Once at a wedding in Seoul, I played gotchyer nose with a little korean boy. His mom came over and roughly picked him up and stormed off. Didn’t learn until the next week at work that the thumb placed between the first two fingers is akin to giving someone the bird in Korea. Whoopsie!
One time I was hanging out in South Korea. I was walking around in a marketplace and there were a few beggars. I was feeling charitable, so I handed an old lady a few Won. When I looked down, though, I saw she was selling individual sticks of gum. So even though she was dirt poor, she was at least trying to sell something, and by giving her charity I probably paid her a great insult. I felt so embarrassed.
An English friend of mine once, when he was fairly new in Sweden, refused more food saying that he was so full. He later learned that in Swedish full means drunk.
Same for Mexican families. When visiting, we were required to bring pie. We were all then required to eat it. My husband, myself, and his cousins were going out later to eat so I politely declined a slice of pie. About 14 times. My aunt-in-law just couldn’t understand why I didn’t want any pie. She wasn’t mean about it though.
So the next time I took some freakin pie even though it was coconut which I hate.
Similar to this (not really cultural but more of a language difference) - when in Germany talking about “preservatives” in food and getting a big laugh from the Germans. Preservative = condoms in Germany.
My first time abroad was 1975, in Paris, at the age of 20. I was having an early breakfast with my group before we left for the airport to catch our plane to Moscow.
We ran out of butter at my table, so I decided to be very suave and continental in requesting some more: I snapped my fingers and said (in a fairly loud voice) “Garcon!”
Every head in the room turned around to look at me, the waiter’s in particular. I was told by one of our group leaders sotto voce NEVER to do that, particularly since the French have very sensitive ears. He added that now the waiter would probably never come back to our table, and he was right.
I also had no clue as to how powerful French mustard is. In a cafe the day before, I bought what they called a “hot dog” (actually a mammoth sandwich) and slathered it with mustard since there was no ketchup. A French family was sitting across from me, silently watching every move I made.
I took a huge bite and, of course, the mustard fumes immediately started issuing out of my nostrils. Ì stood up and said “I gotta buy a Coke!” at which point the entire family cracked up!
See that’s just annoying. I hate pie and would have been miserable to be forced to eat it.
When I first starting reading about bath salts, I thought “that shit at Bed, Bath, and Beyond gets you high?” To be fair, the news articles did not explain that bath salts was actually a name for a drug.
Oh dear lord.
A former teacher talked about when he was in a restaurant in Montreal. He told the waitress Merci beau coup, but with a really southern American accent. Apparently he said “Thank you, beautiful ass.”
I know, I know… That is to say, I know that now! :smack: 
Trust me, she made so much food that the amount left on your plate is barely a drop in the bucket. I know the type. If there isn’t enough food left at the end of the meal for another full meal, she didn’t cook enough.
On my first trip to Ireland, Oh Lordy I could list a million of them. those who are interested may want to search on the word “fanny.”
Another night, there was a huge family feast at the local hotel. I had only met a few of the relatives, but of course (being the newcomer) they all knew who I was. One of my little cousins (about 4 years old at the time) had fallen asleep on my lap. He began with his head on my shoulder but was slowly slipping down, which I hadn’t noticed because I was watching the dancing.
A lady who I later found out was my Grandfathers’ Sister came up with a beautific smile on her face and asked “Are you nursing?”. :eek:
:eek:
You’ve heard of 40 shades of green? Well, I tured 40 shades of red, and quickly raised the boy back up onto my shoulder. It wasn’t until the following afternoon that I found out who she was, that she’d been thrilled to see me bonding with my baby cousins, and that “nursing” in Ireland only means caring for children, not . . . ermmm . . . feeding them as it means here.
:smack:
Once I went to a Baptism, was told I was the godfather of the child, had no idea what was going on, and to this day apparently I still don’t.
The good news is no one is ever supposed to ask you about your business.
My wife’s family is Mexican, and they will repeatedly offer you food/drink in spite of your fullness/intoxication. My wife explained the polite way to handle it is to eat very slowly when you start to get full. Dont want more beer? Take a sip then carry around the nearly-full bottle, and they’ll stop asking. With some things you have to say “no thanks” three times:
Want more posole?
No thank you.
Sure? You look hungry.
No, thank you though.
Are you sure you are full? Can I get you more?
Yes, I am sure I’m full. No thank you.
For me this is hard WRT alcohol. I’m much more likely to accept a drink when buzzed vs helping myself to one (offered booze just feels nicer 
). The problem with this is that its easy for me to get visibly drunk fairly quickly when people keep giving me beers/tequila shots. And being visibly drunk is a faux pas in her family. So you have to politely accept the drink, act like you are consuming it, then keep it with you so they dont offer you more. In contrast my family is a “help yourself, booze is over there” type, and if people get a little wobbly-legged from Too Much Party, we just laugh it off.
A year after my Paris faux pas, I was in Scotland when I chatted up a couple of French girls (again with the bloody French!). We went to a pub with another guy from our hostel, and on the way up to tap a kidney, he gave one of them a little pat on the bottom.
I leaned over and commented “He just gave you a swat on the fanny” … which was an accurate enough description in American slang but not (as I know now) in British. She, however, was delighted in having learned a new Anglicism and began using it all the time.
I would have loved to have been there the next time she used it amongst the British. :rolleyes:
Being Jewish, I was only vaguely familiar with the Catholic concept of “communion”. So when I attended a Catholic friend’s wedding in my early 20s, I assumed everyone was getting up at the end of the ceremony to exit the church. It wasn’t until I was standing in front of the priest did I realize what was happening.
I sort of panicked a bit, and made what looked like a “talk to the hand” gesture to the priest (it was meant to be a polite “no thanks…I’m good gesture” which is probably just as stupid).
My friends still give me shit about it to this day.
I worked briefly for a very orthodox Israeli Jewish company. One time, a prominent local Rabbi came into the office and, trying to make a good impression, I promptly stood up from my desk and offered him my hand. He looked at me a little askance and did some sort of graceful demurral.
Later I was informed that orthodox men, especially Rabbis, don’t touch women. Whoops.
My mother came from one of those “ask three times” cultures. When she was sixteen she roomed and boarded with a family from a different culture.
The first morning for breakfast she was asked if she’d like more pancakes and politely said, “No, thank you.” Said she was amazed to see the plate whiz past and never be asked again.
When you asked my mother-in-law if she’d like some coffee she always answer, “Only if you’ve got it made.” I figured out pretty fast that that meant, “Yes.” Her culture dictated that you were never to put your host out. So her response to, "Would you like the air-conditioning turned on? Would be, “Only if you’re too warm” while sweat was pouring down her brow.
These little nicities made it difficult to have her as a house guest, for sure. Truth is the whole darned family on both sides has so much difficulty in saying what they want that they’re all saturated with that cultural passivity.
I grew up in NYC and went to college in the rural south. this made for some LOLZ.
I saw a lot more pickup trucks around at school than I did at home. Once I commented to a friend that there sure were a large number of truck owners named “Leonard”… isn’t that strange? She stared at me like I had two heads (for all I know she posted in the I was dumdfounded thread).
And then laughed her ass off while explaining that “Leonard” is the brand name of a popular kind of truck bed cap. That word written across the back is the brand name, not the owner’s name!
Er… yeah. I knew that.