Into the last part of Breaking The Ice we go – and on the menu we have a rich dessert of prejudice, xenophobia, narcissism and self-importance.
(Yum).
6. Assume Nothing Except Your Own Ignorance
SINKER
8. Represent Your Country
9. It’s Not About You
10. It’s Not About What We Do
SINKER
8. Represent Your Country
Heaven is where the police are British , the cooks are French, the mechanics are German, the lovers are Italian and it is all organised by the Swiss. Hell is where the police are German, the cooks are English, the mechanics are French, the lovers are Swiss, and it is all organised by the Italians.
– Anonymous
Sometimes I think I’m living in the wrong country. My passport says I’m English, but maybe it’s a misprint, because…
- I hate football. Not dislike – *hate*. Ditto cricket. In fact, ditto most sports.
- I can cook.
- I’m allergic to beer.
- It’s been at least 15 years since I headbutted someone. And that was accidental.
- I don’t own a pinstripe suit, and I’ve never worn a bowler hat.
- I don’t sound like Dick Van Dyke. (This is because nobody does, in particular the English).
- I have a full set of teeth – and in the hopefully unlikely event that I lose any, I’ll go for porcelain replacements rather than wooden pegs.
- I can speak a smattering of other languages – and by that I don’t mean my chosen method of linguistic bridge-building is to shove my face 4 inches away from a non-English person’s, hold my breath until my entire head is vein-bulgingly scarlet and then scream “NO SPEAKO FORRIN! THREE BEEROS, GRASSY-ARSE!”.
- I’ve never quaffed anything. (I admit, this haunts me).
- I never say “spiffing” or “jolly good show”.
- I don’t understand the offside rule.
That last one is a dead giveaway. No speako footy? English? You’re ‘avin a larf, incha? But no, it’s true, I haven’t the foggiest – and in terms of national identity that doesn’t matter a jot, because I’m more than the sum of my cultural stereotypes, like everyone else in the world. And this is glaringly obvious to all of us. Everyone knows this kind of assumptive pigeonoling is twaddle.
Problem is – stereotypes persist.
They’re all out there in the world, dug in, sunk deep into our cultural consciousnesses. It’s a disgrace, but it’s also a fact. And so if you want to make friends with strangers outside your country of origin, you’d be wise to remember how people will involuntarily prejudge you (maybe just a little – but always enough to matter) based on where you’re from. Remember it – and use it.
Here’s a few suggestions:
The English: you’re fighting preconceptions of football hooliganism, sleazy dance culture and stuffy aloofness. Luckily, you’re also readily equipped with the reputation of being one of the most gentlemanly / ladylike nations in the world. Daub the respectful courtesy on with a trowel, keep your voice down and stay sober, and strangers will become friends at the drop of a hat.
Canadians: you’re notoriously famous for being polite. So err on the side of sass.
Kazakhstan folk: Borat. Look, I know. You’re the ninth largest country in the world and you have a staggeringly wealthy culture-history to share with everyone. You’re independent, progressive and remarkably culturally diverse. You rock. And since 2006, you’ve been lumbered with the fictional Eurasian equivalent of Mr Bean cross-fertilized with Larry David – a character built entirely of negative stereotypes. Absolutely appalling. I share your horror. But – it’s out there. Your challenge is to keep your temper for the first 60 seconds after you saw them think “Borat”. Hang in there. And hey, if after a minute they’re quoting lines from Borat to you, you could always pretend you’re English by headbutting them.
Welsh: don’t start singing. At least, not immediately. Give it some time.
The quicker you can disprove a stereotype, the quicker your would-be friend will discard it – and be so mortified at having thought it in the first place that they’ll do anything to make amends. They’ll break the ice for you. And all you did was be yourself. How’s that for a result?
9. It’s Not About You
He’s the kind of person where if you ask him how he is – he’ll tell you.
– Anonymous.
“Hi there. How are things? Good, good, so anyway….”
Hands up if you’ve done the following:
- listened to someone without hearing them?
- listened to someone without hearing them because you’re working out the next fantastically witty retort you’re going to slay them with?
- listened to someone impatiently because you want to get back to the good stuff, ie. You?
- worked hard to make the other person the focus of your conversation?
That show of hands got real patchy around point 4, didn’t it? That’ll be because you’re human. From the mistiest dawn of time when we ran around walloping each other with thigh bones, we have excelled at putting ourselves first in line. That’s evolution for you: me me ME. It’s our most tried, most tested formula and we’d be daft to fiddle with it.
Or would we?
“And I had just three days to see it all! All of Egypt! Luckily there’s bits you can skip, you know, the modern stuff,, and anywhere there’s not a pyramid. And the Nile is just a river, you know? So I cut it down to two days and that gave me an extra day in Dubai which is totally worth it, there’s this air-conditioned beach? I don’t do well in heat, I have a condition where I sweat. So anyway…”
The problems start when we allow ourselves to believe the rest of the world finds us as fascinating as we do.
My favourite travel lesson? A useful sense of inadequacy. (Yes, I know, dear doting fans – moi!). The best place to maintain your own personal Copernicus-busting view of the world is somewhere that is empty of others. Any kind of contact with the rest of humanity is sufficient to pinpoint some gap in your upbringing, some character flaw, some illustration of how you generally fall short. This is a gift of humility – it’s like Christmas Day for the soul.
In short, you suddenly see how unworldly you are. Time to learn stuff, then. And here we are, back at point 6 (Assume Nothing Except Your Own Ignorance).
But when you make the conversation revolve entirely around you, your enduring ignorance is guaranteed.
“…and there were like all these tribesmen, am I allowed to say tribesmen? Anyway, they’re all lined up outside their huts (and I allowed to say huts?) and I get them all singing Bohemian Rhapsody, but, you know, ethnically. There’s this anthro-something boffin dude and he’s sitting with his head in his hands, but there’s no stopping us! I’ve always been into my singing. Oooh, ask me if I’ve ever met Simon Cowell. Go on, ask me. Ask me!”
The clincher is pure cynicism. Ready?
Since it’s a fact that we’re all hard-wired to be completely into ourselves, a great way to break the ice with a stranger is to encourage them to fall victim to it. Withdraw yourself as a topic from the conversation, and the other person will probably step forward to make themselves the focus. So stoke the flames of their self-interest. Make it Them Them Them. You’ll bond, I guarantee.
And hey, they’ll love you for it.
10. It’s Not About What We Do
“A teacher?”
“Yes”, I lie. Already a new identity is unfurling: a teacher with a taste for history, and a family back home. I want to go unquestioned.
- Colin Thubron, Shadow of the Silk Road
If you’re lucky enough to bump into veteran travel-writer and novelist Colin Thubron on your travels, you might not be aware of it until much later. He’s made a career of being an affably approachable “nobody” (as if there’s such a thing) to prevent his observations becoming muddied by the celebrity status of his craft. The result is a carefully maintained anonymity that lets him get on with his job in peace – and what a job. Not only is his work gorgeously lyrical, it’s keenly immersed in the sights, sounds and rhythms of wherever Thubron is exploring. He works hard to truly know the places he visits. Go read: you’ll see.
Here’s why he keeps his job hidden.
Let’s say we’ve just met on the street – you’ve just approached me because I’m looking lost (that’ll be point 5 at work, there) and we’ve just exchanged a few pleasantries. Now you’re asking me what I do, and I say “I’m a criminal psychologist”.
A few things immediately spring to mind.
1) ["Criminal psychologist". Oh hell's bells. So you're going to psychologize me? I'd better watch what I say].
2) Note how I didn’t say “I’m trying to be a criminal psychologist” or “I’m toying with the idea of marrying my twin passions of crime and psychology” to you. I said “I am one. I’m Cracker. (Be scared)”. There’s a lofty self-confidence in that statement. I am apparently saying I’m a professional. So either I am a professional, or I’m brimming with misplaced self-belief. I’m a VIP or I’m a jerk. Either way, your desire for idle chit-chat has fled.
The problem behind 2) is that there’s no relaxed way of saying what you do for a living. You’re either the formidably wise pro (I am…) or the earnest, slightly bumbling amateur (I’m trying to be…) – but either way, there’s a new layer of awkwardness laid down.
But we’re not done yet.
3a) [So - what do I say next? Um. Don't want to say anything incriminating. So - what do you talk to a criminal psychologist about? Criminals? Freud? 'So, that Freud - did he ever break the law?' Dear god. Metaphorical head in metaphorical oven. Hey, maybe I can pretend I'm reading Freud or Jung, or that bloke who wrote about Men from Mars and Women from Venus. That'll do. No, wait, what if he asks me questions? Um...]
Or…
3b) [Aha! Well, that psychology stuff is all rubbish. And it's time someone explained it to you, buddy]. “Well, that is interesting. Criminal psychology, you say? Do you know that I’ve guessed the ending of every murder-mystery I’ve ever watched? All the CSIs. Murder She Wrote. All of them. Now I don’t want to sound disparaging, but your so-called job seems pathetically easy. Yet if our roles were reversed, could you tile a bathroom? I’m thinking not.”
When you tell a stranger what you do for a living, you’re probably going to end up talking shop – the last thing you want to be thinking about when you’re travelling – or unwillingly participate in something best described as a pissing competition. It’s a death-blow to any hope of a naturally flowing ice-breaking conversation. In fact, it’s a new layer of ice to break.
Frankly, it’s much easier being a nobody.
Images: ancawonka, malias, Merlijn Hoek, Loving Earth, lacie babenco, The Pack, Tom Rydquist and Okko Pyykko.
This is priceless! But enough about you…
Enough about me? How dare you! I’ve barely got started.
(Hey, I didn’t say I actually *did* any of these things. I just write about them).
Have you ever considered travel psychology? You’re a ringer.
You charmer, you.
No, wait, you’re using my own techniques on me! *Mike hastily puts together a counter-charm-offensive*
[...] This post was mentioned on Twitter by Mike Sowden, marcygordon and Katja, celeste brash. celeste brash said: whole series is well worth a read RT @ Mikeachim Fevered Mutterings – Breaking The Ice With Strangers: Sinker http://bit.ly/aoUh5y #travel [...]
I’m feeling a bit schizophrenic about which stereotype to present? OTH, if I meet you and both of us leave the floor to the other, no one will speak. Peaceful. We could eat. If you just point at the items you like.
No Hai Karate, however, as it is illegal in Italy. It ruins the food.
Being English, I even point loudly. Sorry.
Also, if you ban Hai Karate, you ban me. I’m more likely to turn up without my head than turn up without being surrounded by a cloying, noxious pong of cheap aftershave, the kind where great strips of wallpaper peel themselves off the wall a few seconds after I’ve passed. Where birds fall out the trees, and flowers wilt or catch fire.
Oh, and please don’t mock my Hai Karate risotto until you’ve tried it.
Why Hai Karate risotto? Seems more suited to dessert, surely.
Anyway, you haven’t been around lately to check out my two latest risotti.
One moment – you don’t like Cricket?
I’m sorry old boy but there is no option other than voluntary patriation to the United States.
No no no – I *love* Cricket.
You’ve got to get the oil really hot though, because they dry out if you cook them too long. The legs go all crunchy, wheras they should be slightly chewy.
Can I stay?
Mike, you never fail to amuse me with your charm and wit, and the really funny thing is that you always tell it like it really is. How refreshing. You could make anyone feel at ease and to home because it seems you are the kind of person who has never met a stranger, only a future friend.
I am an aspiring writer to whom you offered kinds words once, telling me that we writers (you gave me the courage to place myself in that category) are all novices in a way and that puts us all on a level playing field. I am not in your league yet you hold the beacon so high that we true novice writers can follow along and learn so much. Love this article.
That’s very kind of you.
Although I suspect that most of the time I tell it like I wish it would be, rather than how it is…
And yes, we’re all novices. I firmly believe that and hope I never forget it, whatever happens with my writing.
There’s this word that gets horrible press, and it’s the word “amateur”. But amateur is another word for “enthusiast”. So that’s why I want to be an amateur forever.
Except, like, one that gets paid shedloads of money, smokes expensive cigars and is surrounded by beautiful women. Yes, I’m in it for the money. Or more specifically, the spending of the money. Or more specifically, the women and the cigars.
I love my job. Yes.
I was nudged in your direction by a tweet from Barbara Weibel at Hole in the Donut, and very happy to find myself here. That was another post, and that it took me a while to work out that you are English proves your point here! I frequently find myself apologizing for my fellow countrymen (I live in Tenerife) be they ex-pats or tourists. Actually, the former are far worse, very much your scream-loudly.and-the-bloody-foreigners-will-understand for the most part.
Enjoying your writing. When I get a minute I must pop back and begin at the beginning, which I like to do when I find a new blog, to find out how it arrived at where it is now.
Thanks for the entertainment!
Ah, that Barbara. Always causing trouble, that one. Look – you followed her suggestion and ended up here. If that isn’t a sign of a dodgy source of information, I don’t know what is…
It horrifies me that so many Brits seem to think that raising your voice AND – SPEA – KING – SLOW – ER – is anything but patronising and offensive. If someone did this to them, they’d be infuriated. That’s not even the way you speak to children respectfully.
The only way to Speako Forrin Lingo is thus: you speak in a normal tone, using the words and phrases you’ve spent many, many hours mastering or at least getting within a few linguistic zip codes of – and you screw some of the words up. This is the way everyone masters other languages – by catastrophic, mortifying cockups in front of fluent speakers. So you make the effort, and you show you’re slightly rubbish at it. You prove you’re inferior, but trying your damndest.
All ex-pats should be made to learn this befopre departing the UK.
Thuis endeth my Tuesday rant. Thanks for probably not reading this far, everyone – you’ve done your brain a favour it can never repay.
What a great post. I think people default to the where are you from/what do you do questions to break the ice, hopefully you get beyond them to a more meaningful conversation.
Good point: stereotypes are conversation corner-cutting. They instantly give us something to ‘know’ about the other person, even if we know nothing about them. So they actually *help* break the ice. So they’re not all bad.
Good catch. I like.
I am English, I think Soccer or Football if you prefer is crap, but I have an excuse I grew up in a civilized world where we know balls are oval, Tries are scored, goals are converted, And Australians are the enemy.
The Lions are a team that needs to learn to play a real mans game. Cricket is for fags.
hahahahahahahahahahaha
Viva amabokkebokke
It’s true. I’ve seen a lot of Cricketers who smoke like chimneys. (That *was* what you mean, wasn’t it?).
I have nothing to say about strapping, tree-trunk-thighed men with oddly shaped balls. Sorry. Not my thing.
i love this; there are so many truths ringing here that you’d think you had a degree in intercultural training. WOW! i, too, need to dig deeper into your site. thanks!
Thank you.
You’re always welcome here.
(I like having people around that pay me outrageous compliments. It’s the inner Caligula in me.)
You crack me up!
*offers duct tape with worried expression*
(Thanks.
)
Another great post, Mike. I’ve been waiting for this final chapter, and it’s full of good tips, humor, and spunk, just as I expected
You’re too kind.
(Although I should add that in the UK, “spunk” is a word rarely used in a compliment. But I’ll let it pass).
T’was a fun series.
I might do a follow-up, when I’ve proved to myself that I can walk the walk as well as talk the talk.
Ah, but do you drink tea?
Coffee, tea, sheep dip – I drink anything. I’ll quite happily share any kind of brew with anyone, in the interests of breaking the ice.
Although coca tea and Irn Bru are right at the fringes of what I’m prepared to experience. Too damn risky.
Mike – a word from the wise (or at least from someone who also struggles with his supposed Englishness): if you start quaffing things, the headbutts will naturally follow. Just sayin’.
Great post, as always!
Your words are as wise as always. Quaffing is something to undertake with caution. Especially north of Sheffield.
So I detect a hint of a story about quaffing and headbutting there? ‘Fess, if so.
I shudder to think what the stereotypes of Americans are – pretty sure they’re worse than Borat
If you check out the first post in the series, you’ll find my thoughts on Americans.
Not that this stereotypes nonsense is meaningful in any way.
Although that does rather shoot a few massive gaping holes in this series.
Thank god I’m human, and therefore basically flawed and inconsistent, or else I’d have painted myself into a right old corner here. Phew.
Cool, now that that’s all sorted, I think I can start traveling!
Where’s's the fun in traveling where everything’s sorted in advance? Where’s the adventure in that?
But it’s your lucky day. My advice is swiss-cheesed with oversights and inconsistencies. Completely untrustworthy. So you’re safe to go traveling.
Was actually lucky enough to bump into Colin Thubron once. (He was giving a speech at the RGS in London, so not exactly an affable nobody that time – although he sounded as if he might have liked to be…).
A part of “In the Shadow of the Silk Road” (a beautifully eloquent book) that has stuck with me, is just the one you quote above. When travelling, you can choose to be anonymous – or to be anyone, experiment with personalities even… All sorts of fun possibilities.
I’ve enjoyed your series, thanks so much.
But….it’s SO COOL to imagine your English stereotypical alter ego wearing a bowler hat, playing footie, and sipping pints at the pub.
Noo, don’t ruin it for us Americans. We love the English that the media feeds us!
Allergic to BEER?
In all seriousness- Loved the article. Quite ample and explanatory. Good flow.
Great job!