As I’m sitting here writing this post, I’m distracted by the sound of The Beatles’ “She Loves You” drifting through my weekend host family’s home. This isn’t the first similarity to home that I’ve noticed.

I’ve been in Europe for about a week now, and since then I’ve noticed the similarities to America, rather than the differences. Call it a coping mechanism to the culture shock, but from my point of view there sure are many things here that seem American.

Sure, there’s a lack of sweet tea. And of course, there is no Domino’s pizza. But there is McDonalds, Burger King, and Coke. Curious George, Hello Kitty, and Max and Ruby (all characters popular in the States) are all popular here. The Despicable Me app I shamelessly played in the Istanbul airport during my five hour layover? I caught the eldest child of my host family playing it at the breakfast table.

Living in my sheltered American world, I never took the time to see how much of our culture has been absorbed into the world that surrounds me.

My roommate, who is from Uganda, was unpacking some stuff the other night. She opened her laptop and opened iTunes, and the next thing you know the sounds of Kanye West came flowing through our apartment.

In a way, it’s embarrassing to be under the naïve impression that our American culture hasn’t seeped into the culture of others. After all, our nation was founded upon the traditions and lifestyles that others brought to our own country. I mean, back home, I love Cabo Bob’s. They have amazing guacamole. I know better than to assume that guacamole originated from America.

Why I’m having such a hard time accepting that other’s have gotten great things (like charbroiled burgers) from us Americans remains a mystery.

There are, however, several notable things that are very different here:

No one uses ice. I asked for “the cold tea” as my beverage on the plane (I saw it in the ice box, I swear), and the flight attendant went to the back and brought me hot tea with three tiny pieces of ice.  At a restaurant, I asked for a coke and I was brought a skinny, tall can of coke and a glass. I don’t mind, as long as the beverage is chilled to begin with, but it sure is odd.

Obesity isn’t in the dictionary here. Like, at all. I’ve seen maybe two people who weren’t stick thin here. And by American standards they wouldn’t even be considered chubby. But with all the people here weighing negative two pounds, any extra weight makes you look awfully like a whale (me included).

There is no AC. No, really. Except, unlike Texas, it’s chilly here and open windows are a refreshing treat. It also unifies the neighborhood when everyone has their windows open (except when your bathroom is relatively close to your neighbors) and you can hear people cooking, getting their kids ready for school, and people eagerly arriving home from work.

One thing that I like that seems to be similar to the vibe in Texas is how kind everyone is. I hardly know any Italian, and so far no one has gotten angry at me over it (probably because they just want my money, but still…).

Noticing all these Italian ways of life will have me fitting in sooner than I can properly learn how to pronounce “espresso.” Now, if only I could master the charismatic, confident Italian attitude.

Someone get me oversized sunglasses and a biscotti, stat.