Are Europeans actually less enthusiastic than Americans - or just dehydrated?
According to the New York Times, Europe is the top destination for holidaying Americans this summer. This has prompted some anxiety – Jennifer from Seattle wrote to ask for advice on “a closed shoe that wouldn’t out me asl’américaine” – but also a drawing of cultural battle lines between the US and Europe. Classic summer fun: it was at this time in 2018 that the New York Times also published its classic claim that “porridge and boiled mutton” were staples of British cuisine, as if we eat like Dr Johnson tackling a fit of gout.
This year it’s Watergate. Not that one; the TikTok one, which kicked off when an American woman working in Albania with “organs turning into beef jerky” asked the entire continent the provocative question: “Why are y’all not more thirsty?” Apparently, Europeans hate water, and Americans have been remarking on it for months, mocking our tragic Sylvaniansized glasses and filming themselves joyfully glugging when they finally find a (bottled) source. Reactions included many pointing out our supply of free, drinkable tap water and querying the notion of “Europe” as one homogenous, crumbling, dark and dehydrated entity. Some were funnier: “Never in my life have my lips touched water – all I do is drink wine and olive oil,” one
TikTok commenter said. We probably get our hydration from porridge and pea-souper fogs. Maybe our skin is water-permeable when we don’t use our Mary Poppins umbrellas?
I don’t feel cross or superior about Americans getting the wrong end of the Europe stick. We spawned “I didn’t know it was old” Colosseum graffiti guy, after all. I enjoy people exploring cultural differences, which is good because I get served tons of it on social media (I must once have lingered too long on a video about how not to ask for a baguette). Generally, it is gentle: a mutual poking of fun at, and enjoyment of, our own and each other’s foibles.
I’ve watched an American pretending to be a German disgusted at US supermarkets (excess mayo and Little Debbie cakes) and an American pretending to be a Dutch person trying to teach an American how to be emotionlessly underwhelmed when receiving good news. I’ve enjoyed numerous Americans discussing the “straight up depressing” European ice problem (the entire continent gets 48 cubes a day, apparently). There are many theories about our notorious ice meanness, but I think it’s down to dentistry. These British teeth aren’t going to be crunching ice, are they? In this economy? I broke a tooth on a Hula Hoop last month.
There is a lot about our fabled European elegance, too – mainly worrying about it. Jennifer from Seattle, I am now a French citizen and I still look like a non-speaking hobbit from Lord of the Rings, all grass stains and an air of medieval dishevelment. Your Nikes are fine.
There were many Americans on my holiday in Costa Rica and it made me think we should be more like them. For a start, their ease with strangers is inspiring: I watched, awestruck in the pool as a Florida man delivered his entire life story to a Dutch family with practised efficiency and enjoyment. If it had just been me and them, we wouldn’t have exchanged a single word and I would know nothing about Florida’s best golf courses. Then there were the doggy bags: every American was carrying one. As a committed food hoarder (I’m writing this with four eggs and a bag of tomatoes on my desk, because you never know), I aspire to the lack of embarrassment required for that.
But mainly it was their enthusiasm. Perhaps it’s a function of only having a few days’ leave a decade, but every American I met was having a ball. The French? Greeting beauty spots with French resting face. Germans? Treating the holiday as a high stakes, full-time job. Britons? Cringing at our own crumpled, pink and bitten existences. But the Americans were ziplining and happy hour margarita-mainlining, laughing, chatting and generally sucking every drop of joy out of their vacation. If this is what being grotesquely well hydrated does for you, pass the water.
Emma Beddington is a Guardian columnist