Years and years ago, I moved back to New Brunswick for a year. I’d been living in Ottawa, working in a job I hated, and living a life that I realized did not suit me, and which made me very unhappy. So, I quit my job, stored my furniture with friends, packed my bags and moved back home to the farm.
I acquired my teacher’s licence and supply taught at the local school which I’d attended myself, teaching local kids many of whom had a hard time remembering to call me Ms. Burpee and not Susie. I spent quiet weekends “up country” with my sister and her husband and kids. I quit smoking. Started running. Rekindled my love of old quirky things by driving all over the province with my friend Janet attending craft shows and antique auctions. I took up knitting.
Then after a year, I returned to Ottawa. That had always been the plan.
I stayed with friends downtown until I found a new place of my own. And my first week back, on a sticky, humid August afternoon I found myself walking back to my friends’ house along a busy street, beside the noisy elevated highway that runs through Ottawa, carrying several plastic grocery bags. The handles of the bags bit into my hands. I was hot. The air smelled of exhaust. My feet hurt. And a voice that grew increasingly louder in my head wailed, “What in god’s name have you done?”
That was culture shock, my friends. The noise, the pace of life, the infamous Ottawa humidity, the people… so many people. While I’d been in New Brunswick getting my head together, I had grown unused to life in the city.
Of course, eventually, I acclimatized, found a house to share with friends in a lovely downtown neighbourhood, started supply teaching, met Hubby, and my life moved on. But I have never forgotten the feeling I experienced that August afternoon.
And I experienced it again this week.
After an appointment in the city, I had a few errands to run which required driving through an area of road construction. And negotiating the multiple lanes of heavy traffic, the construction cones, the flag wavers, the trucks beeping as they backed up on the road-construction site, the newly completed traffic round-abouts, the other drivers who seemed to not understand how to use the new roundabouts, followed by crowded parking lots where every vehicle seemed to be an enormous truck, with an impatient driver who drove much too quickly because, you know, he had places to be, and important things to be getting on with…. ensured I arrived home cranky in the extreme.
“I’m not sure I even like people!” I spouted to Hubby. “There are so darned many of them. Everything and everyone is so darned busy and noisy!” And then I realized that I was suffering from sensory overload. Post travel culture shock.
After a month on almost empty roadways with stunning views and small quiet villages, this was my first foray out into the busy city in a long time. And I did not like it. I’m happy to be home. But maybe in the two weeks we’ve been home, things have been too quiet. Too many late afternoons watching the sun set over the river with my book in my lap, I guess.
And the image that kept coming to mind as I steered between traffic cones, waited my turn at the lights, or refrained from making a rude gesture to the impatient truck driver behind me was of the tiny village of Caracena in the province of Soria, Spain where we had stayed for only two short nights. Not nearly long enough. Sigh.
What a little jewel. Just thinking of that village makes me feel calmer. Let’s take a virtual trip there, now, shall we?
This is La Caracola, below, where we stayed in Caracena. A beautiful two-story, two-bedroom house on the edge of the village. Just in front of the tower of the twelfth century Iglesia de Santa Maria. I was excited hoping they might ring the bell in the tower, but Maria, our host, said they only ring it during festival time. Ah well, I guess I could live with that. I mean how wonderful to see the tower every time we looked out our bedroom window. Like our own private bell tower.
And inside, a snug living room, a dining area, a well-equipped kitchen, and a curving narrow staircase to the upstairs. The master bedroom has more closet space than I do at home.
And if we left our shutters open at night, this is the view that greeted us in the morning.
Each night we had our wine in the enclosed courtyard. And on one of the nights we shared our wine with Maria and talked of Spain, and Canada, of canoeing, and travel, and life.
Before dinner on our first night we walked up the hill to the castillo which overlooked the village.
You can read about the castillo and the history of the village here, if you’re interested. What a magnificent sight.
And as we turned and walked back down the hill we could see the canyon, the hills beyond, and the rooftops of the village, including not one, but two Romanesque churches. I love the golden, arid landscape. Growing up in a land of trees and more trees, rocky, treeless hillsides fascinate me.
We’d initially intended to use our free day to explore the surrounding towns and villages. Including El Burgo de Osma. But as intriguing as the town of Burgo de Osma seemed, we decided to stay put in Caracena instead. And enjoy just being there.
We ate a leisurely breakfast, strolled the village, and later climbed the hill to the local restaurant for a late lunch.
Nuestra Tierra Restaurante did not disappoint. A small, cosy, local bar and small family-run restaurant with a mighty menu that punches well above its weight. We chatted with the chef, Rodrigo, and when he disappeared to the kitchen to cook our meal his mamma, Maria Ángeles, served us our wine and a delicious and wonderfully creative meal. What a treat. We even had dessert, which is rare for us. You can check out their menu here.
And after lunch we had one more walk around Iglesia de Santa Maria before it was nap time.
You know Caracena suited us down to the ground. Small, quiet, quaint, beautiful, and filled with living history. We might have stayed longer, but we had reservations further down the road.
I could have stayed a month. Or two. Taking a long morning walk, each day, across that bridge and up through the fields on the other side.
And returning to brew coffee and sit at this table in the second bedroom, with the morning sun streaming through the window and work on my blog. Or write in my journal.
Or just sit with my chin in my hand and wonder at the privilege of being here.
Travel is a great privilege. And I am very grateful to be able to travel to places like Caracena, and for a few days, dream of what it must be like to live there. Surrounded by old stone, and golden hills, and quiet.
But I know it would probably not suit me in the long run. I am a Canadian girl after all. I’d miss the trees. And the cold and snow in winter. And the familiar accents. And my friends and family.
But it’s lovely to be able to visit for a short time. Even if I do risk going through post travel culture shock the first time I venture out into the city.
Sheesh. The noise, people, I tell you I was not ready for that.
How about you, my friends? Have you ever suffered from post travel culture shock?
P.S. I do intend to talk about the other places we travelled on our trip. But not in a long laundry list of what we did first, second, and third etc. That kind of post doesn’t interest me much. I did that in my IG posts during the trip. I’d rather do a more in-depth discussion of particular aspects or issues or particular places. But if there’s anything in particular you’d like to know about our trip, let me know in the comments.
34 thoughts on “Post Travel Culture Shock”
i think the main culture shock for me is when i go home to scotland and to family there, then return to australia.. where ive lived for 50 years… hearing australian voices, feeling the heat and smelling gum trees feels as unnatural as it did to me when i first arrived. weirdly i never feel out of place in scotland at all. no matter how long between trips it feels like home, and after a week or so I sound like its home too!
The smell of the gum trees was a revelation to us. Especially on a rainy day. Wonderful.
Ha. Struck a chord with me today, as we’re currently in London for the remembrance parade (hubby was in the navy) and we’ve both been bombarded by a cacophony of sounds and noise whilst here. 🙄
Remembrance Day will be special for you, then.
I know exactly what you mean . I can get culture shock in my own city when our Xmas market is on & the crowds are massing . I scoot round on my avoidance route & I’m relieved when I step back on the bus home . Bah humbug ! Is it an extrovert/ introvert thing I wonder . I’ve an extrovert friend who visits every Xmas market within reach & I’ve told her it’s my idea of hell . We are in the Scottish highlands right now enjoying the autumn colours & tranquility. But back to Spain & that stark , harsh but beautiful scenery . Like you , I must see trees from my window , I’d shrivel up & die in a major city but it’s exciting to have new vistas totally different to home & that’s a very beautiful village . It looks to have sat there unchanged for centuries. It was a lovely post to read & I’m so glad you are spinning out your experiences. Looking forward to the next step in your travels .
You’re right…we can get culture shock anywhere. I’m wondering how I’d fare these days if I were standing in the hall of my old school on Friday afternoon when the dismissal bell rings. Talk about chaos and cacophony. I’ve never lived anywhere which is not on a river, except for a few brief years in downtown Ottawa. Wonder how I’ll be if we ever move.
Your village in Spain would inded be cuilture shock for us here in St. Petersburg, Florida. Things here seemed very different when we returned from Scotland at the end of this summer. And with our political situation culture shock is a daily, if not hourly, occurrence.
Travel is indeed a luxury.
I hear you, Eva. We had a month of very little political news from your part of the world. Except for people we met who wanted to talk about American politics when they found out we were Canadians.
How about a translation of that menu. Have no idea what you could eat. Thanks
Why not use the translate option – it’s really simple
You should have a translation option somewhere on your screen. Mine is at the top of my Chrome window.
I followed your IG documentation of your experience but this was a lovely post with the embedded videos. I felt like I was there walking with you. Lovely scenery. It’s so wonderful to be able to experience another culture and environment and to realize that we are resilient and capable of adapting.
Thanks, Kat. 🙂
I understand you utterly ,Sue. Such a beautiful and magical scenery and a lovely restaurant
I’ve felt something similar to you and Wendy last month and,especially at the moment.
You’ll laugh when I tell you that I was in Vienna for a month. My son and DIL live in a new,peaceful quarter near Danube,lots of parks, promenades….it was not a village,it is less than 15 minutes by car from the centre,but it was green and quiet.I went only three times to the centre,for a dinner in a nice restaurant,to meet a friend for a coffee,prosecco and an eclair and alone for a coffee on Friday- it was how I’ve felt
We’ve arrived yesterday in Zagreb,Saturday late evening….so many people,both Vienna and Zagreb are preparing for the Advent Fair but I was very happy to be at home, both here and there. It is nice to have options, I have plans to go out and about,meet people,but not near the centre,simply too many people around. My close friends mostly feel the same,no one is looking forward to crowds everywhere
Dottoressa
Je ne pourrais pas vivre dans une grande ville.Trop de gens,trop de bruit .Mais les centres villes des cités françaises sont souvent piétonniers et calmes.Ce sont aussi des centres historiques où tout est magnifiques .Les maisons peuvent avoir plusieurs centaines d’année…
Cependant je ne peux pas vivre loin de mon jardin très longtemps.
C’est là où je trouve l’apaisement dont j’ai besoin .Des paysages colorés,le parfum des roses , le silence …Le bonheur….
Mais je suis une privilégiée…
We are privileged, Celia, if we can find peace in our own garden… or for us…the river.
I totally get that Dottoressa. Ottawa’s downtown is lovely. But these days I’d rather meet friends for coffee at our village coffee shops. Closer, less crowded, and only a 3 minute drive. For me, anyway.
I feel the same whenever I visit a big city – too many vehicles and everyone in such a hurry. Coming back home to my small town on the ocean is always heaven. My heart rate drops, my hands unclench, and my mind rests. Fortunately, you live in a small town on the river and I imagine your trips into Ottawa are few.
I hope you don’t get snowed in today. It seems a little early for snow, is it not?
I plan my trips into Ottawa carefully, and not too often. We did get snowed in a little, 10 cm. But what a great day to sit with a book in my sunroom. I don’t mind looking at the snow fall. It’s the driving and shovelling that is a pain. Not that I do much shovelling. Ha.
I am enjoying your extended posts on the trip, and will be excited for the next ones.
I feel your pain with the noise and frustration of a busy day in a crowded city, trying to get things done to be able to get back home and decompress. It seems lately I have less tolerance for crowds, perhaps becoming more introverted as I age, and really do enjoy quiet time at home or out with one friend at a time to catch up. I have recently declined a group dinner out with 20 people in a crowded restaurant because I just feel overwhelmed with all the conversations vying for attention. Your lovely hideaway looks so peaceful.
Looking forward already to next week.
Large groups in noisy restaurants are not as fun as they used to be. I much prefer a house party where I can circulate. Or better yet…a small group. Ha.
Beautiful photos and videos of your trip. The lack of people, noise and the hustle bustle of city living is certainly appealing. These days we hardly ever go into the city centre and live right on the edge of the suburbs with the countryside at the end of our street. Neither of us enjoy the traffic and noise not to mention some of the strange people you can encounter in town.
I’ve moved countries about nine times in my life and although I have been in NZ the longest I still find Christmas in summer odd. Perhaps we need to take the bits we deem o be “home” and enjoy them wherever we are.
Wow… nine times. You have been around, Kenzie.
I understand what you mean about culture shock even though mine takes place in one country. We are in PEI for five months every year and then make our way back to Ottawa.
Travelling from the ‘gentle Island’ over to Dieppe to stay with my francophone FIL then through QC with a lay over in Québec City, fighting the always insane traffic in Montréal and finally that bucolic drive through Eastern Ontario farmland only to have it end at the craziness that is the 417 running through the city ( your elevated highway of years ago that has gotten much worse) by the time I get home ha I need a vacation! The shock is more pronounced the longer we’re gone and the older we get. My husband reports his blood pressure goes down as we head East but that he can feel it climbing as we head home. That said no matter where we travel I’m always glad to get home, shock or no shock!
We have started turning off Highway 20 in Quebec onto 30. It takes us further south and we miss that frenetic drive down the middle of Montreal. It does mean going onto the 401, though. Still after years and years, that familiar route from NB to Manotick is a bit wearing.
I am always slightly flummoxed when, on unpacking after a trip away, I find something simple that I picked up along the way and stuck in a bag. It’s usually nothing in particular, something that caught my eye – last time it was a bottle top in Split. How can I have been there, with that and now, back home and everything is carrying on as if nothing had happened? After a two week trip in China, I went to put on my running shoes and tipped out sand that had got in there from the Gobi desert. Too weird. When worlds collide.
“Worlds collide”… love that Annie. I bought a couple of small ceramic pieces on this trip, packed them away, and totally forgot about them until we arrived home. Lovely surprise.
Curious to know how/ why you picked Caracena? It does look wonderful.
We use Booking.com to plan our accommodation. And when we choose an area we want to stop in we usually find several places and then choose our top one. We’d decided to stay in Burgos de Osma, or nearby, and a good place to break our journey to the Pyrenees. And Booking.com has a map option where you can see numerous places and their locations. That’s how I discovered Caracena. I just spied the little “pin marker” and wondered what that place was all on its own. Serendipity.
What a lovely town. The opposite hillside with the horizontal striations is so beautiful. The golden grasses. Hmmm.
While on our recent trip, we spent time in Palermo, a very busy city. We were very glad to move on and usually stayed outside of cities for a calmer, quieter experience.
I had some culture shock upon return. I haven’t gone into Boston, so no big city experiences yet, but it was strange to get in a car and drive after not having done so for 6 weeks. Also, not hearing Italian everywhere I go. I was getting used to the sound of Italian being spoken in the background.
Welcome home. You are two posts in, so you must be settling into things now.
Thanks, Dottie. I enjoyed following your trip as well. Looked as if you have a wonderful time. 🙂
Have we now! Every time. After three or four weeks in the mountains, coming back is a shock. And we live in a very quiet neighbourhood in what is known as the “Sleeping City” of the country.
Welcome back!
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Thanks. 🙂
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