Collective Cultural Memory

I spent my Friday night propped up on a barstool at a cocktail bar in Ghent, flanked by two wonderfully entertaining friends. The atmosphere was cosy, the mixers tasty, conversation flowed effortlessly from one topic to the next and Ghent looked stunning in its nighttime glory.

At one point, the stranger who'd been sat next to me all night turned to us and said: "Koekoekstraat 78 or 77, in Melle?!"

It didn't take long for all three of us to place that sentence in context and serve her of a reply. I doubt there's anyone in Flanders who does not know what this phrase relates to. While most people would've thought nothing special about this occurrence, the incident made me feel slightly fuzzy warm.

Anyone who's lived abroad for an extended period of time, or anyone who's been involved in a relationship with a foreigner, undoubtedly remembers that instance in which you become acutely aware of the fact that there's a certain collective cultural memory you share with your compatriots, that is very hard to convey to foreigners. Also, no matter how much effort you put into trying to assimilate, you're always slightly behind on catching up with your host-country's own collective memory.

Try explaining "Koekoekstraat 70 in Melle" to a non-Belgian? Or try using the "Am I Bovvered?! No but am I bovvered?!" in a conversation with a non-Brit?

It's little quirky things like that which make me feel at home somewhere. When you know you're part of the cultural collective. And that one stupid insignificant sentence made me feel slightly silly fuzzy warm, about being back home.



"Am I bovvered?!?" - The Catherine Tate Show


"Koekoekstraat 70 in Melle?" - De Schalkse Ruiters