Monday 27 August 2018
Camp America '18: Culture shock!
'Can you rattle right over here? It's important,' and there was a croak of excitement in his froggy voice.
June 3rd. I'm halfway across the world from home, in an unfamiliar environment with a group of people I have just met in the last 24 hours. We're gathered by a fire-pit and have just finished introducing ourselves as the staff of Blue Star Camps 2018.
As my brain attempts to put names to faces and faces to accents and accents to places, I thank God that we have the same mother tongue as Americans - I don't think my mediocre foreign language skills would have coped under the circumstances.
My new found American friend hands me a stick with two marshmallows on the end.
'So this is going to be the test of our friendship. Let's see if you can toast it to perfection and make me the best s'more I've ever had,' she grins and urges me forward; 'Oh, no pressure. I've only been coming to this camp for years'.
As we tuck into my first ever 's'more', she gives me the thumbs up - I've surpassed her expectations. Who would have thought that 10 weeks later I would class her as one of my best friends.
With my ego soaring as chief s'more maker, I had thought I'd nailed that cheesy, American spirit to a T. Naive little me thought I may even get mistaken for your typical yank escaping the hustle and bustle of city life to work a summer job in the mountains.
In typical Holly style, my 'episodes' meant this assumption was soon out the window...
When I first told my campers to 'put on [their] swimming costumes' for the beach party, outrage erupted:
'Swimming COSTUMES! But Holly, it's not a costume!!'
Feeling mortified I had apparently been calling it a costume or 'cozzie' my whole life instead of a 'bathing suit', I cowered back into my bunk.
'But it's not a suit either,' my meek defensiveness is lost in their giggling screeches.
Weeks later, I'm sunbathing with some of the staff. Alas, on comes the summer banger that everyone seems to know... Bar me. You know the situ - smiling, doing the awkward side to side head bob and chancing a few lyrics so you don't look like you've lived under a rock for your entire existence.
But today? Oh no my friends. Today Holly has remembered to bring her phone along. Feeling smug and savvy at what I think is a discreet 'Shazam', I sink back into my towel and let the music transport me to my imaginary stage. Once I master this all-American anthem my transformation from Brit to American will be complete! Just as my eye-lids go heavy and I envisage my solo guitar piece, my friend's voice booms from above: 'HOLLY. TELL ME YOU ARE NOT SHAZAMING LIFE IS A HIGHWAY!' Again, my ears are met with screams of laughter and disbelief; 'You do realise that this song is from the film Cars don't you?'
Even my F.O.M.O. excuse couldn't save me from the embarrassment.
Calling 'Chick-fil-A' 'Chick.. a.. fill', saying 'Chipotle' in the most Received Pronunciation possible and arguing a 'biscuit' is not the same thing as a 'scone' also set me apart from my fellow comrades. Drat. At least I wasn't calling flip flops 'thongs' like my Australian friend there and saying 'yum-o' after every meal. Now that would be embarrassing...
Aside from the American culture, I was also immersed into the Jewish side of camp. Although it wasn't orthodox, we were encouraged to participate in Friday and Saturday Sabbath services, as well as singing the prayers before and after meals (those are engrained into me for the rest of my life).
Although for my thirteen-year-old campers these co-ed services were a chance to get dressed up in their best gear, wear make-up and straighten their hair, a wave of calm tended to sweep across everyone once we were in the Camp Chapel.
(That said, one week I struggled to keep 'zen' as I'd spent 45 minutes straightening my camper's curly, thick hair... Only for her to decide that she preferred it 'au-naturel' as she washed it five minutes later. Good job I'm not a hairdresser really.)
During services our camp focuses on different values each year and sets a theme accordingly. This year they chose 'Choose kindness, share peace'. It was comforting knowing that in a world full of heated politics, gun crimes and injustice, there is a collective culture we can all benefit from. And that culture thrives from love.
(More tales to tell about camp coming soon...! 'This one time, at summer camp...')
With my ego soaring as chief s'more maker, I had thought I'd nailed that cheesy, American spirit to a T. Naive little me thought I may even get mistaken for your typical yank escaping the hustle and bustle of city life to work a summer job in the mountains.
In typical Holly style, my 'episodes' meant this assumption was soon out the window...
When I first told my campers to 'put on [their] swimming costumes' for the beach party, outrage erupted:
'Swimming COSTUMES! But Holly, it's not a costume!!'
Feeling mortified I had apparently been calling it a costume or 'cozzie' my whole life instead of a 'bathing suit', I cowered back into my bunk.
'But it's not a suit either,' my meek defensiveness is lost in their giggling screeches.
Weeks later, I'm sunbathing with some of the staff. Alas, on comes the summer banger that everyone seems to know... Bar me. You know the situ - smiling, doing the awkward side to side head bob and chancing a few lyrics so you don't look like you've lived under a rock for your entire existence.
But today? Oh no my friends. Today Holly has remembered to bring her phone along. Feeling smug and savvy at what I think is a discreet 'Shazam', I sink back into my towel and let the music transport me to my imaginary stage. Once I master this all-American anthem my transformation from Brit to American will be complete! Just as my eye-lids go heavy and I envisage my solo guitar piece, my friend's voice booms from above: 'HOLLY. TELL ME YOU ARE NOT SHAZAMING LIFE IS A HIGHWAY!' Again, my ears are met with screams of laughter and disbelief; 'You do realise that this song is from the film Cars don't you?'
Even my F.O.M.O. excuse couldn't save me from the embarrassment.
Calling 'Chick-fil-A' 'Chick.. a.. fill', saying 'Chipotle' in the most Received Pronunciation possible and arguing a 'biscuit' is not the same thing as a 'scone' also set me apart from my fellow comrades. Drat. At least I wasn't calling flip flops 'thongs' like my Australian friend there and saying 'yum-o' after every meal. Now that would be embarrassing...
Aside from the American culture, I was also immersed into the Jewish side of camp. Although it wasn't orthodox, we were encouraged to participate in Friday and Saturday Sabbath services, as well as singing the prayers before and after meals (those are engrained into me for the rest of my life).
Although for my thirteen-year-old campers these co-ed services were a chance to get dressed up in their best gear, wear make-up and straighten their hair, a wave of calm tended to sweep across everyone once we were in the Camp Chapel.
(That said, one week I struggled to keep 'zen' as I'd spent 45 minutes straightening my camper's curly, thick hair... Only for her to decide that she preferred it 'au-naturel' as she washed it five minutes later. Good job I'm not a hairdresser really.)
During services our camp focuses on different values each year and sets a theme accordingly. This year they chose 'Choose kindness, share peace'. It was comforting knowing that in a world full of heated politics, gun crimes and injustice, there is a collective culture we can all benefit from. And that culture thrives from love.
(More tales to tell about camp coming soon...! 'This one time, at summer camp...')
