Archive for July, 2009
State of the Nation
July 30th, 2009 | 
Author: Warning: The following disjointed rambling contains some outrageous and ridiculous generalisations which the author cannot substantiate in any way, shape or form. Additionally the author makes no claims to historical, geographical or indeed any other sort of, accuracy.
Walking though San Francisco the other day, I was struck by what could well be the answer to something that’s been bothering me for a while. Why is that everyone you meet who is not from the England is proud of where they come from and, more often than not, are enjoying their travels but are actively looking forward to going home. I don’t think, whilst being abroad, I’ve met a single English person who misses England. Plus a lot of English people who live in England want to leave (whether or not they ever will is another question). Don’t get me wrong, there are people who live in England who I miss, but I would miss them wherever they lived, what I mean is a pride in our country and a belief that the English way of life is an admirable and enviable one.
Small derail here, could the bloke behind me shouting about how he paints flames on lowriders and how he was “humping bodies across the deck of the Connie in Great Plains” please shut up. He did 5 tours in Black Ops wouldn’t you know.
In my experience, non-English people admire some things about the English, things which I am proud of. They love our sense of humour. We’re dry and sarcastic, and once they adapt they think it’s hilarious. Um, that’s about it. Everyone (and I mean everyone) says food in England is awful. I’m not sure I agree but I’ve given up arguing. It’s such a cliché these days that if they haven’t got anything else more interesting to criticise then they’re probably not worth talking to. We don’t have a food culture, such as the French or Italians I grant you, but you can eat well. People do eat well. And remember, these are sometimes Americans who are telling me this. With a straight face. Irony they don’t get.
But, on the other side, most nationalities you come across are proud of where they come from even if they’re not there right now. My girlfriend Laura, who is from Colombia, hasn’t lived there for a couple of years and isn’t planning on returning anytime soon, but the majority of her friends in Buenos Aires are Colombian and she gets all misty-eyed when she talks of missing her “land” and her “people”. Not many people from Yeovil feel like that.
So anyway onto my great theory about this. The countries that seem to have a greater sense of national pride and identity are those that have had Revolutions. A specific moment in time when the modern nation was created – 1776 for the USA, 1789 for France, 18 something or other for Argentina. The UK (more specifically England as I would not presume to talk for anybody else) has never had this moment. With the glitch of the Civil War over 450 years ago, our country has been more or less the same for 1000 years. Yes, things have changed, progess has been made but we have never had the one moment where we have cast off the shackles of tyranny (been the tyrant often enough though). This, to me, is the key. Street names in the US, France, Argentina and countless other “unshackled” countries reflect the names of past heroes (military, political, historical, scientific, literary and more) and dates. The main avenue in Buenos Aires is the Avenida 9 de Julio. The streets of Paris are full of the names of military, scientific and literary heroes (not even all French to be fair) . OK, London has Trafalgar and Waterloo but where is Wellington Avenue, Churchill Boulevard, Dickens Street? The main street in Bayeux is called Avenue Franklin D Roosevelt for God’s sake.
Statues here have references to this person’s contribution to Our Country. I don’t ever recall seeing that in England. Flags are flown proudly, the St George’s Cross in England has some somewhat unsavoury links to jack-booted skinheads, and nobody seems willing to try and reclaim it for the decent folk. So that’s my theory, I think we need a revolution, something we could be really proud of.
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Madam, I’m Adam
We’ve had a few beers, seen a few whales and it’s time for my afternoon nap. However, when I return to my bedroom (called in ship-speak The TV Recliner Lounge, which ought to be a clue to be fair) they are showing a film. And you’re not going to believe who is the vehicle, or star, of this opus. Yes, you guessed it, dear old Adam Sandler. I have seen Adam Sandler films on buses in every country I have travelled in so far, some of them 3 times. Really, has he never noticed that he plays THE SAME CHARACTER in every single film? Slightly dorky, dickish loser with a good heart, who is up against it but always ends up with the girl at the end, despite the Oh-No-He’s-Blown-It point at around the 47 minute mark. Poverty should upset me, Fox News should piss me off, football player’s salaries should horrify me, but no. Today folks it’s Adam Sandler. One thing I will not miss from travelling.
And talking of Fox News, I’ve been watching it quite a lot. It is, quite simply, the worst thing I have ever seen on television and I’ve seen Italian TV variety shows. I really don’t know where to start, hundreds of other websites and The Daily Show do criticism of it much better than I ever could, but one quote sticks in my mind. ACORN, an action group / chairity for the poor (poor, read black), favoured by Obama is being sued by some Republican dude for illegally financing the Democrats. The Foxy Lady presenter gets the background from a colleague, who summarises the lawsuit using the words “allegedly” and ‘supposedly” as any good reporter should. Plastic Funny Eyebrow Lady then looks directly at the camera and spits with undisguised poison the question, “And how have they [ACORN] got away with doing this for so long?”.
Doing what? Where did the “allegedly’ go? Did I miss the piece where you reported them being found guilty? Or, even the trial starting? Serious, objective reporting at its finest.
On My Own Again
I’ve just boarded the venerable MV Colombia which, in a mere 38 hours, will deliver me to Ketchikan, Alaska where I will be staying for a week or two with my cousin. In the last 3 weeks I’ve made my way up from San Diego, via Los Angeles, Monterey, Santa Cruz, San Francisco, Portland and Seattle. I’ve enjoyed it, seen some wonderful things, jaw-dropping scenery on the Pacific Coast Highway, strolled down Hollywood Boulevard, been record shopping in Haight Ashbury and sampled some of (and when I say some, I mean a lot) the local Portland brews.
But there’s been something missing. Travelling “alone” in South America never actually meant that. I can only think of a couple of days in all the weeks I was “alone” when I was actually on my own. As long as you stuck more or less to the backpack trail, you could always spend time with other like-minded travellers, perfectly happy to chat, share a beer or go exploring. Often at the same time. Some I’ve stayed in touch with, others just spent the day with and can’t actually remember their names. And all of them have added something positive to the trip (with the exception of Sally, the eager yet oh so boring English teacher).
However, travelling alone here seems to mean, at least for me, truly alone. Outside of the people I’ve stayed with (and a big shout goes out to all of them, love you guys!) I’ve barely spoken to a soul. Some of this is pure laziness or grumpiness on my behalf but people here seem so much more self-absorbed and unapproachable. Maybe this has something to do with most people travelling in couples or groups, but I’m not sure. People will talk, if you start a conversation, but then the conversation is all about them. You don’t get a look in, they show absolutely no interest in listening to anything you say. Kind of annoys me. Hence the grumpiness. I am enjoying it, missing Laura, but enjoying it nonetheless, and glad to be doing it – catching up with people and, through them, meeting new ones. Just looking forward to getting back to Argentina, not for the first time!
Note, what do you know!, in the 15 hours since I wrote this, I have spoken to some very nice people – 3 50 -somethings on a Harley trip to Alaska they’ve been planning for 2 years and a couple of others. Some idiot who said the dolphins we saw were killer whales. I’m no marine scientist but know when you see killer whales, these things are the size of tanks, and these were not. Nice dolphins (good dolphins) though, pretty damn cool.
West Coast Baby!
OK, so you’ve read the last entry and are thinking, wait a minute, one minute he’s in Machu Picchu and now he’s blathering on about being in California? How can that be? Well, yes faithful reader, I am indeed in California, the Golden State (not the Sunshine State as Beavis and Butthead who were sat behind me on the bus from LAX claimed, huh huh huh).
It’s Fun To Stay
I love Bill Bryson. I really do. I read his first book, The Lost Continent, back in the mid-90s (I could actually tell you the month and year if I felt like it, I’m my Father’s son). It’s his story of driving round the US in his Mum’s car and I thought it was fantastic. Not only does it contain the funniest line ever written (he’s driving through the Bible Belt and sees a sign saying “Jesus is the Answer”, the question being “What do you say when you hit your thumb with a hammer?”. I’m laughing as I write this), but it’s about a roadtrip and I’ve always liked the thought of a big US Roadtrip.
Dear old Bill sprang into my mind as I drove through California on a little roadtrip of my own. After a couple of hours of Freeway monotony, I left the US-101 at San Luis Obispo and joined Route 1, the Pacific Coastal Highway. 5 minutes later I passed a sign saying “California Men’s Colony 1 Mile” which intrigued me to say the least. I had no idea what a Men’s Colony could be. Images of naked, greased, firm bodies glistening in the California sunshine performing a synchronised dance to The Village People filled my head. Which was a little disturbing I have to admit.
As I passed the 1/2 mile sign, I thought to myself, Bill Bryson wouldn’t pass this place without seeing what it was, and nor shall I! So I swerved across 4 lanes of traffic to join the right hand lane to turn at the lights, full of the spirit of journalistic inquiry.
So needless to say I was a little bit taken aback to be stopped by an armed guard after a few hundred yards and told, politely yet firmly, that unless I was visiting a prisoner I would not be able to progress any further.
You gotta love this country, they don’t even call prisons prisons. Nope, it’s a colony. I couldn’t believe it. The guy with gun didn’t look too much in the mood to chat, so I didn’t pick him up on this or ask him about The Village People dance (which would have been a fun conversation), simply apologised profusely, did a u-turn and went on my way, all journalistic enthuisasm crushed.
