I tend to regard the fact that I have experienced very little in the way of reverse culture shock since I returned from Russia to the UK as a sad indictment of my failure to integrate much when I was there.
I did try though. My policy as far as possible was, ‘when in Rome…’, or as the Russians would have it (much more colourfully), «в чужой монастырь со своим уставом не ходят», which loosely translates as, ‘don’t live by your own rule in another’s monastery’. One of the more obvious ways I attempted to put this principle into practice was by adopting the (by contemporary British standards at any rate) bordering on ostentatious levels of chivalry that Russian men are expected to display towards women. An incongruous but not unusual sight when going about Moscow would be that of some hulking great bear of a man carrying the miniscule handbag of his invariably incredibly slender devushka.
Attempting to emulate these standards to some degree, as you might imagine, became more important when my wife and I started dating. As she has no Russian heritage whatsoever as far as we’re aware, it was largely for the sake of appearances. So, regardless of how silly we both felt, I would regularly carry all of the bags, whether or not they actually contained anything of significant heft. At restaurants I’d fuss and faff to provide her with completely superfluous assistance in removing her coat and making sure that her chair was in a suitable position to assume its primary function. On occasions where we’d agreed in advance to split the bill we maintained the charade by transferring the necessary funds to my wallet ahead of time as well.
I never entirely got over my slight discomfort with all of this, but my behaviour modification programme was successful enough that now that I’m back in the UK it has the potential to cause some awkwardness. If I’m not careful, autopilot will kick in and I’ll run the risk of coming across as a patronising dinosaur. For instance, on more than one occasion since we’ve been back, I’ve accidentally ordered my wife’s food for her at a restaurant. If there is an exception to the general lack of reverse culture shock that I mentioned at the beginning, then I think this is it.
