I experienced culture shock for the first time within minutes of arriving in Rome. We had just exited the plane from our ten-hour, transatlantic flight when I was taken aback. It wasn’t the language barrier, although I didn’t speak a lick of Italian. It was the airport security officer standing before me, sporting some very heavy artillery. “My, what big guns you have!” shrieked my mind, not referring to the muscular mass bulging through his sleeve. Yes, these guns were bona fide assault rifles. Unsure whether the purpose of such machinery was to intimidate or annihilate, I knew one thing for certain: Italians don’t jack around with homeland security.