The hard things

Moving is difficult…moving countries requires an exercise in patience, understanding, and masochism. I’ve endured meetings at police stations to register my stay, impatient people with whom there is a large language barrier, and all kinds of stares as I feel like a zoo animal freed to wander the streets at times. Perhaps the most annoying has been opening a bank account and getting a phone number. Each individually took over an hour, stateside those errands would have take 15 minutes each…minus sales pitches of course. While I understand that communication is a barrier, the amount of ID I had to show and the repetitive sign-in of my name made me wonder if I was enlisting in the military somehow. The sheer volume of bureaucratic paper necessary for what Americans would view as trivial is impressive. Throughout it all the patience of the people interacting with me has reduce the tension considerably. The humor some saw in the interactions mirrored my own and allowed me to relax even more. In reality I’m adjusting to the ways things are done with minimal culture shock. Instead I’m left to wonder aboutnthe culture shock I’ll receive when I return to the states…


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