Something to write home about

Growing up in New Jersey, things have always moved really fast for me. Everything on the East Coast is fast-paced, impatient and when you say, “no,” it doesn’t mean, “ask me again.”

It simply means “no.”

So when my family told me we were going on a cruise with a two-day stop in the Bahamas, I was excited – mostly because I was going to experience a culture that wasn’t the East Coast, and I had never been out of the country before.

My family and I got to customs in Manhattan about two hours before the ship left the pier. We waited in line for about an hour, and during the wait, I soaked in the New York in each passenger.

Passengers were cursing because the line wasn’t moving fast enough, or just complaining about virtually anything.

The ship cruised for three days before reaching the port in Nassau. It was humid and disgusting. I was in no mood to be hassled on the island.

But the minute I stepped off that ship, I realized why I love New York so much.
In New York City, when you’re a tourist, NYC natives know. It’s because you have a camera around your neck, a fanny pack around your waist and a pocket-sized map of the city. Vendors on the street will see you and ask you to buy things but only once.
They won’t bug you.

But sellers in Nassau were different. I walked from the pier through their customs, and from the time I got through security to the time I got into the actual city, I was asked at least 10 times if I wanted a taxi to the beach by the same two people. My family repeatedly said, “No.”

I was shocked. I knew we looked like tourists and we were probably acting like tourists. But no means no, right? Even New Yorkers know that.

We walked around the city for an hour, where we went into little gift shops and shopped around for souvenirs.

On our way back to the boat, after a hot and torturous day, we were getting ready to enter through customs again, when I was asked by the same lady, at least three times, if I wanted my hair braided. I declined politely.

I was able to weasel past her, and from about a quarter-mile distance, another woman began to call out my name; apparently it has changed to “woman.” She kept screaming at me and asking me if I wanted cornrows. I waved to decline. But she kept screaming and walking closer to me.

I finally got through to customs without getting a single braid in my hair.
I think the more time I spend at home on the coast, the more impatient I get, but the more I realize how the NY culture works; fast-paced, one-worded and I love every minute of it.

And although the Bahamas was drastically slowed down, the vendors’/sellers’ overbearing demands to get an obvious tourist to consider what they’re selling was too much for me. I think NYC vendors only ask once because they know how awful New Yorkers really are. I guess it’s for good reason, too.

Maybe I didn’t spend enough time on the island to fully appreciate the beauty of the country, but sometimes it takes a trip to another country and experiencing a different culture to make you realize how much you really love where you’re from.