When I arrive in Philadelphia to visit with friends, it is raining. The city’s narrow streets are clogged with rush hour traffic. As Louise, my friend and driver, begins her lane-changing, hornhonking dance homeward, I know that this ex-city-girl has arrived in a world of customs grown unfamiliar over time.

Were I to arrive in Kathmandu, or even in London or Montreal, I would expect to observe customs different from my own. But not while visiting a friend in Philadelphia. Not, that is, until Louise opens the door to the bedroom I will inhabit during my sojourn in that city.

“Typical girl’s room,” she beams by way of introduction. The room before me is cluttered wall-to-wall with a teenager’s debris. Like Pompeii, it is frozen in time---left just as it was the morning her daughter Hannah left for college almost a decade ago. An archeologist, digging for years through its layers of sediment, might never reach its buried dressers, chairs and shelves. Hannah’s room makes clear to me that nothing in the way we decorate, maintain or move about our homes is typical or universal. Personal customs vary widely. “Normal” does not exist.

For instance, my friend Tina, who lives in New Jersey, consumes her morning coffee before she smiles at her husband or converses with her house guests. After her caffeine fix, she enjoys a calm, get acquainted breakfast of nutritional merit. Louise, on the other hand, never makes coffee (an unpleasant discovery for me) and considers breakfast a meal to be inhaled as she passes through the kitchen on her way to the train station. I adapt better in New Jersey.

Another couple I know discovered their clash of customs at the kitchen sink. He’s a wash-them-off-under-a-faucet kind of man; she’s a let-them-soak-in-the-sink kind of woman. He’s a rinsebefore- loading-the-dishwasher guy; she’s a load-the dishes-in “as is” gal. He accepts her as hopelessly sloppy. She accepts him as needlessly obsessive and a waster of water. Married life for them is a loving exercise in cultural co-existence.

Different customs can raise difficult personal questions. For example, does a TV belong in the bedroom? What is the most comfortable indoor temperature? Which is better: a long bath or a quick shower? Should the garbage can be hidden under the sink, or should it stand exposed for all to see? Must beds be made? Should doors be locked? Should telephones be used for lengthy conversation or reserved for short messages? Is it okay to read at the dinner table, or eat in the living room, or feed the dog from the table, or invite the cat into bed?

After a bit of adjustment, I finally settle into the ways of Philadelphia and into the busy, urban world of Louise’s loving family, keenly aware that customs are not universal. Many require adaptation. Deprived of my morning coffee, a leisurely breakfast, and enough space to unpack my belongings, I begin to embrace the experience of cross-cultural travel.

And now, I think I’m ready for more. Philadelphia is only my first step on the road to cultural adventure. Just a few more visits with a few more friends in a few more cities, and I might be ready for Kathmandu.

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