I found this generic shop in Poland, where European music was most prevalent.

My two week break showed me how difficult it can be to escape American culture. Every place I have been throughout Europe has been awash with American popular music. Last year, a German exchange student at Valpo told me she liked American music because it had a lot more “oomph” than most German music. My trip through Germany literally featured zero German music, so I have little to judge her statement against. But, I have a lot of trouble believing what she said. Simplicity and predictability are hallmarks of pop music. Even if American pop music packs more of a punch than its German counterpart, what is stopping the Germans from copying our rhythms and grooves?

The first time I heard non-American music on the radio was in Krakow, Poland, and it was extremely refreshing. I had never heard Polish rap before, and the song was pretty catchy. But, after one song the radio quickly switched back to American tunes. The same thing occurred on a bus in Budapest which featured Hungarian rap sandwiched between Adelle and Wiz Khalifa. Poland does deserve more credit though. At night, the hostel I stayed in played non-stop electronica. The same went for my hostel in Amsterdam, and an American I met there informed me that electronica is huge throughout Europe. That still fails to explain why all of these places played American music throughout the day. It’s possible that they choose their music based on what they think tourists will appreciate, but I doubt it. When I stepped into a taxi on my way to a small town in Germany, the driver was playing classic rock before I had even opened my mouth. I talked with my German couch surfing host about this, and he told me that all Germans, especially older men, love classic rock even though they cannot understand it.

Schneeberg, Germany: they like classic rock here.

The American cultural presence in the world extends beyond music. Starbucks and Burger King were the first two buildings I saw after exiting a train station in Budapest, a country which was communist run only twenty years ago. In Slovenia, I went to an expensive restaurant that sold itself as the place to go for authentic Slovenian cuisine, and when I stepped through the door I heard Britney Spears on the radio. The inability to escape American culture has really cheapened my experience of traveling. I thought that each new country I visited would feel profoundly different from the last. I expected huge cultural divides, including but not limited to interesting food traditions in each new place. There haven’t been many options to be daring with new foods. I have seized what few opportunities I had, and I am proud to say that I can return home having tried horse meat, mead, and Italian hot wine. Maybe things would have been different if I visited the homes of locals from all the countries I visited, but there are only so many ways one can prepare a sandwich before ideas start repeating themselves and everything seems to blend together.

Welcome to Budapest.

These countries adoption of American food and music seems to have diminished their own cultures, and I cannot understand why a nation would want to do that to itself. Perhaps they value our ideology and want to become more like the stereotypically friendly and optimistic American. That’s flattering, and it may be fun for them to attempt to fit in with our culture. I just wish I had a chance to try to fit in with theirs.

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If you’ve never taken a group vacation on a bus, think back to the “The Magic School Bus.” It’s exactly like that, minus the science, light-speed traveling, and transformations of species and size. Before long, the fun of traveling rubs off on the bus until the sight of it is nearly enough to make travelers burst into their own theme-song. When one goes on their second bus trip, memories from the first trip return and the bus is infused with even more magic than before. This process continues until around the sixth bus trip, at which point the bus becomes Houdini incarnate and no further improvement is possible. All one can do is sit back and watch as the bus contributes to community in a way nothing else can.

Almost, but not quite.

Bus vacationing is a type of endurance training which inevitably begins too early in the morning. The first day starts with a stumbling out of bed that continues towards the bus as one struggles with their luggage. Next comes the seemingly important decision of picking a bus buddy. There’s a lot to consider, but in the end none of it matters. Before long, all the newly formed buddies engage in a short, excitement-infused chat before turning their attention to the rest of the bus. The chaperone has just finished counting off everyone’s heads, and someone cracks a joke that makes the whole bus laugh. Conversation then becomes an all-inclusive, bus-wide, adrenaline-fueled affair. Exhaustion sets in quick. In an hour, everyone but the driver has fallen asleep. Those who fell asleep early had the sound of intimate, communal laughter to lull them to sleep. When these same people wake up early, they find their companions sleeping in positions contortionists train years to achieve. The next bout of bus-wide laughter follows shortly after.

This would have been great... 10 miles ago.

Rest stops come half-an-hour after they’re needed, so there’s always someone who bumps their head on the overhead compartment as part of a mad dash to bladder relief. The rest of the group emerges unscathed, throws their hands in the air, and begins a much needed stretch that turns into something resembling a dance. Dreary-eyed and hungry, the group makes their way to the rest stop to buy some food. Healthy eaters make concessions for the sake of group cohesion and learn that there is a time for everything.

The excitement of entering a new place is universally shared throughout the bus. Beautiful sights appear at the same time for everyone and cause an awe-struck “ooh!” to spread throughout the bus. Going down a tight road sends shivers down everyone’s spine. As the bus hugs the edge of the road, everyone holds their breath simultaneously. Fearful together, the community grows closer. The groups which are lucky enough to make it out alive have a topic of conversation they can return to throughout the trip: “Remember when we almost fell off the road? That was crazy!”

The bus we rode while in Cambridge. Notice how we almost fell off the road. Crazy.

Everyone talks just loud enough so that other people can hear them, and they modify what they say so that everyone is entertained. Bus buddies soon become the best of friends, and if they ever feel the need to say something private, they can lower their voices. But, in the spirit of bus travel, most things are shared.

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