasn’t going to let that stand in the way of seeing my grandchild in person.

To ease the burden, I had booked wheelchair service from beginning to end as my recovery is still not 100%. At the Nice airport, there is an assistance service station on the departure level where a car can easily pull up, with a chair while you wait, and all you have to do is buzz and someone comes out with the wheelchair. They then whisk you through check-in and customs as fast as greased lightning. In my case, the attendant realized I had a couple of hours to kill before boarding and suggested he take me up to the Air France lounge for breakfast, on the house. How nice is that?

There was a full breakfast bar of goodies, a table with an outlet and a view of the airport. Thirty minutes before the flight, another attendant came to get me and whisked me onto the plane ahead of everyone else. It couldn’t have been more pleasant, and no one asked for, or expected a tip. At CDG where I was changing planes to fly to Los Angeles, another attendant met me and transferred a few of us in wheelchairs to a small shuttle bus where we all got the see the underbelly of the airport as they avoided all the halls by driving outside along the spaghetti model of roads, then wheeled each of us through customs, and me over to the gate for my flight to LAX. The attendant was happy to take me to Exki so I could buy something to eat to take on the plane (I’ve learned not to depend on airline food to be satisfying for such a long haul flight).

Note: Exki, “The Pleasure of Healthy Food” or anything like it does not exist in a U.S. airport—not that I have ever seen—while healthier food is readily available in French airports and train stations, and are clearly the most popular choice, evident by their popularity. Pret A Manger is another prepared-food chain you can count on.

LAX was a bit of a different story. Air France lands at one end of Bradley International Airport, down a very long hall that takes 15 minutes by foot and does not have one single seat or bathroom along the way. For the life of me, I can’t understand why they would construct such a thing! I was prepared for that, but thanks to the wheelchair service, they shuttled a group of us wheelchair-riders down the long hall. It was a blessing.

I observed that the wheelchairs at LAX were more basic than those at the Nice or Charles de Gaulle airports, and the attendants were very nice, but disorganized and not very focused on making any of us have as pleasant an experience. It was a very different from Air France in Nice or at CDG. At baggage claim in LAX, the attendant managed to grab the wrong bag from the carousel (good thing I caught it) and then, when we were out the door and I thanked him, he sort of hung in, so I got the sense he was expecting a tip. My reverse culture clash hadn’t warned me for that, and I didn’t have any U.S. cash of small denominations…so sorry guy.

It was all part the beginning of the culture shock…that the norm in the U.S. is that service personnel depend on tips for everything they do because they aren’t paid enough to begin with. In France, this isn’t true. Service is built in to their pay. This doesn’t mean it’s enough and that we shouldn’t tip or show our appreciation, but it’s not expected. In addition, throwing money around is a kind of showing off and can be considered rude! So, be careful how you do it.

I had hired a special car to pick me up at LAX to transfer me to my L.A. airport hotel, only a five-minute ride away—that cost about $100! This was for the sole purpose of the driver taking the luggage in lieu of my hassling with the free shuttle provided by the hotel. Still, he couldn’t come curbside, so I had to walk fairly far to his car into the garage. That surprised me given the price. When we arrived at the hotel five minutes later, he asked for a tip. I still didn’t have U.S. cash, so when he said he’d take any kind of money, I gave him euros.

I had also booked the same car service to take me back to the airport for my flight to Maui the next morning. It was had been even more expensive than the first one, as they added an extra $100 just for the service of seeing me all the way to check-in. I thought it was outrageous, but I didn’t feel I had a choice. When we got to the airport, it turns out that American Airlines has curbside service and the wheelchair service is steps from the door! Even the driver thought the charge was insane and didn’t hesitate to tell me that he sees none of that money.

A nicely written complaint to the car service by email returned an even nicer reply. Not only did they apologize, but they refunded one of the transfers plus the extra $100! So, in effect, it became a bargain. I promised them a kind and honest review as a result, so if you need a car service, don’t hesitate to contact Luxy Ride and tell them you read my review of how they did the right thing!

A close L.A. friend met me for dinner that night. It took her one hour and 40 minutes to drive to LAX from Santa Monica in typical L.A. rush-hour traffic. That’s life in L.A.

At a really good Thai restaurant near the airport we discovered three months earlier, my friend and I were seated at a table that was so wide, we had to yell across it to hear each other. That was culture shock #2. American-size restaurant tables are generally larger than in France. The average 2-top in the U.S. is 24 to 30 inches in diameter or width, while in France it’s 20 to 24 inches. A 4-top in the U.S. is 30 to 40 inches in diameter or width, compared to 28 to 36 inches in France. Tables in France are normally spaced closer together, too.

No doubt, I have come to enjoy the intimacy of the smaller tables, placed in a more communal way, where you can whisper and still be heard. Too often in France, with American diners nearby, who haven’t discovered their “inside voices” when sitting in closer proximity to their fellow diners, I have tried to politely explain that they should try to lower their voices! But, I’m not very diplomatic and end up in spats with Americans who seem completely unconscious of the cultural crossing they are experiencing.

I arrived in Maui the next day after a six-hour flight to a warm beautiful day as one might expect. The airport in Maui always gives me a chuckle because the baggage claim area is wide open—there are no walls or doors preventing anyone from going in and out easily, or controlling the temperature. It’s the start of paradise.

I was picked up by my daughter and her three-month old son who was strapped into a child’s car seat. I got in the back seat so I could be next to him and play with him, give him a bottle and make sure he’s happy. He’d grown so much in three months since the last time I saw him. It was amazing…especially his acute awareness of everything going around him. The child does not stop moving his face or his body, with a curious look one moment, and big smiles the next. He must think I (“Glamma”) am particularly hilarious with my red eyeglasses and red lips, because I have been able to get him to laugh big time…and a lot!

We stopped at Whole Foods to pick up a few things for home. It’s a big box store American style…culture shock #3. The island has this dichotomy, as on one hand it’s paradise, but to support the nature, it’s become a grid of big box stores to keep everyone supplied. I overhead some passengers on the plane suggesting they stop by Costco on the way home, for example, and knew we’d likely be doing something similar.

I wasn’t ready for running up and down the aisles after having wheelchair service, so I hopped on one of their little electric scooters with a basket on the front…a first for me and potentially dangerous for everyone around me! Once I got the hang of it, I could maneuver it pretty well, and thought about all the little old ladies I’d seen riding these things in other stores…how did I get to be one of them, I asked myself!?

The prices in Whole Foods in Maui was culture shock #4, even though I’ve witnessed it before. Orange juice was more than $10! I couldn’t bring myself to buy it. By comparison, orange juice at Monoprix is 1.89€! At check out, the bill was at least three times what it would have been at Monoprix for the same items. I don’t see how or why they don’t revolt…but it’s just an accepted way of life on the island, as it’s a lot more expensive than even the mainland. One website, Maui Trip Guide, even touts it as a bargain!

Saturday we set out for a day at the beach. The beach is a main activity for Mauians. In general, they go to the beach at least once a week, with weekends being the norm. The tourists are pretty easy to spot on the beaches by their newly-purchased T-shirts or new beach gear, especially on the more local beaches, which are less crowded and a bit more “off-the-beaten-path.” The beach we went to Saturday is actually called “Baby Beach” in the Sprecklesville area. Other local beaches have names such as “Secret Beach” or “Big Beach”…basic!

We picked up sushi at a typical Mauian food truck for lunch to eat on the beach. Maui’s food truck scene is huge, and it’s one of the best ways to experience local cuisine without breaking the bank. Many food trucks serve up Hawaiian classics like garlic shrimp, poke bowls, kalua pork, and huli huli chicken, but there’s also a mix of other cuisines—Japanese, Thai, Filipino, and even fusion spots. They are all over the island, so don’t do Maui without taking-out from this take-out culture.

We spent the entire day soaking up the beautiful atmosphere, even though the clouds kept the sun from shining too brightly. Little Leeds clearly loves the beach as much as his mother does. He doesn’t seem to mind the sand getting into his cracks and crevices and loves being in the water, even if a bit cool. For me it was the perfect R and R to take in the fresh oxygen, beautiful scenery and spend quality time with my offspring. Little Leeds never stops getting kissed and cuddled by either one of us.

I’ll be here for another 10 days (never enough!) so stay tuned for more adventures on the American island. And when I return from Maui, I won’t be in Paris too long before winging off to Naples (on a very inexpensive easyJet flight) with my friend from L.A. We’ll be there a few days and taking in one full day to tour Pompeii and Herculaneum.

Stay tuned for a full report the second week of March…and a bit more culture shock as we experience Italy and the Italians!

A la prochaine…