IF
IT'S TUESDAY IT MUST BE EUGENEIF
IT'S TUESDAY IT MUST BE EUGENE
by sonya hammond
As a person with years of expatriate experience, I have faced the challenge of cultural shock on several continents. The period needed to achieve assimilation with native idiosyncrasies varies by country and depends on a number of things, usually involving painful intestinal disturbances, but any orientation adjustments will eventually be offset by the admiring reactions of friends impressed by your ability to survive in a foreign country.
The operative word here is 'foreign', a term heretofore loosely applied to locales outside of the U.S., but whoever is in charge of these things might consider expanding it ...
In future travel guides, somewhere between Ethiopia and Finland, insert Eugene, Oregon.
I justify this suggestion on a basic criterion that often determines a culture's shock relativity ... driving conditions. Notable examples of this test:
Take my word for it, Eugene's driving challenges are sufficiently eccentric to rival these and numerous others. Our plethora of one-way streets were apparently designed by planners with close familial ties to traffic sign manufacturers, and divided into lanes restricted by directional arrows which without warning can and do change without warning.
The presumption is that drivers are capable of watching both the road in front and the air space above at the same time that they maintain speed limits which spasmodically change in mid-block, while they react to deviously merging lanes and sudden unannounced shifts to two-way traffic. Since I failed to manage this excessive multitasking during my first weeks of residence, I can only hope the local statute of limitations on moving violations is brief.
Eugene shares the slower pace that is so appealing in many other foreign countries, but while this is often neutralized abroad by supersonic traffic speeds, Eugene's traffic is geared to that of its mascot gastropod. My California car was unaware during its initiation period that it could travel for any length of time at speeds under 20 mph, a cautionary overkill that admittedly may be expedient in a town where the bulk of the population is wired on Espresso.
Like most foreign countries outside of Iraq and those nations for whom we provide aid and/or political interference, Eugene does make token efforts to welcome new residents. Thinly veiled references to the city's dire fate should many more Californians invade it, are temporized by the gushing receptions of real estate agents, the courtesy of local merchants as they press charge accounts on us, and our relief on finding that our currency is accepted at an equal rate of exchange.
Living overseas is always a broadening experience, and I doubt that I will find Eugene an exception. Along with sales tax, I have left behind California's obsession with speed and self-absorption for Eugene's more relaxed pace and passion for causes, hundreds of which have escaped the notice of the remaining 49 states, and some of which are represented locally by organizations with memberships over 3 people.
Eugene takes both its causes and its eccentrics seriously. Even my new vet somewhat sternly advised me that his practice relies on non-toxic remedies. I'm not sure if this approach will work for my dog's flea allergy, but he was terribly impressed when the vet got down on the floor to discuss the situation with him.
This is exactly the sort of exotic charm I find so appealing in foreign countries, and I will make every effort not to disturb Eugene's status quo with imported precepts. As I finish my fifth Cappuccino and make out a grocery list heavy on organic produce and 17-grain breads, I recognize the final signs of my acclimatization.
Now, if someone will just tell me where I can join the organization to ban one-way streets.
©sonya hammond, 1995