cross cultural communication competency

I'm settled in to Rio. I have a routine; it's almost getting monotonous. I do normal adult things: I commute, I drink espresso, I go to work, I use Microsoft Outlook, I meet up with my roommates for lunch, I run errands, I cook (!), I clean. You know you're grown up when the highlight of your week was getting a 10% discount on lunch because your roommate was wearing her Globo lanyard (the first time a lanyard has been good for anything!). Just when I thought things might be getting a little, dare I say, boring, I was slapped in the face with something I have not stopped thinking about since: cross cultural communication competency.

I know, I know: ew, who am I? I'm a graduate student studying communication management, that's who. This is the type of topic that whole units and classes and fields are dedicated to studying, but it was never of much interest to me. It seemed so lofty, so hyperbolized, so...academic. But no. It's a real, actual thing that exists, and it affects everyone involved, even the lowly intern (read: me). It's been totally fascinating to watch it play out right before my eyes.

Maybe it's inspired by the assignments I've had to complete for my classes recently, but I've been really observing and getting very in touch with the way Brazilians conduct themselves in business. One such way is that things tend to be very off-the-cuff. I took a work field trip (known to adults as a site visit) on Wednesday. As our Uber flew through tunnels and over bridges, past lush natural scenery and parts of Rocinha, up then down the winding roads of Joa (think driving in La Canada), my coworkers in the car with me barely noticed. They were intensely conversing in both Portuguese and English about the situation we were hurdling toward, engaged in an impromptu but important briefing on the go.

I'm helping out with an account for the Italian Olympic Committee. The project is their Olympic hospitality house, known as "Casa Italia". At the end of our white knuckle Uber ride/car conference, we arrived at an enormous gated house. We were greeted by a man holding three coconuts with straws sticking out of them (sadly, the coconuts weren't for us). We followed him into the gates, up the stairs and onto a terrace that was being used as an al fresco meeting space. Bottles of San Pellegrino, wine glasses and ashtrays managed to clutter a large table. We met our Italian hosts, sans any air kiss faux pas (thank GOD). We sat down to start our team meeting, but the man leading it stood up instead. He proceeded to chain smoke the entire time, pacing around the balcony as he alternated drags on his cigarette and sips of fresh coconut water. Side note: those coconuts were for these people, and in retrospect that was crazy foreshadowing.

So there we were: an American, two Brazilians and four Italians conducting a meeting in mostly English, though it would sometimes slip into Portuguese and Italian, especially under their breath. I was supposed to be taking diligent minutes of the meeting, but instead I observed and recorded notes-to-self such as: "next time you're with the Italians, wear your Ray Bans" and "watch out for the lady with 'DIVA' engraved on her bracelet" and "does diva have a different meaning in Italian?" and "she just described herself as a snob- diva must not have a different meaning in Italian".

Penetrating all the layers of communication was this prevailing protectiveness over culture. My boss, who looks Middle Eastern, informed our new friends that he, too, was an Italian citizen. Diva earned her nickname, flying into a rage punctuated with too-classic hand gestures: "your name isn't Italian, you don't look Italian, you don't speak Italian, but you are an Italian citizen?! I am so mad, you are a fake Italian!" She pounded the table for emphasis on "mad" and "fake", apparently unconcerned with those glasses, bottles and ashtrays. Yes, a grown woman did this. Those were her actual words. I was stunned.

What might have been half-joking, good-natured nationalism by one party was seen as totally immature and inappropriate by another. Brazilians, I've learned, tend to have a very strong connection with their ancestral heritage. Of course, they are first and foremost Brazilians. But they also identify as Portuguese, Dutch, Italian, whatever, even if they are a couple of generations removed from the old country. This is evident not just if someone has a passport from that country, but also manifests in things as simple as which country a Brazilian rooted for in the Euro Cup.

Sweeping cultural generalizations were made, people got defensive, and toes were stepped on like they'd be if I tried to samba. By the end of the meeting, it wasn't just the cigarette butts in the ashtrays that had been burned. The tension in the air was more palpable than the humidity, so it was a welcome release when we decided to go tour the venue where the hospitality house will be hosted.

Chain smoker stopped us at the foyer, pointing to a swath of hardwood, sample-stained in four different shades of brown. "Which do you like?" he asked the non-Italians. My coworkers both picked an unlikely option, and I picked the one I was sure the Italians would choose. Chain smoker turned to me for a high five, his face lit up (and I don't mean because he had a cigarette in it). "Well done, you picked the best one. That is what we are using. You have a good eye, and good taste...I can tell, you're a good one." So...you're judging my worth based off my preferred hardwood stain? I mean, I know Italians value design and aesthetics, but that's taking it to the next level.

In our Uber on the way home, we conducted a situation analysis and strategy planning session over the caipirinhas popsicles the Italians had given us as a party favor (way better than coconut water, for the record). With an event as international as the Olympics and a situation as unique as interning in a country where I don't speak the native language, I fully expected to experience some culture-clash moments. I've been warned by my Brazilian handlers many times that there would be things to which I would have to "adapt". But what I didn't expect was for this to become so completely fascinating and thought provoking. Watch this space for more adventures of an intern abroad.

Thanks for reading! GS

Abstract: cross cultural communication competency is a real thing that is important; Brazilians conduct important meetings in Ubers; Italians apparently conduct important meetings while chain smoking; wear Ray Bans to fit in with Italians; if someone self-describes as either "diva" or "snob", RUN; many Brazilians are very in touch with their ancestral heritage; Italians take hardwood seriously; caipirinha popsicles > coconut water.