Masks in Byzantium

or was it in Bucharest, in fact?

It has been dawning on me for some time that cultural gaps are important occurrences that are not easily surpassed. Moreover, nowadays the philosophy of l’usage du monde is incredibly fashionable and gives the illusory impression that with little very specific knowledge one can virtually surmount any cultural gap. The model of the cool western man passing from one fiesta to another, all dressed to kill in a clerk style suit, while he waltzes from Paris to Beijing, from Beijing to Washington, from Washington to La Paz, from La Paz to Nairobi, and from Nairobi to London is the general wannabe model.

I have for some time erroneously believed that Romanians fall easily in the trap of such a character, that they’d actually take for granted that some person from some other culture might understand our own by the mere fact that that person has travelled through some countries.

Wrong! If ever a Romanian might be impressed with someone, it would not be for such a silly, easy to dismantle reason.

For what reason a Romanian would be impressed with some person from a different culture might be the subject of some other article.

The fact remains that we, the Romanian people, are not readily impressed by trivial displays of intercultural savoir faire.    

The concept has been present in my mind for what seems a large amount of time. I am realizing just now that I have first experienced the ideas presented above some long time ago.

It was in a beautiful September, in Santorini, Greece. I was on a vacation with a Romanian friend. We were in a disco with another friend, a Greek.

As I was dancing, a Spaniard came to me, his very black eyes all lit up.

“¿baila?” he asked me enthusiastically.

(at that time I did not speak Spanish, yet there is something of a Universal lexicon, and people that have gone out of their neighborhood at least twice in their lives know words like “hello”, “next”, “bye bye” without speaking English, know “bonjour”, “Voulez-vous … avec moi?”, “au revoir” without having a clue about the French language, understand “hola”, “bailar”, “adiós” without talking a word in Spanish)

As it happened, I wanted to dance and it seemed very nice to dance in Santorini with a Spanish man, so without hesitation I said Yes!

It was all going so very well, the man was obviously thrilled and took my hand as to lead me towards a romantic sway. (ha ha!)

But fatality struck and cultural gap entered the scene!

For the song they were playing as we were about to start dancing and prancing was one of the most horrid in the world. Yes, it was a Latino song. No, I will mention neither the singer nor the song, for I wish not to offend anybody. Finally, de gustibus non est disputandum. But I can assure you, no matter how many ladies and mostly gents might like the singer in question and no matter how lively his music is, his songs are undanceable!

So, in a very byzantine manner and an extremely decent English I put myself to explain to the man that I am enchanted by the idea of dancing with him, but if he could abide by me, and wait until the next song comes, for it is not in my capabilities to be able to monkey around as dictates the song that was going on.

Extremely pleased of my rhetorical skills, I awaited no more than a second for the answer.

It came in a high shrill, filled to the brim with desperation:

“¿no baila?”

(In the meantime I must say that my Romanian friend and the Greek had stepped aside, sitting on a table and having a rest)

Oh, the poor fellow – he has not heard what I said, thought I naively.

So I proceeded to explain, this time in a louder voice, what exactly was the issue.

“Yes, yes! Baila! Just that I want this horrid song to pass, we can’t dance this! And after, no matter what song comes along, we shall definitely dance, my good man!”

The spark in his black eyes had lit again at my double yes, but had passed out immediately after the words that had followed.

“¿no baila?”

“yes, yes! (his eyes light again!) baila! Of course – baila! But not this song, the next!”

(and I had put a big stress onto “next” by shouting it as loud enough as I thought decent)

My voice was already going higher and higher.

“¿no baila?”

“yes! Baila! Yes! The next song! Baila!”

I was already using my hands, my face, my entire body to express the yes! baila! yes! I wanted so much to see through.

“¿no baila?”

It struck me that the man had no clue of what I was saying! He understood almost no English.

(until today I cannot come to grasp how valiant that one must have been, as to go out of his back yard, knowing he has no idea of any language besides his very own. I still cannot imagine how ever he got by in Greece not knowing the lingua franca of the moment!)

So I set my entire heart on, and put almost all my back into, obtaining the dance he had invited me to.

“Yes! – and gave the biggest smile ever – yes! baila! baila! – more gigantic smiles ­– next – and waving in the air my hand as to let him understand it was the succeeding dance I had in mind – yes! baila! next!”

Now, you see, destiny has a very perverse sense of humor, for as I was having this tragic-comic discussion with the Spaniard, the abominable song would not end. Had it ended, I would have maybe not had this concentrated pill of “there’s your cultural gap glitch for you!” that night.

Maddened by the infernal song that would not end and a long series of ¿no baila?s and realizing I was already screaming at the poor man, I concluded hastily:

“well, no! no baila! no baila for you!” – and turned to were my friends were sitting.

They were smiling awkwardly. My Romanian friend asked me my in astonishment.

“but what happened? Why didn’t you dance – did you not want to dance with him?”

“yes of course I wanted to dance with him!” I let out a heart breaking cry. “I wanted to dance!” (Greek men don’t invite women to dance; traditionally we in the Balkans do not dance in pairs in the disco)

“So what happened? What were you two doing there? … you looked as if you were negotiating God knows what!”

At that moment it hit me. I didn’t realize on the spot what it was that hit me, but I was struck. Time and again, meeting different people from different cultures, I rememorized this scene. And at this very moment, as I remember my Romanian friend telling me that me and the Spaniard seemed to be negotiating something (negotiation that of course failed!), I stop and remain puzzled.

It is now that I understand. The thing that struck me then and still does today is the cultural clash.

Of course, you will say that my story proves that if the man had known a drop of English and/or would have had some international savoir faire, I would have had my dance.

It might seem so at a fast glance, or it might seem so to a superficial mind. But I must say this: in the first place, beyond verbal language, there is also body language and facial expression, there is the tone of the voice – eagerness expressed in whatever language, be it Sanskrit, should sound as such to all ears, there is a way of communicating among living beings that goes beyond languages and words.

And deriving from this I add my in the second place: many a time when connecting with foreigners, and especially men, I have experienced this situation, that after some time, sooner or later, I ended up in a dialogue of the deaf, were I expressed certain desires, ideas, opinions etc. and the interlocutor would just ¿no baila? me.
(It is to be understood that in these situations language as such was not the barrier, both I and the other person speaking in one, known by both, language)

It has preoccupied me – why so?

Of course, cultural gap. Western cultures are those in which being efficient is the measure of all other things. Being direct and expeditious express the quintessence of being intelligent.

On the other hand, the Balkan culture is quite the opposite. Saying “yes, but…” comes naturally. It is the spice of the human soul – it opens the door to negotiating – and what is life, if not a perpetual negotiation with the gods, with ourselves, with life itself?!

Of course, the Spaniard in the story was, and most probably remains, a simple soul. He must have returned home, to some andaluz pueblo, telling everybody how horrible Greece is and how bitchy the women that roam around the Greek islands are!

And there are those that are better or worst variants to the gentleman with the clerk like suit that jumps, via fiestas (or summits), from one continent to the other, mingling and rubbing elbows with fabulous people from all forms of human culture.

Yet we, Romanians, have this tendency of not buying this image. We might not always show it, maybe sometimes we’re not even aware of the fact itself, yet we see beyond the masks.

Why so?

Most probably because, as many other people in the Balkan (in whose name I wish not to speak, as not to err), we have been part of the Byzantine Empire.

If Byzantium has not seen all that there is in the world, I don’t know which other people can say that!

Romanians have inherited the baggage of knowledge from such citizens that have seen it all. Maybe they have not seen it all at once, maybe we nowadays have not lived it all, but the information is handed down, via genetics. We’re all born with our own savoir faire and we can all understand when somebody is faking just to impress, or even worst.
And what doesn't come via cells, comes via culture. A rich civilisation that teaches us about the ways of the world and the ways of the people, be they universal ways or particular ones.

In the end, I cannot stop to ask: but why would somebody wish to fake being something else than what he or she is? Why would somebody fake understanding you, via your culture, and come saying “yes, I am just like you!” when they are not?

There is nothing wrong in presenting yourself as you are, with your own peculiarities, that come from your own personality and your culture, as well as with the things you have that are of universal value – I have often seen that people are much more fascinated of diversity and of the new and will be enchanted to find out exotic stuff you can present to them as being of your own people. I have always felt proud of whom I am and this is no reason to bar out knowing other people and their cultures – quite the contrary. I have never said anything different to anybody and I have not felt ostracized for such reason from society.

In the end, this is the way of the world! This is what is in fashion now – the universal human, the chameleon personality.

But then: if this is the demand of the day, why do people do it so superficially and don’t take time to really know the cultures they’re trying to imitate?!

Might it be that, sadly, among many benefits that a bourgeois society brings, there are also the downsides, such as lack of authenticity and profoundness in human behavior and thought?