Almost all of my American friends I made while studying abroad were majoring in international relations. At Syracuse University, like most others, it is a broad field, incorporating law, organizations, security, diplomacy, political economy, and international communication in each geographic region of the world.

As a a magazine journalism and modern foreign language major, I was certainly the odd one out in the academic sense. I'll admit that I'd never taken an economics class and was somewhat ignorant on specific political histories, but in my 10 months outside of the country, I was exposed to all of this knowledge and more.

You see, there was one thing that I and every single other American student had in common, our cultural baggage. No matter how aware we were (or weren't), we each carried a collection of values, beliefs, concepts and behaviors. They were uniquely developed within us as children in our respective homes, and yet all the while in our shared home country. And it was at their mercy that we experienced the world.

The first step to cultural understanding is a simple recognition of this perspective within yourself and within each and every other person you meet. Overall cultural themes can be summarized, in fact, by one simple question, the one that is asked immediately upon meeting someone new.

In the United States that question is most often, "What do you do?" Us Americans live in an individualistic, capitalistic society, and thus, we are defined by our jobs or careers. It is a central part of our identity, and it is a double-edged sword.

Struggling for time and balance we have come to depend on efficiency and convenience. As I touched on in my review of The Geography of Bliss, for as positive as this constant motivation to be and do better is, it can also negatively affect our relationships, our happiness and our health.

In Ecuador I often was asked, "Are you married?" For the most part, it wasn't a rude or even flirtatious inquisition, just a way to get to know me better as family plays a prominent role in most Latin American cultures.

Living in Santiago, Chile, however, I was met with "Where do you live? and "Where do you go to school?" by numerous twenty-somethings. The first one can be attributed to the fact that my address is powerful enough to dictate my economic status. While Dictator Pinochet was in power, he organized the city's neighborhoods in such a way that the upper class, middle class, and lower class were clearly defined and segregated within their area. It is often still like that to this day and according to my host mom, the prejudices that have been born from it can reach as far as to affect the hiring process.

The other, is a little less devastating. In Santiago, like most places outside of the US, children, teenagers, and young adults live at home while they study. They go through the education system with the same classmates and groups of friends, often until college graduation. Thus, not only is it difficult for outsiders to integrate themselves into deeply-rooted friendships but it also, as a stereotype, says a lot about their political stance. If you were wondering, the public U. de Chile is considered liberal, while the also public yet religiously-affiliated U. Cathólica is conservative and upper crust. Interesting stuff.

Somewhat less telling were the first questions I was asked in France and throughout my European travels, "Where are you from?" To non-native speakers it was nearly impossible to differentiate whether I was British, Australian, Irish or American among others.

Furthermore, in countries in which I could communicate (Spanish/French-speaking) locals could only reach the point of being sure that I was not from their respective country. To them, I could've been from "anywhere but here." And that was especially flattering for a foreign speaker like me :).

I am certainly not a social anthropologist, nor do I support generalizations of any form, but I do find it absolutely fascinating how far that Q & A period, at the earliest point of first impressions, can reach into our own cultural core.

Remember ice-breakers?

For me, they bring back two associations: one, awkward moments at teenage summer camp, and two, awkward moments at college freshman orientation.

There were the games where you had to throw a ball from person to person, I have no hand-eye coordination, so those were always uncomfortable.  Or, there were the wordy ones where you needed an adjective to place in front of your name, for some reason, no good adjectives begin with the letter " L,"? other than loud, which I am not.

Basically, ice-breakers and I don't get along.

As an ESL instructor, there are times that may require you to become a bit of a hypocrite.  January often brings along new courses, new schedules, and new students, meaning one important thing: you need to learn everyone's name.

And so, as a teacher, I found myself armed with an ever-growing supply of ice-breaking games.  Some came from textbooks, usually for lower levels.  Others came from summer camp: requesting students find an adjective to describe themselves, as well as remember those of their peers, turned out to be a great way to build an introductory list of vocabulary.

Those fuzzy memories from freshman orientation had their place as well.  Drinking games made remarkable ice-breakers, even without the courage-inducing liquor.  Two truths and a lie was my go-to game on every first day: no materials were required, save for a pen and a paper, which students (hopefully) provided themselves.  Even better, the statements very often sparked further conversation, which is a big help in that first class, when textbooks haven't yet been purchased.

I knew I would have groaned at the thought of playing a name game had I been the student, but selfishly, ice-breakers made my life a lot easier.   I always remembered Marketa as the uncoordinated one, just like me, who nearly took off Jan's head throwing around a ball.  I might have otherwise struggled to distinguish between Petr and Tomas, had Petr not called himself "pretty" on that first day: it's tough to forget a bald, burly man who chooses that word.  Plus, I learned that if you're not required to participate, ice-breakers can be a whole lot of fun.  When you're teaching, fun makes all the difference in the world.

Jerry V. Haines is a travel writer from northern Virginia.

We met back in 2007 when I took his one-day travel writing workshop. 

I was curious to see how the landscape of travel writing is changing from his perspective, so I invited him to answer a few questions on the subject.

***

Go Backpacking: In which publication was your travel writing first published, and what was the story about?

Jerry Haines: The Washington Post, in the Wednesday Style section "Escapes" column in 1996.  

It was a piece, submitted "on spec," describing a quiet afternoon in St. Georges, Granada.  

But the narrative began with our being directed to the wrong church that morning, leading to one of those glorious people-to-people experiences that I've tried to feature in subsequent writings, whenever we've been fortunate to have such happy accidents.

GB: Since then, where has your work appeared?

JH: I have been blessed to have had wonderful relationships with the editorial staffs of several newspaper travel sections: The Washington Post, The Los Angeles Times, The Newark Star-Ledger, The Dallas Morning News, and The St. Petersburg Times, among others.  

They ran my stuff, paid me on time and didn't mess (too much) with my copy.  

I found some good friends there and remain in touch with many of them, even though they're no longer in a position to buy anything from me.

I also ran a few things in Catholic Digest. I'm just now dipping my toe into internet waters and have done some things for World Hum, Intelligent Travel and Travel Beat.

I haven't started my own blog, but occasionally I think about it.  

(On this subject, I may be slow on the pickup, but not as bad as my edition of MS Word, which just flagged "blog" as a misspelling.)

GB: In the last 5 years, how has travel writing in traditional media changed?

JH: Well, one obvious answer is that newspaper travel sections "assuming they even exist anymore" are not buying much freelance.  

Editors have taken buyouts as their sections shrank or got folded into other sections of the paper.

Those that remain often use syndicated material or pieces written by full-time staff of other sections of their papers.

Many still do buy an occasional article but restrict their purchases to stories about travel within their respective reading areas "trips on a tankful," etc.

And the internet hasn't taken up the slack.  But I'm optimistic that eventually, it will.

GB: How does writing for newspapers and magazines differ from writing for online publications and blogs?

JH: In one sense, good writing is good writing. But the internet reader has to be courted much more aggressively than his print counterpart.  

You have to show your goodies early, or he'll quickly click away.  

(But wasn't that also the case before?  If you were pitching to a newspaper editor, you had to make your "sale" in the lede.)

You have to make some concessions to the medium.

Stories, paragraphs, and sentences are shorter because a screen just isn't as readable as a paper page.  

And you have to make concessions to our ever-shortening attention spans, a phenomenon that predates the internet.  

Personally, I blame television and vid Oh, look! A squirrel!

In the new world, you also have less editorial backup.  You can't just assume somebody will catch your misspellings and factual errors and fix them for you.  

(But really, now. You never should have made such assumptions in the old world, either.)

The good part is that there are fewer people looking over your shoulder, second-guessing your word choices and imposing their own style.

We're also all learning that some of the most important readers are not human, they're search engines.  

And, if we want hits, we have to learn to think like them, I guess, filling our NAKED paragraphs NAKED with NAKED words NAKED they're likely to NAKED seek. TOTALLY NUDE!

One other thought:  I love to write travel essays, but, except for the Washington Post, very few newspaper travel editors published essays, dismissing the whole genre as self-indulgent and ego-driven.  

But what could be a better medium for essays than the internet, the epitome of self-indulgence?

The future of the printed word, whether in newspapers, magazines or books, seems in question these days.

Ebooks are growing in popularity, as are the specific devices on which to read them such as Amazon's Kindle.

How does this trend benefit writers, and are there any hidden downsides?

I am absolutely the worst person to comment on that, as I love the traditional, ink on paper book.  

As my wife will confirm, I hardly ever get rid of books, even ones I hated. They sit on my shelf (actually, "shelves," dozens of them) as their own monuments to the labor, and celebrations of the thrills, of reading them.  

I admire the inventiveness that produced the Kindle, and I suspect it will benefit all writers by making writing more accessible to more people, but I probably will never own one.  

Unless someone wants give me one. Actually, I'd rather have a sweater. (I'm an XL.)

GB: What is your #1 piece of advice for readers interested in pursuing freelance travel writing opportunities, whether in print or online?

JH: Be persistent. I was rejected by 30 different newspapers before I thought of trying the Post (it was sort of a personal Hail Mary play, based only on the fact that it was the paper I knew best).

Don't be discouraged by rejection; there are lots of reasons why someone might not choose to publish your writing, and most of them have nothing to do with the quality of your work or your value as a human being.

There's no reason to get derailed by it, particularly now that we no longer have to shlep printed manuscripts to the post office, accompanied by a self-addressed, stamped envelope.  

(How I hated those things. Newspapers used them only for rejections; if they liked your article they'd call you. The SASE always meant bad news.)

Today, if you get rejected, just send out another email.

GB: And finally, if you could wake up anywhere in the world tomorrow morning, where would it be?

JH: I'm often asked that (or variations on it) and I usually respond with wherever I've been most recently (which currently is Charleston, SC).  But ultimately, it has to be Italy.  

I particularly like the smaller, lesser-known cities like Bologna, Bassano del Grappa, Cagliari, Sorrento, Padua.  (Shall I go on?)

__

Photo Credit:  Janice Haines

Earlier this week, I joined Kiva, a non-profit organization which facilitates micro-lending around the world.

Starting at $25, Kiva gift certificates allow the recipient to make their own loans to entrepreneurs around the world and help alleviate poverty. Your recipient chooses the loans, receives repayments, and can choose to lend again and again! It is a one-of-a-kind gift that keeps on giving.

In January 2010, I will begin to share my first-hand experiences.  Until then, if you forgot to get a gift for someone, make a $25 investment on their behalf by sending a Kiva gift certificate.  You have the option of either printing it out, or sending it immediately as an e-mail.  It's the perfect solution for those last minute gifts.

I never took a business class in college, and I've never held a traditional office position.  However, I'm relatively sure that one of the first lessons of either experience would have been: keep your personal life separate from your work life.

Some people call it work/life balance.  Some simply warn against co-worker happy hours.  Some point their finger at office romances.  During my ESL days, I had to wonder: did any of this actually apply?

There seemed to be two approaches among the English-teaching crowd, and I flip-flopped on which method was ideal.  While teaching ESL is not in the running for the most professional position most of us will ever hold, it is still a job.  And though a couple frigid January days may have propelled me to dress rather unprofessionally in jeans and furry boots, I did try to approach most lessons with the mindset of the workplace.

My first roommate abroad shared that philosophy.  More of a private person, she could quite easily recount details of her students' lives, from the names of third cousins to preferences amongst the varieties of Czech beers.  But the relationship was not reciprocal.  She might have spent Saturday evenings gallivanting until the hour that the night tram reopened, or she might have been tucked into bed an hour after dinner.  That remained a mystery, because her teaching style probed her students to do the talking, while she took the listener's chair.

My second apartment-mate, however, was quite the opposite.  More of the cliche post-collegiate instructor, she arrived with a single suitcase and an extroverted nature.  When it came to swapping stories with her students, she spoke freely, without a single hold barred.  On the mornings she arrived at her lessons squinting at the daylight, her students knew the reason.

So the question remained: which method was best?  I suppose the argument can go both ways.  If you're teaching adults, then no superior checks up on you, and very often, you teach away from your school's actual premises.  My students trusted in these facts, as they unabashedly revealed to me everything from financial woes to bedroom secrets.  I could have easily done the same.

Then again, I had to ask myself whether I strived to cultivate a friendship or a student-teacher relationship.  For me, the answer was the latter, and in the end, I'm glad to have had the practice of maintaining at least a bit of professionalism.

Still, my more candid colleagues left with something I did not: some students became their closest friends.  Gossiping for an hour under the guise of teaching a lesson does sound more appealing than some of the one-on-one courses I taught.  As the people we meet so often influence our experience of the places we go, this is certainly food for thought.