There’s so much to learn about social etiquette. These subtleties of culture, the body language, the unspoken cues that tell you how to act, are hard to grasp. Most of them are learned through screwing up.
A few lessons.
Tea
Tea, or here in the northeast, Nescafe, is served everywhere. At the police station while I’m filing my permits, at workshops, in stores, in homes. Usually with lots of milk and sugar. The first couple times I was invited for a cup of chai, I responded with something along the lines of “Sure. Thanks, I’d love some.” Wrong response. I could tell by the expression, although my host always very politely went about serving it. After watching the tea ritual for a while now, I think the correct response is, “No. No. It’s too much trouble.”
Then the host can respond with, “Please, it’s no trouble at all.”
You answer, “No, really. I don’t want to put you to that much work.” Continue to protest vehemently.
The host, “I insist. Please. Have some tea.” Both parties should engage in the appropriate hand signals--hand waving or strong-arming, depending on your role.
At this point, it seems you can either reluctantly accept or keep the dance going a while longer until your host urges--adamantly urges--that you sit down and have a cup of tea. Then you can throw up your hands and say, “Okay, if you insist.”
This needs to be remembered in reverse as well. Whenever someone comes over I offer tea. They always refuse. The first few times I shrugged and said, “Ok.” Very rude. Now I insist. I insist until they reluctantly accept.
Directions
Throughout Asia, people hate to tell you they don’t know where something is. They will lose face. So rather than say “I don’t know” you will get sent just about everywhere except where you’re going.
Yesterday I got lost. Shillong is not a big city and so far I’ve been able to navigate my way without a lot of mishaps. Yesterday, however, I just couldn’t seem to find my way to a familiar-looking landmark. Along comes a soldier. “Don Bosco square?” I asked. With great surety, he pointed up the hill. Shillong is a hill station and these are serious hills. I’d already been up and down so many I’d lost count, but I trudged up another one. Soon the houses began thinning out and I seemed to be heading into the forest. I stopped and asked a woman coming down the road. She pointed down the hill.
When I got to the place I had started from I asked again. Eventually, I did make it to Don Bosco Square and the college after a 2 1/2 hour hike up and down hills, through neighborhoods and criss-crossing roads while dodging traffic.
Lesson learned: Buy a map.
Clothing
India, especially, away from the cities, is a conservative country and I’ve tried to dress accordingly: long skirts or pants, no sleeveless or low-cut shirts. Basically, I try to keep as much skin covered as possible. In Shillong, women wear Western clothes as much as saris or punjabi pajamas, but these are usually basic pants and blouses.
I still felt like I was standing out until I bought a shawl. Women wear shawls in India. They can be draped around the shoulders or used to cover the head, but a shawl is a must. Now I don’t leave the house without draping a long shawl or scarf around my shoulders. It’s fun to buy them as well. The bazaar is filled with row after row of beautiful silk, pashmina, wool shawls--colorful, embroidered, gauzy, some with sequins that come loose and stick to your body so you look like a Christmas tree by the time evening comes. Of course, the women here are graceful as gazelles with theirs, while I’m a natural-born klutz and will probably end up strangling myself before my stay is over. So while I still don’t quite fit in, I do feel less conspicuous with a shawl.
A good website for women travelers: Wanderlust and Lipstick. Lots of good tips for traveling solo, dressing, etc. They, too, recommend a shawl.
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