"You know, the story is that the people, they tried building a tower up and up and up to try to reach the God. I don't know why they think they can do that, but they went up and up and then Mr. God, he got angry with them for trying to do this. So, he changed all their language and send them all over the world. And then no one can understand each other. And that's the problem. This one thinks this and that one thinks that and no one understands each other. The black one in Africa sees it this way and the white one here sees it that way and the one in Thailand, he sees another thing. And no one understands. That's the problem…"
This is what Costas, the man who owns the hotel where we stayed in Samos told me in the course of a very long discussion. He was born on Samos, then moved to the Belgian Congo to work with his uncle at the age of twelve.
Costas' family was disillusioned after World War II and after an invitation from the Belgians because of his uncle's work on the Suez Canal, they were willing to give something new a shot. He stayed in the Congo until age 34 when the Belgians were kicked out of the Congo. He returned to Greece and had to learn to be Greek all over again. He's seen some interesting things. He's very curious about how the world develops and he's boiled all the world's real problems down to this single point he shared with me.
He has a very good point.
Intrinsically, I have a fascination and desire to find how we all fit together. One of the immense joys I get from travel and even more from when I lived in other places is that when you're somewhere long enough to not be seeing the sights and walking the tourist trail, you can start to get a sense of the place and the people and their worldview. The worldview – it's the best part.
So far as I've gone – every worldview makes sense to me. Through a set of conditions, timing and resources, a country or a society comes to develop their window on the world, life and the universe. The only thing I don't like is when people think they see the whole thing – because clearly, everyone has a window. They see the piece – or if they're lucky enough to move around and spend some time here and there – a few pieces of all the things there are to see.
Each and every time, once I spend a little time, I can at least begin to get a peek through their window. And until you get in there and start peeking and understanding, people just seem different.
So, Costas is right. But it's not the words that create the barrier – it's our inability to get into each other's worlds. One could literally spend a lifetime and never be able to understand even the beginning of each culture.
But the endeavor – the task of coming to share not just a conversation, or a moment, but an idea – that's where the gold is. At least for me. In those moments when I can see the difference between two countries' or cultures' ideas – in those moments when I can see how two different groups are coming at something and not connecting because of the conceptual gap – I am elated. Because that understanding – even if small – is where we begin to reclaim the post Tower of Babylon world. It's that understanding that allows someone to begin bridging gaps and come together. And it is absolutely our best hope for survival and peace in this world.
This is also one of the reasons I love coming to France and speaking French. One thing is certain – having a language in common certainly helps a lot toward understanding other people's minds. I can discuss more, get more of what people think and I can better share too. Practicing French is a license to converse. And if someone is nice enough to go along for the ride with me – like two ladies at the cafe where I was working did yesterday – I can learn a lot more than my French.
Getting people's stories, their political opinions, their outlooks of life and culture – of places and people – I come to realize that our giant flaw is our fascination with the differences. Differences are colorful, interesting, even entertaining. Everywhere we go, it's the first thing we talk about. Even if it's going to New York – those of us from LA begin comparing and contrasting and enjoying the positive differences and critiquing the negative ones.
But the amazing stuff happens in what at first seems boring. People want security, nice homes, good lives for their children. They want to leave legacies – or at least feel they did something good in their lives. Everyone wants to believe in something. Everyone wants to be understood, accepted and loved. Even the unhelpful and somewhat rude bus driver on the No. 8 bus who didn't want to help explain to me where to catch the bus going in the opposite direction.
France is sort of easy because – despite the comments Americans love to toss around – they are more or less like us. In the spectrum of worldviews, history, values and outlooks – they are really very close to us. Sure, they have better cheese and worse deodorant, but they're a modified us.
As I talked with the very amiable twenty-something year old waiter at the cafe yesterday morning, I learned about how he met his British girlfriend and speaks all English with her, and goes to London every other week – but they can't figure out how to get jobs for both of them in one place… Turn that into LA and New York and he could be any one of hundreds if not thousands of twenty-somethings in LA.
It's when you get into the third world, the distant, the culturally dissimilar that things get really interesting. And that's ahead in Regions 2 and 3 of our trip.
But while I'm here, conjugating my verbs and conjuring up old vocabulary, I think often how amazing it is to be able to converse. How wonderful life is when we can share an idea and come to an understanding.
Yesterday, I had my first REAL conversations since I've been here – abstract, worldly, interesting, educational, real conversation. There's nothing like talking about things that really interest me to make me abandon thinking about stringing words together and to start busting out real French. I felt like a wall tumbled down and suddenly, I was talking. And these women at the cafe – they were talking with me, like I was French.
I learned what they think of America (positive), our national parks (very positive), San Francisco (positive) and Sausalito (most positive), Italy, the Euro, their worries about the EU weighing down France, why they love where they live, where they've traveled, where they want to travel, how the future of Europe must change to avoid economic disaster and that three great cuisines of the world in order are Chinese, French and Italian (which was presented as a universal truth that everyone knows).
For an hour at that cafe, the world felt a little smaller and far more interesting.
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