A SOUTHERN INTRODUCTION

Come fall, I start missing home. There is something about the crispness in the air and the shorter days that makes me ache for my roots more intensely than during the rest of the year. I wonder what the leaves look like in the Blue Ridge. I miss the extravagant Halloween decorations of our old neighborhood. I get a hankering for all manner of pumpkin confections, and I crave the American ingredients I cannot find in the Swiss grocery store. Regardless of the time of year, however, there is one thing that makes me yearn for home more than anything else and that is finding myself at any sort of social gathering.

You see, for all their wide travel, their sophisticated foods, their easy relationship to wine or nudity, Europeans are completely missing out on the fine art of the Southern Introduction.

For those of us who grow up in the South, one of the key components of our unwritten education is how to introduce people in social settings. The importance of this skill is drummed into our cotillioned heads from middle school forward so that we might blossom into gracious hosts. For the uninitiated among you, here is a primer:

The goal of the Southern Introduction is to indirectly help strangers feel at ease around each other. At any given gathering, the host or hostess will introduce as many guests as possible. The exact art initially involves presenting the two parties by first name. Among the ladies, there is usually no handshaking. Let me repeat that because it is important: Among the ladies, there is usually no handshaking. From there, the gracious hostess imparts a tidbit of information about her guests. If they have something obviously in common, she mentions that. Otherwise, she sticks to a generic remark such as where the person works or what his or her hobby might be, or if he or she has children, grandchildren, pets, a soda bottle collection, you get the idea. Then, she flashes her most charming smile and moves on. Her guests are left with a perfectly orchestrated segue into some small talk which might or might not evolve into an actual conversation.

Not so in Switzerland. Here when you arrive at a party, and let's just say, for fun, that you are new in a village where everyone has known each other for practically all of their lives, you are required to introduce yourself. TO EVERYONE IN THE ROOM. After greeting the host or hostess with the obligatory three-cheek kisses (already quite daunting if you are unused to it), you then proceed to walk up to each and every person in the room, interrupt the animated conversation he or she might be involved in with his or her best friend from kindergarten, thrust out your hand, look the person straight in the eye and give either your first name or your last name depending on an equally intricate system of formal and informal address. The whole procedure takes about ten seconds total, and then you move on to the next person. And the next. And the next. Until you have greeted every single person in the room. The trick to surviving this ordeal with your sanity intact is to arrive early because the rule is that once you are there, the newcomers are required to approach you and not the other way around.

At any rate, after having shaken hands and exchanged names with every single person in the room, you are then at leisure to stand around feeling awkward and lonely for the rest of the occasion. Which, since it is a Swiss party full of people who have known each other all their lives, is going to last a very, very long time.

Clearly, such a direct procedure seems terrifying to someone who grew up practicing the subtle art of the Southern Introduction. Yet it is an integral part of Swiss culture, and as such, it must be mastered at all costs. I know because I have often enough barged into a group of people and forgotten the handshake. Parent's Night at school, anyone? Choir Practice? Yoga class? Or how about that time last Christmas when, with my mom here visiting, we went to a small advent gathering held at a private home but organized by the village. Mom and I waltzed into the room in our clanky, over-accessorized American manner, flashed our biggest Southern smiles, and plunked ourselves down with a cup of mulled wine.

A frosty silence descended upon the formerly cheerful Yuletide gathering. And then a few incredibly awkward minutes ensued as we attempted to make small talk with people who seemed not even remotely interested in getting to know us. Fortunately, we were put out of our agony by the arrival of some new guests, competent Swiss people, who proceeded, after divesting themselves of their jackets, hats and scarves, to go around the table and shake hands and exchange names with every single person in the room whether they knew them already or not. Mom and I looked at each other as dark pools of panic welled up in our eyes. I realized my mistake: I had done it again. I had forgotten the damn handshake. We promptly stood up and proceeded to shake hands and exchange names with every single person in the room before returning to our comforting beakers of mulled wine. Let's just say the crowd considerably brightened toward us after we did our round, and we even came away from the festivity feeling vaguely good about ourselves, or at least not completely mortified.

Recently, I met an American who has lived in Switzerland for many decades. We were at a large gathering of choir singers from around the region. She kindly introduced me to her friends and acquaintances by explaining that, "This is Sabrina! She is also an American living here in Switzerland!" I knew exactly what she was doing, and I truly appreciated her effort, but I had to stifle a laugh at the reaction of the various Swiss people to whom I was presented. Some of them were game and smiled and maybe even exchanged a sentence or two. But many of them cocked their heads and stared at us in puzzlement before moving on for a nice long chat with an old friend from preschool.

Well over two years in to my Swiss education, I still feel incredibly handicapped here in social situations. Will shaking hands ever become a reflex? Something I just do without thinking? Will my heart ever stop sinking to my ankles when I have to walk in to a room filled with people? Will the Swiss ever learn to love small talk?

Though perhaps I just need to be more patient with myself and with my host culture. For surely the Swiss live by as many unwritten rules as any good Southerner does. I just have yet to master them.