I am an American. Anyone who is from another country immediately catches my undivided attention. This could explain why I badger friends and relatives about their experiences abroad. Call it "the grass is always greener on the other side" syndrome - especially since I had never been on the other side.

Inevitably, the only word they ever conjured up was, "different."

"Different how", I would ask.

"Just different," would be their reply.

Well, I made up my mind that I would be a better storyteller of my travels then my predecessors were.

I boarded a plane bound for Oslo, Norway in late 2001. I was armed with my pad and pencil and my Norwegian husband next to me. I felt ready to conquer 'different.'

At this point, I must be honest with you. When I set out to describe different, I was going to tell you of how 'things' were different abroad. How they are different over there and especially how it was 'different' from home.

Following with this strategy, I have an entire litany of things to tell you that are different from America. Everything from how they flush the toilet to the odd kitchen sinks in nearly every home I entered. Of course, then the words would just drag on the page like the line at the DMV.

I discovered that I was an Ugly American. I am by no means suggesting that I have some sort of inferiority complex about myself. Rather, I am saying that I had a bout with ethnocentrism.

When I say Ugly American, I refer to the William J. Lederer and Eugene Burdick book of the same title. The book deals with how the United States was losing the struggle with Communism in Asia. For my purposes though, I refer to the Ugly American as someone who compares cultural differences and has unwillingness to understand or appreciate the foreign culture.

Norway is simple. The people are simple. Life is simple. There are few drive-thrus to quicken life, there are no smooth paper boxed bottles of aspirin on the shelves at the grocery store and there are no lawyers, at least not in the abundance that America has.

I was yearning to seeing the golden arches and the 24-hour signs blazing in the middle of the night. I wanted to feel the pulse of all that was familiar and all that oozes America.

In other words, I felt completely out of place. I wanted to go back to the comforts of home. I wanted to hear the buzz of English in the streets and to read signs in store windows.

I wanted to be able to call my father in South Florida without trying to decipher the Norwegian phone book only to dial umpteen numbers and still not get through. I wanted to be able to distinguish the milk from the heavy cream for my morning coffee without having to ask a member of my new family.

I wanted to plug in my hair dryer. I wanted to put the heat on high instead of getting scorched by the bed heaters to save electricity. I needed a hot shower that lasted longer than five minutes and I especially wanted a toilet in the same room as the shower.

I felt a growing resentment towards my husband because he could understand everything. I merely stood by his side and, well, just looked. I was an outsider, I was a guest but also an oddity that happened to bring her American egocentric ways of "me, me, me."

The things I was discovering were not making me want to relocate from my perfect country or even look forward to the two weeks that were in front of me. I needed to get a hold of myself before it was too late.

After a siege of homesickness from the lack of English and sheer lack of modernization, I met some of my Norwegian husband's friends that have forever changed my thinking about the word different and the way I view my place in the world.

The first night I met them we were going to a party reuniting my husband with friends of his that he had not seen in four years.

On the way to that party, a close friend of my husband's confided in me "I hope this party is good enough for Philip."

I was taken back. Philip, my husband, is Norwegian. He was born in Norway. These were his best friends, the people who know him best.

"Why" I asked, "would this not be good enough?"

He replied, "Well you know, I just hope it is good enough because he has been living in the U.S. for a while now and you are American."

"Oh."

Dreadfully, I knew what he meant. He was, unbeknownst to him, bringing to light everything I had complained about since arriving in Norway.

America is different. I am different. Going to another country and encountering a different culture is different; it was the way I compared the differences to my own life in America that were unnecessary. I was comparing things that were not meant to be compared. I needed to appreciate the differences not complain about them and live up to the name Ugly American.

In hoping that others encounter the same feelings as I did, I turned to my friends.

Wendy Shay, historic preservation planner with the City of Delray Beach in Florida, had an earful for me about Americans abroad. Shay has traveled extensively throughout Western Europe, Canada and Mexico says, "Americans are arrogant and annoying…I am embarrassed to say I am an American when I hear Americans complain in a foreign country."

"Experience something different. Why leave if you don't want to experience something different" says Shay.

Could she be right? Are Americans arrogant? (This is a rhetorical question of course, just look at the current state of affairs in the world.)

Even as the words pour on the page, I am ashamed of feeling the way I did. I am even more ashamed that I behaved the way I did.

I am an American and across the globe that is regarded as something different. I am from the land of the free and the home of the brave. I am from the land of New York and McDonald's.

I am the woman from America who made my husband's friends doubt if they were giving a good enough welcome home party for their closest friend.

All of these events and realizations make me falter. I, like many Americans, am proud of my country and wear my freedom on my shirt like a badge of honor, something to be coveted. I never stopped to think that other people could have the same patriotism for their own country.

To see if I was the only person who succumbed to the Ugly American illness I scoured the Internet. Much to my chagrin, I found a glowing tribute to myself and hundreds of others who have fallen prey to a misguided superiority complex. Ugly American Sightings is a frightening wake up call that I was not alone. Hopefully more fellow Ugly Americans have recovered as quickly as I have.

I went to a foreign country and was embraced by Norwegians and Norwegian culture. I was embraced by some of the kindest people I have ever met whose native tongue is not English but Norwegian. I was met with a willingness to speak a language that is only taught in high school. Is it the same when foreigners come to America?

I must realize and did realize that convenience is not as highly regarded around the globe as it is in the United States. Wealth is not something to aspire to in all nations. American way of life is just that, America's way of life. How did I ever think I could impose my supposed superior culture in America on a country that has its own sacred and coveted culture?

In my experiences, I realize that Norway is a simple and heartfelt country. I realize that what is truly important is capitalized upon. Over the Christmas holiday, which begins on December 23rd and ends on the 26th with Boxing Day is sacred. The country virtually shuts down. No liquor stores. No movies. No restaurants. Just family.

Norway and its citizens may be self-absorbed and rather cold until you warm up to them but once you do, you feel very welcome.

I am not by any means saying that my experiences and feelings are representative of every American traveling abroad, nor am I saying that one country is better than another. What I am saying is that the two countries are merely different and that both are to be appreciated, embraced and relished for its uniqueness.

When my husband and I were traveling home, we were both very quiet. We were reflecting on the sheer beauty of what we were leaving behind.

I must admit, when I am going home from a vacation I am really looking forward to getting home. But, this time was different. I felt a part of something that I wanted to take home with me. I wanted to embrace what was different about Norway and carry it on the plane with me. But then again, before I even left the U.S. I had someone different with me all along.

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