Cultural Immersion Lite

I have been thinking a lot about cultural immersion. In some ways, we are cheating or maybe cheated of deeper cultural exchange and experiences. We have been dipping our toes in instead of jumping in completely. Living and moving on a boat requires engagement with the boat and sea. It also creates a mini-culture for our family. Patterns and routines that help us continually move and explore, also shelter us from certain kinds of experiences.

We are in Europe, a culturally rich and diverse place. For the past decade, we have sailed each summer to get away, to explore the remote anchorages and lonely spots on the coasts of Maine, New Brunswick and Nova Scotia. In many ways, wilderness is easy and civilization more difficult for us to navigate. As we find ourselves dancing back and forth across the line between the wilderness of the ocean and the cultural landscape, I am inspired to think more about what we are doing.

In France, I felt like our cultural immersion, specifically our engagement with the people that live there, was quite limited. At the time, I attributed it almost entirely to the fact that we are living on a boat. No matter what we did during the day- we would return to an American boat. Eating most of our meals on Sila limited the number of interactions we had with French people and culture. Being 10 & 9, Porter and Jack are not great at just hanging out in a café on the town square for a few hours in the afternoon with the Economist and a half dozen espressos, much to Christopher's chagrin.

Since arriving in Spain, I have begun to think differently about it. In France, my language skills were limited to "Bonjour, Madame. Deux baguette, si vous plait," "J'ne peux parler pas Français" and "A vendre glace ici?" – The search for ice for our ice box is a constant theme as it is not as common as it is in the U.S.

Now that we are in Spain, I can understand a little more of the language. Perhaps more importantly, I can ask questions. On several occasions, I have simply stopped a stranger to ask for help or to explain something to me. Looking for a store that sells ice is no longer a game of pantomime, but an opportunity for a short conversation and a chance to engage and learn.

Part of the boat school curricula for the next few years includes studying Spanish through a Rosetta Stone home school program. Almost immediately after our arrival in Spain, Porter and Jack asked if they could start the Spanish lessons. They, too, felt the isolation imposed by language skills, though I am not sure they would have labeled it that way.

Although Spain and France are not far apart, the landscape is different and surely impacts the culture. The areas we visited in France were more rolling and pastoral. Although we rarely found the quiet, secluded anchorage that we have come to love in Maine, the towns were small and welcoming. The large tides and shoal coast meant that the landscape changed dramatically every 6 hours. In contrast, the Spanish coast is bold and marked with mountains just inland. Fewer harbors make each one larger, typically tied to a city, and busy (especially so in August which is holiday central).

We miss out on a certain intensity of engagement. This of course also allows us to even consider taking two children on a multi-year adventure – not many families spend a couple years traveling on a Eurorail pass for good reason I think. Again we find the pace of life, expectation setting, and simply slowing down the challenge for a couple of Type A parents on a rampage to explore the world via sail… more and more each week we revel in the little moments and experiences, slow down to see and find more such experiences (who cares if we get off at the wrong bus stop… it isn't a graded test), and are finding a balance.

The balance is between creating a refuge afloat for our family and having real cultural experiences ashore. I suspect we will spend a few years in search of the right balance only to discover it changes, there isn't one, and that- like climbing a mountain- the process is far more valuable than the pinnacle.

- Molly