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Travel Cultures Language

Don’t Say Goodbye to Saying Hello

by Joyce McGreevy on February 5, 2018

A man and a woman conversing in Ireland shows how saying hello is fundamental across cultures. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Saying hello is saying yes to life.
© Joyce McGreevy

Meeting & Greeting Across Cultures

In a New Yorker cartoon entitled “How to Clear a Space at a Crowded Beach,” a man says hello to all and sundry. His cheeriness so horrifies New Yorkers that hundreds collectively retreat.

Oh, I see: Some people like saying hello. Some people give hello the heave-ho.

In Galway, Ireland, (pop. 258,000) passersby often say hello to one another. Nothing fancy, mind you. A quick tap of the second syllable and you’re on your way. In Istanbul, Turkey (pop. 15 million) a local who said hello to passersby would prompt a puzzled reaction.

Yet people in both cities are notably friendly.

Does higher population density = fewer hellos? In New York City, saying hello to your neighbors in just one square mile would take you 2 weeks, 4 days, and 16 hours.

How Do You Hello?

Every culture has numerous ways to say hello, from Hi to Sula manchwanta galunga omugobe. Some greetings translate as questions: “Where are you going?” (Philippines) “Have you eaten?” (China) “Have you slept well?” (central Africa)

A word cloud in many languages shows that saying hello is fundamental across cultures. (Image © annatodica/iStock)

There’s a world of ways to say hello!
© annatodica/iStock

Business greetings vary across cultures, too. Leaving an office in Europe for one in Southern California, I often encountered hugs instead of handshakes. Yet saying hello to my SoCal neighbors elicited wary looks, as if I might be a time-share vendor eager to make a sale.

In Japanese business settings, hugs are unheard of, handshakes uncommon, and elaborate etiquette governs bowing and the exchange of business cards. But it was Japanese psychology that taught me a simple path to resilience during challenging times: maintain the practice of saying hello.

A Belgian cheesemonger saying hello shows that greeting is fundamental across cultures. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

There’s nothing cheesy about saying hello!
© Joyce McGreevy

In France, entering a shop without saying Bonjour, Madame (or Monsieur) is considered rude. Ditto Merci, au revoir as you leave. France is also where I’ve seen people say hello on entering elevators or when passing in corridors. It’s no come-on, just good manners.

Hello Kissy

Some cultures kiss hello. Career diplomat Andy Scott has navigated greetings in 60 countries, where the proper number of kisses can vary from one (Colombia) to eight (Afghanistan). In One Kiss or Two? The Art and Science of Saying Hello (The Overlook Press, available March 2018) Scott guides readers through greeting etiquette across cultures in all its air-kissing, high-fiving, nose-rubbing, cheek-sniffing, foot-kissing, floor-spitting, tongue-sticking, hand-clapping variety.

Hello, Fellow Human

Hello goes beyond words and gestures. Think of all the times you make eye contact with strangers—approaching the paper-towel dispenser in a restroom, finding a seat at the doctor’s office. Maybe you’ve shared an empathetic grimace with others in line at the DMV, or traded sheepish grins with a fellow shopper as you negotiated a narrow grocery aisle with oversized shopping carts.

What difference can such fleeting contact make?  A lot. In 2011, researchers at Purdue University noted that humans have “evolved systems to detect the slightest cues of inclusion or exclusion. For example, simple eye contact is sufficient to convey inclusion. In contrast, withholding eye contact can signal exclusion” making people feel invisible.

They named their study after a German expression, wie Luft behandeln—“To Be Looked at as Though Air”—and added a telling subtitle: “Civil Attention Matters.”

A waving hand on a winter day shows that saying hello is universal across cultures. (Image © Banepx/iStock)

A warm greeting can make the world of difference.
© Banepx/iStock

Hello, Anyone Here?

Eye contact is in shorter supply these days, as staring at smartphones becomes the default pause filler. And not just among the young.

Many of us clamp on headphones the moment we board trains, planes, and buses. But a 2014 study of Chicago commuters by the University of California Berkeley found that those who engaged another passenger in conversation were much happier.

I’m an irrepressible hello-er. Otherwise, I would have missed a wonderful dinner conversation last night with my friends Ann and Caitlin. After all, a few hours earlier, we hadn’t yet met.

To Greet or Not to Greet

Saying hello connects us, yet saying hello is a risk. We love getting out of the house for the social atmosphere of a café. Then we crouch behind our laptops.

Saying hello breaks down barriers. When a toddler says “Hi” in a public space it sparks friendly exchanges among nearby adults.

A baby waving shows that saying hello is fundamental across cultures. (Image © M-image/iStock)

Even as babies, we instantly process the emotional significance of a wave.
© M-image/iStock

The Power of Saying Hello

Once upon a time, at a college orientation, a young man saw a beautiful fellow student. At a loss for a clever opening line, he opted for “Hello.”

They’re happily married now.

So, don’t say goodbye to saying hello. Greetings vary across cultures, but in every language of the world, saying hello welcomes a world of possibility. Sometimes the sweetest possibility of all.

A couple walking hand in hand in Budapest show the power of saying hello across cultures. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

To say hello is to greet life with open arms.
© Joyce McGreevy

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6 Bright Ideas for Traveling Light

by Joyce McGreevy on January 3, 2018

Light in a mosque in Istanbul, Turkey becomes a source of travel inspiration about traveling light. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

A moon-like circle of light illuminates a mosque in Istanbul.
© Joyce McGreevy

Travel Inspiration for 2018

With last night’s super moon, Earth’s annual journey around the sun has started on a light note. This January we get two full moons for the price of one. As the second moon of the month, January 31 is a blue moon. As moon glow lights up the skies, let’s reflect on lighthearted travel inspiration for 2018:

A sunset in Senglea, Malta becomes a source of travel inspiration about traveling light. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

When it’s sunset in Malta, will you really care which pair of shoes you packed?
© Joyce McGreevy

1: PACK LIGHTER THAN EVER.

This doesn’t mean alternating between two monochrome outfits crammed into a backpack. Just make sure you can easily carry your own bag. You’ll feel the benefit as you navigate subway staircases, hill towns, or that charming suite—on the top floor of the B&B without an elevator.

A staircase in Chicago presents a visual argument for traveling light, with a small suitcase. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

A Chicago staircase shows why it’s good to carry a small suitcase.
© Joyce McGreevy

How to start? Question the psychology of your packing. Are you bringing what you need or trying to anticipate every eventuality? Take only what you know you’ll need. If new needs arise, deal with them there just as you would here.

Next, rethink your approach to “What to Wear” checklists. Need a woolen sweater for Ireland? A swimsuit for Hawaii? A fashionable scarf for Paris? Guess which places have an abundance of such items?

Colorful fabrics in Plovdiv, Bulgaria remind a travel writer why traveling light takes restraint. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Fabrics in Plovdiv, Bulgaria. Variety’s nice, but don’t try to pack your closet.
© Joyce McGreevy

Pack for a purpose. As a teenager, I once tried to cram the contents of my closet into multiple suitcases.  That’s when my dad, an airline pilot, asked me a life-altering question: “Are you traveling mainly to see or to be seen?”

2: LIGHTEN YOUR LOAD TO HELP OTHERS.

Before you return, donate what you no longer need: Clothing and outdoor gear whose practicality doesn’t extend to your home environment. Books, maps, and magazines. Unopened toiletries you never got around to using.

A charity shop in Elephant and Castle, London becomes a source of travel inspiration about traveling light. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

At a thrift store in London, donated goods generate funds for a local nonprofit.
© Joyce McGreevy

Another change worth making: Stop lugging home foreign coins. Instead, donate them at the airport or onboard your flight. Change for Good, a partnership between UNICEF and several airlines, has generated $150 million this way to improve children’s lives around the world.

3: LIGHTEN UP ABOUT TRAVEL GLITCHES.

We think of savvy travelers as good planners. But it’s more important to be good adapters. When you love something that involves changes of scene, modes of transportation, and new experiences, you’re saying yes to the unexpected.

At some point, a suitcase will go to Iceland instead of Ireland. You’ll choose the aisle seat and end up in the middle. You’ll order fish and get something that resembles sea-monster intestines.

eattle-Tacoma International Airport becomes a source of travel inspiration about traveling light. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

At airports like this one in Seattle, the beauty–and the blahs–of travel go hand-in-hand.
© Joyce McGreevy

So?  Try something new or eat more salad. Be nice to the harried mom and lively toddler in the next seat. Buy a T-shirt and toothbrush at the airport. What you do matters less than how you do it. If you can be gracious not grouchy, humorous not hassled, patient not put upon, your journey will “magically” improve.

4: FOLLOW THE LIGHT.

Ever watch a movie and wonder how it captured that famous travel destination minus crowds? Sure, money played a supporting role. But film crews also rely on the day’s first “golden hour.” That’s the period shortly after sunrise when daylight is redder and softer than when the sun appears higher up in the sky.

Most visitors sleep through this. But take at least one early-morning walk. It’s revelatory. Hey, you can always nap later.

A quiet street in Bruges, Belgium becomes a source of travel inspiration about traveling light. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

At sunrise, the picturesque streets of Bruges, Belgium, are crowd-free.
© Joyce McGreevy

Can’t face the dawn? Ask a friendly guide the best times to visit certain sights. In Bruges, for instance, places that are mobbed throughout the day become islands of solitude at 6:30 pm—when tour buses leave town, bars fill, and restaurants open for dinner.

Shadows on a house in Bergen, Norway become a source of travel inspiration about traveling light. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

In Bergen, Norway, traveling light includes appreciating life’s shadows.
© Joyce McGreevy

5: TAKE AN ENLIGHTENED PERSPECTIVE.

Take several—they’re free! Two essential travel tools are the ability to ask questions and a willingness to listen attentively to divergent answers.

Sound obvious? In practice, it’s not always easy. As outsiders in communities, we travelers often jump in with answers—even when we’re the one asking the questions.

Is it about a human need to prove competency? A wish to connect by offering information? Culturally different views about the purpose of conversation?

I don’t know. But every so often I experience places where people value asking questions and listening to multiple perspectives. When that happens, it reminds me to chill the chatter and be a better listener.

A mural in Budapest, Hungary becomes a source of travel inspiration. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Does this Budapest mural highlight an ideal or an irony? It depends on your perspective.
© Joyce McGreevy

6: KEEP SPOTLIGHTING TRAVEL INSPIRATION.

Travel beyond “bright lights, big cities.” Shed light on cultural matters by reading local novels and histories. Challenge stereotypes that frame cultures as lightyears apart. Make people’s faces light up with simple acts of kindness—as if you lived there. Because for a time, you do.

Oh, I see: You may just end up seeing the world in a whole new light.

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What’s in Your Suitcase?

by Joyce McGreevy on October 9, 2017

A souvenir store in Budapest, Hungary leads a writer to seek the locus of travel inspiration and other aha moments. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Souvenir stores straddle the border between “this place” and “any place.”
© Joyce McGreevy

Collected Travel Inspiration,
With & Without Souvenirs

Souvenirs—talismans of travel inspiration, mere trinkets, or  trash?  Can they inspire aha moments or only memorialize them?

The very word is a souvenir of 18th century French—from souvenir “to remember.” But I like the ancient Latin even better. Subvenire, “to come up from below,” tips its hat to the subconscious. It makes me think of opening old boxes in a basement and finding forgotten treasure, some silly, small item of no value.  And yet  . . .

Lost Souvenirs

My first souvenir? Petite plastic dolls from a Paris flea market. In the 1960s, my sister Carolyn and I splurged all our pocket money on them, one franc each. Ah, but that included “tous les meubles!”—all the furniture. Our dollhouse was a cupboard in our hotel, itself a souvenir of La Belle Époque.

A dollhouse in a store window in Sofia, Bulgaria leads a writer to ponder the travel inspiration we find in souvenirs. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

A dollhouse in a store window in Sofia, Bulgaria.
© Joyce

They’re long gone now—dolls, furniture, the hotel, too. But my flea-market mind maintains a little shrine for them.

The first recorded use of souvenir as a token of remembrance occurred in 1782. One dictionary after another presents this tidbit but omits the actual example. It’s like finding a silver lid minus the vessel.  Souvenirs are like that—parts that can only hint at the whole.

Today, few people admit to souvenir-collecting. Marketing reports attest that travelers spend more on sightseeing than on shopping, souvenirs, and nightlife combined. Yet souvenir shops do booming business around the globe.

It’s Only Natural?

Early souvenir hunters “preserved” the past by breaking off bits of it. In the 1800s, visitors to Plymouth Rock were even provided with hammers.

An 1850 souvenir of Plymouth Rock leads a writer to ponder the downside of souvenirs and the true locus of travel inspiration. (Public domain image, National Museum of American History)

A chip off the old block? Some souvenirs proved too popular.
Plymouth Rock Fragment by National Museum of American History,  CC BY 4.0

Can the quest for remembrances make us forgetful? Recently, a mother and daughter from Virginia mailed back “souvenirs” to Iceland—a stone and a bag of sand they’d collected from the black volcanic beaches of Reynisfjara.

Back home, they learned that Icelandic law strictly forbids such souvenir collecting. The tourism board accepted their apology and promised to return the items to their natural setting.

Practical Souvenirs

A friend of mine collects “shoe-venirs” when she travels. Every walk she takes begins in lands she has loved.

A chef I know collects  household objects—a moka pot from Milan, spices from Moroccan souks. They link his American kitchen to kitchens around the world.

I like how these souvenirs, modern cousins to ancient vessels and vestments, are connected to daily rituals.

Ancient gold jewelry in the Benaki Museum, Athens, Greece inspires an aha moment about their connection to ordinary souvenirs. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Charms of another age, at the Benaki Museum, Athens.
© Joyce McGreevy

Post-travel Souvenirs

One January, after returning from verdant Maui to snowbound Chicago, I saw melancholy sidle up to me. An aha moment intervened. I collected post-travel souvenirs: thrift store décor; Hawaiian-themed groceries; traditional island music. I adore Chicago, but Chicago-infused-with-Maui did wonders for my psyche that winter.

Garden objects in Maui lead a writer to ponder the reasons we find travel inspiration in souvenirs. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Objects catch our eye, but it’s the context that we crave.
© Joyce McGreevy

Ephemeral Souvenirs

Even minimalists-to-the-max collect souvenir ephemera. It’s scientific fact. Just as magnets attract iron filings, humans attract paper: playbills from Piccadilly, coasters from Costa Rica, a café napkin from Nantes.

One day, you rediscover it—the train ticket turned bookmark. Suddenly, you’re traveling again, backtracking along the past, or pressing your nose against a window onto the future.

A collage made of travel ephemera on an office wall in Chicago leads a writer to ponder ways people find travel inspiration in souvenirs. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Travel ephemera on an office wall in Evanston, Illinois.
© Joyce McGreevy

Whimsical Souvenirs

Now comes the parade of fringed pillows, ceramic caricatures, and other tchotchkes. Brazenly they shout out where you’ve been: Niagara Falls 1978! I heart Twickenham! Gibraltar ROCKS My World!

All hail souvenirs that sport the name Souvenir. If that Souvenir of Venice tea-towel were a person, it would stand arms akimbo and declare, “Yeah, pal, that’s right, I’m a Souvenir. What’s it to ya?”

Mass-produced pillows in California lead a writer to ponder why people find travel inspiration in souvenirs. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Southwestern “souvenirs” for sale—in a California suburb.
© Joyce McGreevy

“Elsewhere” Souvenirs

But what of provenance? During my youth in Ireland, the more stereotypical the souvenir, the likelier it was to be stamped An tSeapain tir adheanta—“Made in Japan.” Who made the faux French dolls my sister and I played with? Where did they live? What were their lives like? Souvenirs keep secrets.

Twilight in Baltimore, Co. Cork, Ireland leads a writer to compare the travel inspiration of souvenirs vs. experiences. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

A moment made in Ireland.
© Joyce McGreevy

Elusive Souvenirs

The day I left Budapest, I passed between souvenir stores. Innumerable wares glinted in the sunlight like autumn leaves. As a single-suitcase traveler, I pretend I’m “immune to the stuff.” But the ache of departure made me gluttonous with desire, as if travel inspiration were something to consume: I wanted the “all” of Budapest.

Oh, I see moment: Maybe that’s what travel souvenirs represent—a longing to live multiple lives in myriad places, in times that never have to end.

Empty-handed, heart full, I boarded the train and said goodbye to Budapest.

Now then, what’s in your suitcase?

See souvenirs so quirky they seem satirical, here

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