I Want to Be European

Your Inner European is Italian!

Passionate and colorful. You show the world what culture really is.

Who's Your Inner European?

I've taken the "Inner European" test so many times that I've already come out French, Swedish, and Italian. The latter was the most recent.

FYI : Euro spellings and "isms" will frequent this blog entry.

It's not that I hate the United States. I just love Europe. I want to be European so much, it hurts. As a half-Pakistani and half-Russian girl (a "Paki-Rusko", if you will), I have not one ounce (or, should I say millileter?) of European blood in me, although it is rumoured that our Russian ancestors had a fifteen year layuber in Austria-Hungary...I like to hold on to this as long and hard as I can.

I love everything about Europe. I love the fact that their history is so darn rich and vibrant. The art is astounding. I am particularly fond of the historical beauty and colours in Italian art, the realism and juxtaposition of the new and the old styles in German art (especially architecture), and the carefree, wistful, and "joie de vivre" nature of French art. The coolest grafic design comes out of Europe too. The other day, Toby (the British first violinist in my Schumann Quintet) was wearing this awesome t-shirt with a large red letter on it. The shirt was so wicked I immediately knew it was from Europe. That's not the extent of the coolness though...Toby got the shirt for free because he went on a hike sponsored by the French Tourism Bureau, and at the end they handed out rad complimentary shirts. Only in Europe.

I think Europeans live the most fully experienced lives. They know how to live. When I think of Europe, I always visualise a wistful picture of an old man riding his bicycle into the dusk with a baguette sticking out of the rear basket. Of course, he was returning home from a day filled with a morning stroll on the Mediterranean, a stop at the cosy local cafe for fair-trade coffee, a visit to one of the eight galleries within a stone's throw of his garden where he was just reading, a bit of work and a trip to the loo just to put everything into perspective, a chat with the local shop owner, and a quick stop at the town centre's patisserie (to pick up the baguette, of course). I mean, not all Europeans are old men with bikes and bread; some are eurotrashy, which to me, is even better. This is the life.

And, they have their heads on straight when it comes to priorities and political agendas. Europe is much more socially and environmentally conscious than the States, and they have all the organisations to prove it (Oxfam, European Environment Agency, etc.). You say "the grass is greener on the other side", well you're right. They really are greener over there. Thanks to my friend Zach (who happened to study in Europe this year), I just bought NiMH batteries so as to be a bit more earth friendly. Of course, when I clicked on the site's coolest-looking batteries (remember that I judge things by their covers; see the "Soup Her Fish Haul" entry), it said that "the batteries have been shipping in Europe for several months". Of course, Europe has already led this trend. They even have zippy little cars that don't inhale and compulsively swallow gas like cars made for Americans do.

They have accents. I want an accent. And not an American one. They have the BBC. They break for tea. We don't even brake for ducks. I don't know how much more I have to convince you.

Having traveled to Italy, France, Monaco, Spain, Czech Republic, Austria, und Hungary, I've been amazed by all the distinct cultures pressed into such a small continent. I used to think that people from New Jersey were an entirely different species than people from Pennsylvania. (Actually, they really are.) I wondered why one didn't need a passport to get into the next state. Back in the day, I thought there were fascinating differences between the nations at the "World Showcase" in Walt Disney World's Epcot Center. That adolescent experience was a foretaste of what was to come when I crossed the big pond. Europe's like that for real, love.